tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26336052869741224562024-03-13T10:12:17.522-07:00ExcerptsSusanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-78320523180627940672019-06-06T06:29:00.000-07:002019-06-06T06:29:08.310-07:00FALLING FOR THE PREGNANT HEIRESS<br />
<div class="CH">
Excerpt...</div>
<br />
<div class="Body-Text-No-Tab">
He studied her as he slid his phone from his jacket
pocket. “Why am I getting the feeling that you’ve thought this through?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpFirst">
She shrugged. “Maybe I have.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
He found his playlist, the one filled with slow,
romantic songs, then held out his hand to her. He didn’t remind her that she
was supposed to be pragmatic, not a dreamer. He liked this side of her, sensed
that he was with the real Sabrina, the one who would have bought and worn the
happy, artistic, sexy red dress.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
Music filled the room. He led her to the dance
floor and pulled her close. She melted into him and the sense of rightness he’d
had at the beginning of the night drifted through him like the simple, easy
notes of the song floating around them, creating a little world all their own.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
He let himself soak up the feeling. He had lots of
friends and girlfriends and employees who were friends. But he’d never had this
closeness, this intimacy, with another person. He’d never wanted it. Never
missed it. But holding her now, he knew that when they went back to their
separate worlds this dance would haunt him. Make him wish he’d found the
courage to let this relationship evolve to its natural conclusion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
“Do you ever think that some people aren’t meant
for forever?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
He leaned back, looked into her eyes. “What do you
mean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
“My parents soured me on marriage. Pretty soon I’m
going to have a child to raise. That’s going to limit everything I do.” She
shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
He thought he did. At least a little. She might be
a romantic, but she didn’t think she’d get the happily-ever-after.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
But why mention it now?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
Unless…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
“Are you saying you think we aren’t made for
forever?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
She held his gaze. “You wondered why fate had
thrown us together. Well, there’s a part of me that knows. I’ve loved
everything about tonight, but more than that, I really like you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
“I like you, too.” Her simple declaration sent
need rippling through him, and this time he didn’t fight it. He dipped his
head, kissed her slowly and thoroughly. “And?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
Her breath stuttered. “And aren’t you just the
tiniest bit curious about how this night should end?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
“I actually had a plan.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
“You did?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
He spun them around once, then kissed her again.
He hadn’t taken his plan this far, but now that they were here, on the
threshold of something amazing, the plan morphed, taking a wonderful turn. “I’ve
decided to seduce you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
“Oh.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
He kissed the lips forming the perfect, “Oh.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
Drew the kiss out languidly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
Slowed their dance steps to almost none so he
could enjoy her taste, the softening of her body against his, the yearning of
his own body for hers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle">
When he pulled away she looked sleepy-eyed and
happy. “Maybe we should share that room after all.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast">
“Maybe we should.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-4742216805706715872016-01-22T06:01:00.002-08:002016-01-22T06:02:46.446-08:00PREGNANT WITH A ROYAL BABY!<strong><em>PREGNANT WITH A ROYAL BABY!</em></strong><br />
<br />
For a little change of pace, I thought we'd take a chapter out of the middle! Enjoy!<br />
<div class="CH" style="margin: 1in 0in 0.5in; text-align: center;">
<strong>CHAPTER SIX<o:p></o:p></strong></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-Text-Opening" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span class="SC">Two days later</span>, Dom strode
down the marble-floored hall to the double doors of his apartment. Since Rose
had arrived, his home had become like a beehive. Where Ginny might be shy about
creating a wardrobe, Rose had taken to the task as if she was born to it.
Designers had been called in. Dresses and pants arrived for fittings. Two
styles of wedding dresses had been chosen and Alfredo Larenzo, an Italian
designer, had been hired to create them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
With a wince, he partially opened one of the two
double doors, sticking his head in far enough to see into the living room.
Which was, mercifully, empty. For a second, he hoped that Ginny and her mom had
gone out for lunch, but his chest pinched. Since Rose had arrived, he’d also
barely seen Ginny.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Not that he missed her. He didn’t really know her.
They were in a fake situation. There was nothing to miss. The thing was, he
liked seeing her. Usually, she was funny. After four-hour sessions in
parliament, funny was welcome. So he didn’t miss her. He missed her silliness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Comfortable with that assessment, he walked past
the double sofas, over to the bar. When he turned to pour his Scotch, he saw
the door to Ginny’s suite was open. And there she stood, in little pink
panties and a pink lace bra. A short man wearing spectacles and a white shirt
with the sleeves rolled to his elbows had a tape measure around her hips. Her
mom stood with her back to the door, obviously supervising.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dom stared. He’d forgotten how perfect she was.
With full breasts, a sweet dip for a waist and hips that flared just enough for
a man to run his hand along, she had what most men would consider a perfect
figure.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The short dark-haired guy raised the tape measure
to her waist and Dom followed every movement of the man’s hands, remembering
the smoothness of her shape, the silkiness of her skin. The tailor whipped the
tape around and snapped the two ends together in the middle, right above her
belly button and Dominic’s head tilted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Right there…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Right below that perfect belly button…<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Was his child.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span class="ITALIC"><span style="border: currentColor;"><span style="border: currentColor;"><em>His child</em></span></span></span>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His hand went limp and the glass he was holding
fell to the bar with a thump.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny’s head snapped up and she turned to see him
standing there, staring. Their eyes met. And it hit him for the very first
time, not that she was pregnant, but that the baby she carried was <span class="ITALIC"><span style="border: currentColor;"><span style="border: currentColor;"><em>his</em></span></span></span>.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His baby.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He’d created a life.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rose turned, saw him and walked to the door. “Sorry,
Dom. Didn’t realize you were home.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And she closed the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dominic stared at it. The whole thing about the
baby didn’t floor him as much as the realization that the baby was in Ginny’s
stomach. In a few weeks that flat tummy of hers would be round. She’d gain
weight. Be miserable. Probably grouchy. Her feet would swell. She’d be clumsy—in
front of millions. And then she’d spend God knew how long in labor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Because of his baby.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny’s suite door opened and she walked out, tying
the belt of a pink satin robe around her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Was there something you wanted?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He stared at her, his chest tight, his mind numb.
Up until that very moment he hadn’t really considered how much Ginny was doing
for him. Oh, he understood the loss of her job, but he suddenly saw the other
things—losing her friends, living away from her mom, stretching her tummy to
unknown limits, changing everything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For his baby.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dom?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He shook his head to clear it. “Sorry. I’m taking
a break and thought I’d come up and see if you’re ready for the formal dinner
tonight with the ambassador.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She angled her thumb behind her, pointing at her
suite door. “That’s what the little guy with the moustache is doing. Final
fitting for a dress Sally tells me your dad is going to have a fit over.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A laugh bubbled up, but he squelched it. “You can’t
always push my dad’s buttons.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She shrugged. “I’m bored.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His laughter died. “Really?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No! Absolutely not. I’m getting fitted for a
billion dresses and three-point-five-million pair of jeans. I never realized
how many clothes a princess was expected to have.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So you’re not bored?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No. I just have a style.” She shrugged and the
pretty, shiny pink robe shifted over her sun-kissed shoulders.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He remembered biting those shoulders, nibbling her
neck, rubbing his entire body over the length of her entire body.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And, I swear, I’m not going overboard with sexy
clothes. I’m just not going to dress like a grandma.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He cleared his throat. “I get it about not wanting
to dress like a grandma. But be careful.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You don’t think it’s time for someone to bring
your dad into the twenty-first century?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“If you can bring him in without the press having
a field day, then give it your best shot.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She smiled, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>turned and walked back to her room. He watched
every swish of the satin over her round bottom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Dinner’s at eight, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She called the question over her shoulder, her
shiny yellow hair flowing to the middle of her back, accenting that curved
waist that led to her perfect butt.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dominic licked his suddenly dry lips. “Yes, eight.
But we need to be in my dad’s quarters at seven, so that we all arrive in the
dining room together, long before the ambassador so we can greet him.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Piece of cake.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She opened the door to her suite and walked
inside, leaving him alone in the living room again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He tugged his tie away from his throat. A year of
celibacy with her was not going to be easy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He threw back the shot of Scotch and returned to
his office for a few hours of admin work. When he entered the apartment again,
Ginny’s door was closed. He suspected she was getting ready for the dinner, so
he went to his quarters, showered and put on the trousers and white shirt of
his tux.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He managed the bow tie the way he could since he
was eight, but the onyx-and-diamond cuff links, heirlooms with tricky catches,
wouldn’t lock.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He looked at his door and smiled. For the first
time in his life he had a woman. In his quarters. About to marry him. Why
shouldn’t he take advantage?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Walking past the white sofas in the sitting room,
he reminded himself that another man engaged to a gorgeous woman would find
much better ways to take advantage of the situation, but he sought only help
with cuff links. He was insane.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He knocked on her door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s me, Dom.” He sucked in a breath, suddenly feeling
like a teenager trying to ask a girl to a dance. Idiocy. He cleared his throat
and strengthened his voice. “The cuff links I’m wearing were gifts from the
ambassador we’re dining with tonight. They’d been in his family for a century.
The clasps stick.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Before he could finish, her door opened. She stood
before him in a pale blue satin dress. Sleeveless—strapless—it should have
given him a delightful view, but she wore a little lace thing over it—sort of a
jacket, but not quite long enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her hair had been put up, but not in the grandma
hairdo. It was more like a long, silky, braided ponytail with flowers woven
through it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She lifted her pretty face and smiled at him. “Heirlooms,
huh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He said, “Yes,” but his voice came out rusty
again. Except this time he knew why he was dumbstruck. She wore almost no
makeup, yet she was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Let me see.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He held out his arm and she examined the cuff links
that he’d slid through the buttonholes, but hadn’t locked. She took the first
in her nimble fingers, her face pinching in concentration, and something warm
and wonderful swished through him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He told himself it was nothing but attraction, but
when she finished closing and locking the cuff links, she glanced up and smiled
at him, and he realized how nice she was. It was no wonder she was so good with
the children of her high school. She was just plain sweet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And he was a pampered ruler. Somebody so
accustomed to getting his own way that he’d persuaded her to marry him. It was
for the best, of course, but that was his pathology. Even if it hadn’t been the
best for Ginny, if it had been the best for his country, he would have tossed
her feelings aside and worked things to his benefit anyway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The warm, fuzzy feeling she inspired shifted into
cold, hard steel. Because that’s who he really was, and even as much of a
bastard as he could be, he didn’t want to hurt her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Not after she was doing so much for him.</div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
</div>
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
**<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-Text-No-Tab" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dom and Ginny left their apartment at ten to seven.
He was the picture of kingly gorgeousness in his black tux.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When she told him that, he cast a sideways glance
at her. “Thank you. You look lovely, too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Not twenty minutes before they had shared a happy
moment over his cuff links. Now he was cool and distant? It didn’t make any sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They walked to the elevator, which opened as soon
as they arrived. Neither spoke as they stepped inside and Dom pushed the button
for the second floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
A guest of the palace, Ginny’s mom was invited to
join them for dinner, and she waited for them in the second-floor lobby, beside
the elevator.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When they stepped out, she hugged Ginny. “Very
pretty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny displayed her newfound curtsy skills. “Thanks.
Your outfit is gorgeous, too.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rose smoothed her hand along the soft beige satin.
The king had offered the services of their clothier, and her pragmatic mom hadn’t
had a qualm about using them. She had the tailor whip up a simple satin skirt
and sequined top that sort of looked like a tank top. She’d swept her yellow
and pink hair into a neat French twist. She looked simple, but elegant. More
elegant than Ginny had ever seen her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
As Dom guided them in the direction of the king’s
quarters, Rose whispered, “I could get used to this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny’s eyes widened in horror. She had no idea
why Dom had suddenly become distant, but hearing her mom say she could get used
to luxury wouldn’t help things.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Do not say that!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I was kidding! It’s stuffy here.” She glanced
around at the paintings on the elegant walls. “Almost like a really fancy
prison.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Though Dominic hadn’t appeared to have been
listening, he turned and said, “Protocols and security are necessary.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“For protection and respect,” Ginny quickly told
her mom, wanting Dom to see her mom hadn’t meant any harm. She simply wasn’t up
to speed on the lives of royalty. “If somebody’s going to rule a country in a
part of the world that isn’t always stable, they need to command respect.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dominic gave her a look of approval that helped
alleviate the sense that she’d somehow caused his bad mood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
But her mom waved a hand. “Give me the good old-fashioned
life of a commoner any day of the week.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny smiled nervously, as Dom shook his head. He’d
been so cute when he’d come to her suite, asking for help with his cuff links.
Now a world of distance seemed to be lodged between them. She wouldn’t tell
him, but it had been nice to have a chance to touch him. And there was nothing
more intimate than fixing a guy’s cuff links or his bow tie—as a wife would.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She told herself not to go overboard with those
thoughts and knew she wouldn’t. She didn’t want to get hurt by spinning
fantasies. Still, though she might be a fake fiancée about to be a fake
wife/princess, she and Dom were in this together. She didn’t like the fact that
he was unhappy. Especially if it might be because of something she’d done.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Security guards opened the gold doors to the king’s
quarters and Dom invited Ginny and her mom to enter before him. The foyer
ceilings had to be three stories high. Everything from lamps to picture frames
was trimmed in gold.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her mother immediately recognized a Monet. She
gasped. “Oh, this is delightful! One of my favorites.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’d be happy to give it to you as my wedding gift
to you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
All heads turned as the king entered the foyer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He kissed Ginny’s hand, then Rose’s.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rose frowned. “First, I do not have the kind of
security I’d need to put that in my home. Second, I’m not the bride. I don’t
get gifts.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“It’s our custom to give parents of people who
marry into our family a gift…something like a welcome to the family.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her mom’s eyebrows rose as she glanced over at
Ginny, who shrugged slightly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She leaned toward the king and whispered, “We’re
really not going to be in your family long.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He bowed. “A custom is a custom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rose nodded. “Point taken. Do I have to get you a
gift?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
King Ronaldo unexpectedly smiled. “Do you wish to
welcome me to your family?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Rose laughed noisily. “Well, honey, I guess I do.
Except you have to come to my house to get the gift.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The king directed everyone to the door again. “Maybe
I will. But right now we’re going to the formal reception room to meet the
ambassador.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The king took Rose’s arm as Dominic tucked Ginny’s
hand in the crook of his elbow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She’d never seen her mom flirt. Not even after her
dad had died. Not with anyone. Ever. The sight of her mom and the grouchy king—well,
flirting—made her want to say, “Aw,” and shiver with revulsion simultaneously.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
King Ronaldo peeked over his shoulder at Ginny. “By
the way, Ginny, I approve of the dress.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“This old thing?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He smiled patiently. “I know you’re coming to
understand our customs and our etiquette, so you can’t tease me anymore by
pretending you don’t understand. Were I you, I would have said thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Dominic gave her a look and, suddenly, desperately
wanting to please him, she took a quick breath and said, “Thank you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m hoping your entire wardrobe and wedding
apparel will follow a similar pattern.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Yes, Your Majesty. I appreciate that you’re
allowing me so much say in the wedding plans.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Thank your future husband,” the king said as the
reached the door of the reception room. “He pleaded your case. Something about
pink roses and your friends as bridesmaids lending authenticity to the whole
thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Two guards opened the doors. The king walked into
the room and led her mother to a discreet bar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny turned to Dom. “So, you pleaded my case?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He glanced back at his father. “Saving an
argument.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She reached up and tightened his bow tie. “Well, I
appreciate it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He caught her hand. “That’s fine. My tie is fine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She nodded quickly, annoyed with herself for the
intimate gesture and for upsetting him again. “I guess I’m just getting a
little too comfortable with you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He caught her gaze. “You shouldn’t.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny stared into his dark, dark eyes, suddenly
realizing he wasn’t angry with her. But if he wasn’t angry with her, that left
only himself. Was he angry with himself? For asking her for help with cuff links?
Or because asking for help with his cuff links proved they were getting close?
Becoming friends?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She saw that as a good thing. Within the cocoon of
their conspiracy, for the first time in her life, she was taking the initial
steps of trusting a man. She didn’t have to worry about consequences. There
were none. She knew they were getting divorced. There was no way he could hurt
her. And the little bit of intimacy with the cuff links had been warm and
wonderful.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
But obviously, he didn’t feel the same way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The ambassador arrived and Ginny played her role
exactly as Dom wanted her to play it. They had a toast with the ambassador and
his wife, Amelia, who then toasted the newly engaged couple and wished them
happiness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The ambassador then handed them a small box.
Dominic opened it, smiled and handed it to her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She glanced inside and her gaze jerked to the
ambassador. “Emerald earrings.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Amelia said, “Our country’s gift to you on your
engagement.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She said, “Thanks,” but her stomach tightened. She
hadn’t considered that kings and ambassadors and entire countries would give
her gifts. But really? What wedding didn’t attract gifts?<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
At the end of the evening, when the ambassador and
his wife retreated to their suite, she and Dom also took their leave. Rose had
decided to stay and have one more drink with the king and Ginny’s head spun.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;">When
they got into the elevator and the door closed, affording them their first
privacy of the evening, she turned to </span>Dominic. “I don’t know if I should apologize for my
mom flirting with your dad or groan over the fact that we’re going to get
expensive wedding gifts that we have no right to.”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We’re getting married. We have every right to get
gifts and well-wishers have every right to send us gifts.” He frowned slightly.
“Haven’t you seen the stack of presents that have already arrived?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her mouth fell open. “We’ve already gotten gifts?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Many. The protocol is that they stay with Sally
until she has an appropriate thank-you card printed up on the royal family’s
stationery.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“We don’t write our own thank-you cards?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He smiled briefly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Ginny held back a groan. No wonder he didn’t want
to be friendly with her. She was more than a commoner. She was a bumpkin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She swallowed. “What are we going to do with the
presents?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“What do you mean, what are we going to do with
the presents? The same thing other newlyweds do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The elevator door opened and he walked outside.
She stood frozen, feeling odd—feeling horrible, actually. While she was
learning to trust him, he was walking away from her. She might be a bumpkin,
but he was the one who had his protocols out of order if he wanted to keep
gifts they didn’t deserve. Technically, they were at the center of perpetuating
a fraud. They would benefit from a lie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She scrambled after him. “So we’re going to keep
these things?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He stopped, spun to face her. “What would you
suggest? That we tell our guests no gifts? That we all but let them know we
plan on divorcing. Get your head in the game, Ginny!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
His tone was like a slap in the face. She took a
step back, then another. “I’m sorry.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He cursed. “Why are you saying you’re sorry! I’m
the one who just yelled at you! Do you have to be so nice? So honest?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’d rather I be dishonest?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’d rather that your sanctimonious attitude not
make me feel like I’m doing something wrong all the time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He turned to the white double doors, marched over,
opened them and walked directly to the bar.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She scampered after him. “Wait! What?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’re so nice. You spar with my dad, then say
something so respectful he knows you’re coming around. You didn’t want a new
wardrobe until we insisted. You’re nice with Sally. You’re happy your mom is
here and it’s clear she loves you.” He stopped, sucking in a breath.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You’re mad at me because the situation is working
out?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I’m mad at you because every day it becomes
clearer and clearer that I’m going to hurt you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She tilted her head, not quite understanding what
he was getting at.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You say you don’t want to get drawn into this
life and I believe you. But you and I…” He downed the shot of Scotch and poured
another. “We sort of fit. You feel it as much as I do. It’s not something we
plan or intend to do. It’s that thing that happens at odd moments. The times we’re
on the same page or thinking the same thought and we know it with just a
glance.” He walked from behind the bar to stand directly in front of her. “And
pretty soon we’re going to start remembering how good we are together in other
ways, and then we’re going to be sleeping together.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Her heart thumped. He <span class="ITALIC"><span style="border: currentColor;"><span style="border: currentColor;"><em>was </em></span></span></span>feeling
the same things she was. That unexpected trust. That sense that everything was
going to be okay. “You thought we were good together?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“You <span class="ITALIC"><span style="border: currentColor;"><span style="border: currentColor;"><em>know </em></span></span></span>we were good together.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And you think we fit?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I see those little things happen every day. You
liked fastening my cuff links. I like fighting your simple battles over things
like jeans versus white suits.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She searched his gaze. Ridiculous hope filled her
chest to capacity. They really were getting to know each other and in knowing
each other, they were beginning to genuinely like each other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
For once, having more than a surface relationship
didn’t scare her. Maybe because she knew it had a time limit. She could get
close, make love, get married, have a baby with Dom, knowing it was going to
end. Secure in the fact that they would part amicably, she wouldn’t suffer the
pains of rejection. She would simply move on. And she would have had a chance
she never thought she’d get: a chance to really be in love. To know what it
felt like to share. To be part of something wonderful. All under the protection
of the knowledge that it wouldn’t last forever. She didn’t have to be perfect
forever. She didn’t even have to be good forever. Or to suit Dom forever. She
only had to make this work for a little over two years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“And you don’t think it’s a good thing that we get
along?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“I have a job to do. I’ve told you that if you get
in the way of that job, I will always pick the kingdom over you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She swallowed and nodded, knowing exactly what he
was saying, but her stomach fluttered. When they first decided to marry he had
been sure he’d always take the kingdom’s side over hers. But this very argument
proved that he was changing. And he clearly wasn’t happy about that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Is this the part where I say I’m sorry?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He sniffed and looked away. “Sorry again? Why this
time?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“Because I think I tempt you. I think that’s why
you’re really mad. I think knowing me has made you feel that you’d like to be a
real boy, Pinocchio.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“So I’m a puppet?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
“No. I think you’d like the freedom to make up
your own mind, to make your own choices, but you’re afraid of what will happen
to your kingdom.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He caught her gaze. “You make it sound like an
idiotic dilemma. But it isn’t. We might be a small kingdom but we’re an
important one.” He slid his hand across her shoulder and to her long ponytail.
He ran the fat braid through his fingers as if it were spun gold. “One woman
should not change that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Even as he said the words, he stepped closer. He
wrapped the braid around his knuckles and tugged her forward until they almost
touched, but not quite. The air between them crackled, not with memories of how
good they’d been together but with anticipation. If they kissed now, changed
the terms of their deal now, the next two years would be very different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And she wanted it. Not just for the sex. For the
intimacy and the chance to be genuinely close to someone, even as she had the
magical out of a two-year time limit.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He lowered his head slowly, giving her time, it
seemed, to pull away if she wanted. But mesmerized by the desperation in his
black eyes, she stood perfectly still, barely breathing. He wanted this too,
and even though she knew he was going to kiss her, she also knew he fought a
demon. He might want to be king, but he also wanted to be a man.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
When his lips touched hers she didn’t think of
that night two months ago, she thought of this moment, of how he needed her,
even if he didn’t see it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
She slid her arms around his neck as he released
her braid, letting it swing across her back. With his hand now free, he brought
her closer still. The press of her breasts to his chest knocked the air out of
her lungs, as his lips moved across hers roughly.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
He was angry, she knew, because she was upsetting
his well-laid plans. The irony of it was he’d been upsetting her plans, her
life, from the second she’d met him. It only seemed fitting that finally she
was doing the same to him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Standing on tiptoe, she returned his kiss, as sure
as he was. If he wanted to talk about unfair, she would show him unfair. The
only way she could be intimate with someone was knowing she had an out. The
inability to trust that her dad had instilled in her had crippled her for
anything but a relationship that couldn’t last. She wouldn’t share the joy of
raising children. She was lucky to get a child. She wouldn’t grow old with
someone. The best she would get would be memories of whatever love, intimacy,
happiness they could cobble together in the next two years. And even as it gave
her at least slight hope, it also angered her mightily.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
They dueled for a few seconds, each fighting for
supremacy, until suddenly his mouth softened over hers. His hands slid down her
back to her bottom, while his mouth lured her away from her anger and to that
place where the softness of their kisses spoke of their real feelings.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
Like it or not, they were falling in love.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
And it wasn’t going to last.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
But it was all Ginny Jones, high school guidance
counselor from Texas with the alcoholic dad, was going to get in her lifetime.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
So she wanted it. She wanted the intimacy, the
friendship, the secrets and dreams.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
The only problem was she had no idea <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20150712T2236;">how
to go about getting any of it</a><!--[if !supportAnnotations]-->.<o:p></o:p></div>
Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-35319830850024708542015-08-20T07:52:00.001-07:002015-08-20T07:52:27.573-07:00HEAD OVER HEELS FOR THE BOSS!
<br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: x-large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: x-large;"><br />
<div align="LEFT">
Chapter One</div>
</span> </span><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;"></span></span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;">“W</span></span><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">e sold the flower shop to the Donovans.”</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">
</span></span><br />
<div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">“You </span></span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;">what</span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">?” Isabelle Cooper gaped at her</span></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">
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parents in absolute horror. “Why?”</div>
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“To fund our retirement.” Her tall, slim, nearly bald</div>
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father caught her hand. “Sweetie, you’ve proven you can run</div>
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the place on your own. But then the three of us would have</div>
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to share the monthly income. This way, your mom and I cash</div>
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<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">out and you still have a job. A job with a </span></span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;">salary</span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">, not just a</span></span></div>
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percentage of unstable profits.” He smiled proudly. “I took</div>
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care of all of us.”</div>
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She combed her fingers through her long, straight red</div>
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hair, pushing it off her face. “All right. Okay. I think I get it.”</div>
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From a fiscal standpoint, her dad really had taken care of all</div>
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of them by selling their family business to Donovan, Inc. He’d</div>
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gotten enough money for him and her mom to retire in the</div>
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south so they could escape Harmony Hills, Pennsylvania’s</div>
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cold, cold winters as they’d always dreamed, and a salary for</div>
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Isabelle as manager of the town’s flower shop.</div>
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It made perfect sense, and was not only responsible but</div>
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also sweet that he’d done his manly duties for the family—</div>
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until you factored in that she’d always had a crush on Devon</div>
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Donovan, oldest of the Donovan brothers. The man who</div>
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managed the reportedly one billion dollars the family had</div>
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inherited from their maternal grandfather.</div>
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The man who was her new boss.</div>
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And the problem wasn’t just that she had a crush on</div>
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him. She’d very stupidly walked up to him right after he’d</div>
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returned from Afghanistan and asked if he’d like to go with</div>
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her to her prom. He’d looked at her as if she was crazy, said</div>
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no, and walked away.</div>
</span> </span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"></span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"></span></span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><i>Now </i></span></span><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">she knew how stupid that had been. He was a</span></span></div>
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grown man who wouldn’t want to go to a school dance. He’d</div>
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also just returned from a war. But from the time Isabelle</div>
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was fourteen, she’d thought he was the handsomest of the</div>
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Donovan brothers. Tall, dark, brooding. Seeing him in his</div>
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uniform, looking so brave, she’d lost her breath and her</div>
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crush had formed. But four years later, watching the way he</div>
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rarely spoke to anyone and kept to himself, she could see he</div>
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was a man who held secrets. A man who needed her love.</div>
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Steeped in her infatuation, and a high school girl with a huge</div>
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crush and very little experience, she’d asked him to her prom</div>
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and made a complete fool of herself.</div>
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When you factored that in, her working for Devon now</div>
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seemed like the first level of Hell.</div>
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“He told us that once we talked to you, we were to have</div>
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you go to his house—”</div>
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Isabelle’s pretty blonde-haired mom tapped her dad’s</div>
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<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">forearm to stop him. “Not house.” She sighed. “Well, it </span></span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;">is </span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">his</span></span></div>
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house. But he’s got a great big office in the back. It’s not like</div>
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he’s a spider saying ‘come into my web.’”</div>
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Her face flamed. If her mother only knew. She might</div>
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have taken a few side roads in her crush on the oldest</div>
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Donovan brother, but when he’d permanently returned</div>
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to town last year—still tall, still dark, still brooding—her</div>
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crush had returned full force. She’d gladly enter any web of</div>
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Devon’s. But he’d never ask. And now she had to work with</div>
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him.</div>
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She rose from the sofa. “Maybe I’ll just get another job.”</div>
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Her dad looked appalled. “You can’t! You were part</div>
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of the deal. We sold them on taking over the florist shop</div>
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because they wouldn’t have to do a thing, touch a thing.</div>
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Buds and Blossoms virtually runs itself.”</div>
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“It doesn’t run itself, Dad. I run it.”</div>
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“Exactly my point.” Her dad beamed. “Go see Devon.</div>
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He’s expecting you.”</div>
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She left her parents’ big craftsman-style house through</div>
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the bright white kitchen with new hardwood floors, stainless</div>
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steel appliances and a pale green, white and shiny silver</div>
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backsplash, suddenly realizing they’d probably remodeled</div>
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the kitchen in anticipation of selling the house—which</div>
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meant they’d had this planned for a while. Stepping out into</div>
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the sunny June morning, she walked across the perfectly</div>
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paved parking spaces in front of the garage where she’d left</div>
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her Hyundai, an ordinary, but surprisingly comfortable, car.</div>
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She waited until she was behind the locked door to</div>
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curse. Working with Devon Donovan? That had disaster</div>
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written all over it. The possible awful situations that could</div>
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arise were too numerous to contemplate. However, two or</div>
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three effortlessly sprang to mind. Like getting breathless,</div>
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drooling and tripping over her own feet if he got too close.</div>
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He could mention that she’d asked him to her prom. He</div>
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could laugh about it. Or, worse, apologize.</div>
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Still, there was always the possibility that nothing</div>
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would happen. At least not anything anybody would see.</div>
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He worked in the huge mansion-like house that he’d had</div>
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built for “the family” a few months after they’d inherited</div>
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all that money from their grandfather. He didn’t really hang</div>
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around town, so if she did drool over him, it would be in</div>
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private. And why would he remember that she’d asked him</div>
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to her prom? Seriously. She’d been a kid. He’d just come</div>
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back from a war. He’d undoubtedly had more important</div>
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things on his mind. It was more likely that he’d forgotten the</div>
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whole darned thing. Nine chances out of ten, he’d bought</div>
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the flower shop as a favor to her parents, and his decision</div>
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had nothing to do with Isabelle. He probably intended to</div>
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tell her that she could manage the blasted thing the way she</div>
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always had, and her salary would be based on how much</div>
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money the business brought in—a way to give her incentive</div>
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to keep it productive.</div>
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So she wouldn’t have much contact with him. She’d</div>
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see him, maybe, once a quarter to review her books. She</div>
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did not have to worry about ogling him, drooling when he</div>
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was around, sighing with longing in his presence or being</div>
</span> </span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">embarrassed that he’d turned down her stupid, stupid, </span></span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;">stupid</span></span></i></div>
<i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;">
</span></span></i><br />
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prom invitation.</div>
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She would be fine.</div>
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Confident, she drove up to “the house.” Two stories, with</div>
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white siding and black shutters, an attic with dormers that</div>
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probably also had living space, a four-car garage and wide</div>
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front porch, the thing sprawled out over a half acre.</div>
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Staring at it in awe, she got out of her car.</div>
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She supposed that if she suddenly became a billionaire,</div>
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she’d build a grand house too. And it was wonderful that</div>
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though the entire Donovan family didn’t live in “the house,”</div>
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they all had stayed in small town Harmony Hills. Devon’s</div>
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brother Finn and his wife Ellie were beloved local business</div>
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owners. Middle brother Cade and his wife Piper had run the</div>
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grocery store together at one time. Everybody knew and</div>
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loved the Donovans.</div>
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Isabelle just loved one Donovan a little too much.</div>
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Still, she would be fine.</div>
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Really.</div>
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She strode up the brick walk with her head high. This</div>
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was not a big deal. She’d be working for him daily, but only</div>
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seeing him once every few months for debriefing sessions on</div>
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the business she ran. No. Big. Deal.</div>
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Two hits of the knocker brought the sound of footfalls</div>
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on the other side of the door. As it opened, she braced</div>
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herself to be face-to-face with gorgeous Devon. But his</div>
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mom, LuAnn, stood before her.</div>
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“Izzy, sweetie.” Short, blonde, once dowdy LuAnn was</div>
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now a beautiful woman. She folded Isabelle in a hug. “It’s so</div>
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good to see you.”</div>
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“Thanks, Mrs. Donovan.”</div>
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“How are your parents?”</div>
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“Fine.” She winced. “Better than fine. Apparently they’re</div>
</span> </span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"></span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"></span></span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><i>wonderful </i></span></span><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">since they can now live their dream of moving</span></span></div>
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south because they’ve sold the flower shop to you guys.”</div>
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LuAnn laughed. “They have always wanted to move to</div>
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Myrtle Beach and play golf all winter. I’m glad we could</div>
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help. And you’ll like working for us. We’re nice people.”</div>
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Indeed they were nice. Unfortunately, one of them was</div>
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particularly fine.</div>
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“My parents told me Devon would be explaining the</div>
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particulars of our situation to me this morning.”</div>
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LuAnn’s smile got even brighter. “Great! He’s in the</div>
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office. Right this way.”</div>
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They walked through an open-floor-plan downstairs</div>
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with gray walls trimmed in white wood and nearly black</div>
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hardwood floors. The sitting area had a white leather sofa</div>
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and black-and-white print club chairs. White upholstered</div>
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chairs surrounded a shiny black dining room table. Accent</div>
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pillows, floral arrangements of yummy yellow roses, fat</div>
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fuchsia peonies, orange blossoms and irises, and artwork,</div>
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provided splashes of color.</div>
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“Holy cow. This house is amazing.”</div>
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LuAnn peeked at Isabelle. “Devon had a decorator</div>
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come in.”</div>
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“Well, she earned her keep.”</div>
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“I know!”</div>
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Even as LuAnn spoke, Bob Bailey came running down</div>
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the back stairway. When he saw Isabelle, he stopped.</div>
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“Hey, Izzy.” His gaze ambled over to LuAnn’s.</div>
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LuAnn said, “You know Bob.”</div>
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Though Harmony Hills had about five thousand</div>
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residents, it was hard not to know the guy who’d been chief</div>
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of the volunteer fire company for the past twenty years.</div>
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Still, Isabelle didn’t even blink at the odd introduction.</div>
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“Hey, Bob. Nice to see you.”</div>
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“You too.” He smiled at LuAnn. “I’ll call you this</div>
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afternoon about dinner.”</div>
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LuAnn nodded and Bob left. Isabelle didn’t ask LuAnn</div>
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about Bob. She didn’t have to. A man racing down the</div>
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backstairs of a woman’s house, who told her he would call</div>
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about dinner that night, had probably slept over. Given that</div>
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LuAnn had been in a miserable marriage for decades and</div>
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Chief Bob had lost his wife a few years back, Isabelle figured</div>
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they were both due a little happiness.</div>
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LuAnn motioned down a hall and they entered an area</div>
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of the house where a couple of smaller rooms were walled</div>
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off. The theme of black hardwood floors, white trim, and</div>
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gray walls followed them back so far they almost reached</div>
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a pair of French doors through which Isabelle could see a</div>
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sparkling blue pool, an outdoor kitchen, and enough patio</div>
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furniture to be its own department in Ikea.</div>
<br />
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“Here we are.”</div>
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LuAnn pointed into a room with a desk in front of one</div>
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wall and a sofa and chair beside another. Isabelle dutifully</div>
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followed her as she walked toward it. After a tiny hall,</div>
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LuAnn knocked on a closed door.</div>
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Devon said, “Come in.”</div>
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His deep, masculine voice ran over Isabelle like warm</div>
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water, and her heart tumbled. Dear God. She was going</div>
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to be in the same room with the man she’d had a crush on</div>
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almost half of her life, discussing her future, hoping he didn’t</div>
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remember her dumb-ass prom invitation. Should she faint?</div>
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Was she allowed to faint? Could fainting actually get her</div>
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out of this?</div>
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LuAnn opened Devon’s office door and Isabelle</div>
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blinked. For all the stark black and white throughout the</div>
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house, Devon had chosen warm mahogany for his office.</div>
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Though the trim was still white, the walls were a soothing</div>
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tan. A brown leather chair sat behind the desk. A soft beige</div>
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sofa and matching chair took up the right corner.</div>
<br />
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Looking out the wall of window in the back of the room,</div>
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at the sparkling pool and the ancillary patio department</div>
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of Ikea, stood Devon. His dark hair had been cut in a nononsense</div>
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businessman’s style. A neat and tidy white shirt</div>
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slid over broad shoulders and across muscles of a chiseled</div>
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back. Gray pants caressed a perfect behind.</div>
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When he turned, his intense, almost black eyes caught</div>
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her gaze.</div>
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All the air disappeared from the room.</div>
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LuAnn brightly said, “Izzy’s parents told her you wanted</div>
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to see her.”</div>
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“Yes, I do. Come in, Izzy.”</div>
</span> </span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"></span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"></span></span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><i>Izzy</i></span></span><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">. Yeesh. She felt five again. Here she was with the</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">
<br />
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most handsome, sexy man she’d ever met and he called her</div>
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Izzy? She’d had the nickname since she’d ridden her tricycle</div>
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up and down the Maple Street sidewalk in front of her</div>
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parents’ craftsman. When someone called her Izzy, even she</div>
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saw herself toothless with freckles and red pigtails.</div>
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Oh. Sigh. Would she ever be allowed to grow up in this</div>
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town?</div>
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LuAnn grabbed the door handle and began backing out</div>
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of the room. “I’ll just let you two alone now.”</div>
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When the door clicked shut, Isabelle turned to Devon.</div>
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His probing black eyes. His full lips. His broad torso that</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
made sport of the shirt trying to hide all those glorious</div>
<br />
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muscles.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“So, Izzy…”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Actually, I prefer to be called Belle.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
His eyebrows rose. His serious eyes clouded with</div>
<br />
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confusion. “Belle?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Sure. Why not? Considering that she’d had about a</div>
<br />
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second and a half to choose a new name, Belle wasn’t a bad</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
choice. “I’m not five or ten or even eighteen anymore.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
His gaze took a quick trip along her sunny yellow T-shirt</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
and threadbare jeans, making her breath stutter.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“No, I guess you’re not.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
That out and out froze her lungs.</div>
</span> </span><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;"></span></span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman;">D</span></span><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">evon pointed to the seat in front of his desk, indicating</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Izzy…Belle…should sit, as he fell to his seat, not quite</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
sure what was happening. He’d bought Buds and Blossoms</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
as a favor to the Coopers. Newly rich, the Donovan family</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
was finally able to do things for their friends, and Brooke</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Cooper had stood by his mom in the first year after she’d left</div>
</span> </span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">his dad. Now here he was sitting across from a </span></span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;">woman </span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">who</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
sort of looked like their teenage daughter Izzy, except more</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
mature. And she wanted to be called Belle.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Hunting for her college transcripts, he fumbled with the</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
papers on his desk as he surreptitiously raised his gaze and</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
took in the way her breasts filled out her T-shirt with the big</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
sunflower on the front, and her butt made ordinary jeans</div>
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look…fantastic. She definitely wasn’t eighteen anymore, as</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
she’d said. Or twenty, even. She’d graduated from college</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
and gotten her MBA.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Where had the time gone?</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Finding her transcripts, he cleared his throat and caught</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
her gaze again. Her gorgeous green eyes surprised him. How</div>
<br />
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had he never before noticed they were so green? He shook</div>
<br />
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off the thought. It didn’t matter. She was his employee now,</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
and she hadn’t really changed all that much, just grown up.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She’d always be tomboy Izzy to him.He set the transcripts</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
on the desk in front of him and folded his hands on top of</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
them.</div>
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“You have a master’s degree in business.”</div>
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“I do run a business,” she countered, as if he were an</div>
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idiot not to realize that, and that was the typical Izzy he</div>
<br />
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remembered. Straightforward. Practical. “I’d gone to school</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
knowing that the flower shop would be my life. So I prepared</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
to do a good job managing it.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“You over prepared.” He smiled. “Which is why I don’t</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
want you running the flower shop.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Her emerald eyes bugged out. “You’re firing me?”</div>
</span> </span><div align="LEFT">
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">“I’m </span></span><i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Italic; font-size: small;">promoting </span></span></i><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">you.”</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;"><br />
<span style="font-family: TimesTenLTStd-Roman; font-size: small;">
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“To what? There’s nowhere else to go in a flower shop.</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
You either make the bouquets, run the register, deliver the</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
flowers, or manage the bloody thing.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Exactly. You’re too educated to run the register. Rumor</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
has it that driving…” He chose his words carefully. “Isn’t one</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
of your strong points, so you won’t be able to deliver flowers</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
once my insurance company sees your records. And you’ve</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
already proven yourself as manager. It’s time for you to</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
move on.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She gaped at him. “This is Harmony Hills. There’s not</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
a lot of room for upward mobility. You bloom where you’re</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
planted.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
He leaned back in his seat. “Agreed. And Donovan,</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Inc. is where you’re going to be planted. You have a</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
master’s degree. I am coordinating a fortune. I’m smart and</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
experienced, and even educated, but you’re the one with the</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
MBA. And someday I’d like to slow down. Work a day or</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
two a week while someone else ‘minds the store.’”</div>
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Her eyes got even bigger, if that were possible. “You’re</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
hiring me to run your family’s fortune?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” He sat forward again,</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
confused about why she was reacting so badly to what was,</div>
<br />
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essentially, a lucrative offer. “I’m hiring you to assist me. At</div>
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some point, I’ll be bringing other people into the mix. I’m</div>
<br />
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not saying one person is going to take over for me. What I’d</div>
<br />
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really like to do is build a team. I would manage the team</div>
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and you would be one of the members. Probably my go-to</div>
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girl because, as my first hire, you’d be the most experienced.</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
Are you on board?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“I’m the first?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“You’re the first.”</div>
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Her eyes narrowed. “Where would I work?”</div>
<br />
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“There’s an office right outside this door.”</div>
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She frowned. “Then where will the other people work?”</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
“I have four offices back here, but someday I might need</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
a full office building in town.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Okay. What’s my salary?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“About four times what you made at Buds and</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
Blossoms.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Holy cats.”</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
He leaned back, glad this conversation had finally found</div>
<br />
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its footing. “This is a totally different situation than the</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
flower shop. You’ll work with me to choose from the projects</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
or investments available for the family’s money. Directly</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
with me.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She leaned back, too. “Oh.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
He fought the odd thought that she was trying to get</div>
<br />
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away from him. “You don’t want to work with me?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Her smile suddenly looked fake. “No. No. It’s fine.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
But he had the distinct impression it wasn’t fine. She</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
seemed to be the opposite of what he’d expected. He’d</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
thought she’d jump for joy. Yet here she was hesitant.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“So our first order of business is to replace you and</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
your parents at the flower shop. You don’t happen to have</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
résumés on file?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She sniffed a laugh. “In Harmony Hills?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
His decision to keep the business of investing his family’s</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
money in Harmony Hills was fraught with problems like a</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
very small employee pool. Still, he wasn’t sorry he’d done it.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
The family was together, without their abusive dad, who had</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
moved to Arizona. And finally the Donovans had a chance</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
to experience real family life. He wouldn’t trade that for</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
ease of finding employees.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“No. I suppose you don’t have résumés.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She carefully met his gaze again. “I can write a ‘help</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
wanted’ ad and have it in tomorrow’s paper.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Okay. Go out to the desk and do that now.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She rose. “No time right now. I’ll have to do it in between</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
flower arrangements. My parents might have already</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
mentally moved to South Carolina, but I have a wedding on</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
Saturday and two funerals.”</div>
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<div align="LEFT">
“Oh.” He rose too. “There’s no one else at the flower</div>
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shop?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“It really only took my mom and dad and me to run it.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“So you can’t start working for me until you’ve replaced</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
all of your staff?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Don’t be hasty.” Her eyes narrowed as if she were</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
thinking. “My neighbors, the Benjamin Brats?” She gave</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
the nickname the town had bestowed on the children of her</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Carl Benjamin, because, well, their</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
kids were brats. “They owe me a favor. I can use them to</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
help out. They can take orders and run the register while I</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
make the bouquets and deliver them.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“You’d leave them in charge of the shop?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Get them in the right mood and they’re surprisingly</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
responsible.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“And who’s going to help you with the bouquets?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She gave him a strange look. “No one.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“You’re going to do a wedding and two funerals alone?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“I’ve been doing it since grad school.” She laughed and</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
the sound filled him with warmth. Filled the whole office</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
with warmth. The real Izzy was back. “Actually, I can do all</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
this and still give you a few hours tomorrow, Thursday, and</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Friday morning.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She caught his gaze. Smiled.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“What time do you want me to start?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“How early do you need to be here to be able to get a few</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
hours of training in and still get all of Buds and Blossoms’</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
work done?”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She mentally calculated her answer, her eyes narrowing</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
again.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Let’s say seven.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
“Okay, seven it is.” In the same way he ended all business</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
meetings, he extended his hand to shake hers. “We’ll see you</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
tomorrow morning, then.”</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
She took his hand. Her smooth pink palm met his callused</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
hand. She was incredibly soft, prettier than he remembered,</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
and an adult now. Not cute little Izzy who worked in her</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
parents’ flower shop. But Belle. A mature woman with an</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
MBA who was his first employee.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
He intended to make this work. That probably meant</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
getting her to admit whatever it was that made her so</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
standoffish with him. But he could do that. He was an expert</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
with people. He just had to find the right time. Maybe get her</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
alone someplace more comfortable than his office so they</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
could have a more relaxed, more personal conversation.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
That’s what he’d do. Get her alone somewhere relaxed.</div>
<br />
<div align="LEFT">
Like maybe a booth at Petie’s Pub, where it was dark and</div>
<br />
quiet. Surely that would loosen her up.</span> </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2dtM1sJnQuM/VdXpjB4OW8I/AAAAAAAAAVw/6e7sJIGuX9c/s1600/HeadOverHeelsBoss_1600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2dtM1sJnQuM/VdXpjB4OW8I/AAAAAAAAAVw/6e7sJIGuX9c/s320/HeadOverHeelsBoss_1600.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-87004664275024249682015-06-17T06:51:00.000-07:002015-06-17T06:51:03.099-07:00A BRIDE FOR THE ITALIAN BOSS
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter
1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Italy had to be the most beautiful place in the world.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Daniella Tate glanced around in awe at the cobblestone streets
and blue skies of Florence. She’d taken a train here, but now had to board a bus
for the village of Monte Calanetti. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">After
purchasing her ticket, she strolled to a wooden bench. But as she sat, she
noticed a woman a few rows over. Stunning with her white-blonde hair and slim
build, the woman stared out into space. The faraway look in her eyes triggered
Daniella’s empathy. Having grown up a foster child, she knew what it felt like
to be alone, sometimes scared, usually confused. And she saw all three of those
emotions in the woman’s pretty blue eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">An
announcement for boarding the next bus came over the public address system. An older
woman sitting beside the blonde rose and slid her fingers around the bag
sitting at her feet. The pretty blonde rose too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Excuse
me. That’s my bag.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
older woman spoke in angry, rapid-fire Italian and the blonde, speaking
American English, said, “I’m sorry. I don’t understand a word of what you’re
saying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">But
the older woman clutched the bag to her and very clearly told the American that
it was her carryon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
bounced from her seat and scurried over. She faced the American. “I speak
Italian.” Then she turned to the older woman. In flawless Italian, she asked if
she was sure the black bag was hers, because there was a similar bag on the
floor on the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
older woman flushed with embarrassment. She apologetically gave the bag to the
American, grabbed her carryon and scampered off to catch her bus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
pretty blonde sighed with relief and turned her blue eyes to Daniella. “Thank
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“No
problem. When you responded in English it wasn’t a great leap to assume you
didn’t speak the language.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
woman’s eyes clouded. “I don’t.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Do
you have an interpreter? A friend coming to meet you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
winced. “Then I hope you have a good English-to-Italian dictionary.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
American pointed to a small listening device. “I’ve downloaded the “best”
language system.” She smiled slightly. “It promises I’ll be fluent in five
weeks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
laughed. “It could be a long five weeks.” She smiled and offered her hand. “I’m
Daniella, by the way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
pretty American hesitated, but finally shook Daniella’s hand and said,
“Louisa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s
my first trip to Italy. I’ve been teaching English in Rome, but my foster
mother was from Tuscany. I’m going to use this final month of my trip to find
her home.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
tilted her head. “Your foster mother?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
winced. “Sorry. I’m oversharing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
smiled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“It’s
just that I’m so excited to be here. I’ve always wanted to visit Italy.” She didn’t
mention that her longtime boyfriend had proposed the day before she left for
her teaching post in Rome. That truly would be oversharing, but also she hadn’t
known what to make of Paul’s request to marry him. Had he proposed before her
trip to tie her to him? Or had they hit the place in their relationship where
marriage really was the next step? Were they ready? Was marriage right for
them? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Too
many questions came with his offer of marriage. So she hadn’t accepted. She’d
told him she would answer him when she returned from Italy the first of March. She’d
planned this February side-trip to be a nice, uncomplicated space of time before
she settled down to life as a teacher in the New York City school system. Paul had
ruined it with a proposal she should have eagerly accepted, but had stumbled
over. So her best option was not to think about it until she had to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Next
month.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I
extended my trip so I could have some time to bum around. See the village my foster
mother came from, and hopefully meet her family.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">To
Daniella’s surprise, Louisa laughed. “That sounds like fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
understanding in Louisa’s voice caused Danielle to brighten again, thinking
they had something in common. “So you’re a tourist too?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
frowned. Louisa’s tone in the one simple word suddenly made her feel as if
she’d crossed a line. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
sighed. “It’s okay. I’m just a bit nervous. You were kind to come to my rescue.
I don’t mean to be such a ninny. I’m on my way to Monte Calanetti.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella’s
mouth fell open. “So am I.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
announcement that their bus was boarding came over the loudspeaker. Danielle
faced the gate. Louisa did too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
smiled. “Looks like we’re off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes.”
Louisa’s mysterious smile formed again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">They
boarded the bus and Daniella chose a spot in the middle, believing that was the
best place to see the sights on the drive to the quaint village. After tucking
her backpack away, she took her seat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">To
her surprise, Louisa paused beside her. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
happily said, “Of course, I don’t mind! That would be great.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">But
as Louisa sat, Daniella took note again that something seemed off about her. Everything
Louisa did had a sense of hesitancy about it. Everything she said seemed
incomplete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“So
you have a month before you go home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“All
of February.” Daniella took a deep breath. “And I intend to enjoy every minute
of it. Even if I do have to find work.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Work?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“A
waitressing job. Or maybe part-time shop clerk. That kind of thing. New York is
a very expensive place to live. I don’t want to blow every cent I made teaching
on a vacation. I’ll need that money when I get back home. So I intend to earn
my spending money while I see the sights.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">As
the bus eased out of the station, Louisa said, “That’s smart.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
sat up, not wanting to miss anything. Louisa laughed. “Your foster mother should
have come with you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Pain
squeezed Daniella’s heart. Just when she thought she was adjusted to her loss,
the reality would swoop in and remind her that the sweet, loving woman who’d
saved her was gone. She swallowed hard. “She passed a few months ago. She left
me the money for my plane ticket to Italy in her will.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa’s
beautiful face blossomed with sympathy. “I’m so sorry. That was careless of
me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
shook her head. “No. You had no way of knowing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
studied her. “So you have no set plans? No schedule of things you want to see
and do? No places you’ve already scouted out to potentially get a job?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“No
schedule. I want to wing it. I’ve done a bit of research about Rosa’s family and
I know the language. So I think I’ll be okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
laughed. “Better off than I’ll be since I don’t know the language.” She held up
her listening device. “At least not for another five weeks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
bus made several slow turns, getting them out of the station and onto the
street. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Taking
a final look at Florence, Dani breathed, “Isn’t this whole country gorgeous?”
Even in winter with barren trees, the scene was idyllic. Blue skies. Rolling
hills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes.”
Louisa bit her lip, then hesitantly said, “I’m here because I inherited
something too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes.”
She paused, studied Daniella’s face, as if assessing if she could trust her
before she said, “A villa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh,
my God! A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">villa</i>!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
glanced away. “I know. It’s pretty amazing. The place is called Palazzo di
Comparino.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Do
you have pictures?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes.”
She pulled out a picture of a tall, graceful house. Rich green vines grew in
rows in the background beneath a blue sky.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">It
was everything Dani could do not to gape in awe. “It’s beautiful.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
laughed. “Yes. But so far I haven’t seen anything in Italy that isn’t gorgeous.”
She winced. “I hate to admit it, but I’m excited.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I’d
be beyond excited.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m
told Monte Calanetti grew up around Palaazzo Chianti because of the vineyard
which is part of the villa I inherited. Back then, they would have needed lots
of help picking grapes, making the wine. Those people are the ancestors of the
people who live there now.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“That
is so cool.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Yes,
except I know nothing about running a vineyard.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
batted a hand. “With the Internet these days, you can learn anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
sucked in a breath. “I hope so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
laid her hand on Louisa’s in a show of encouragement. “You’ll be fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louise’s
face formed another of her enigmatic smiles and Daniella’s sixth sense perked
up again. Louisa appeared to want to be happy, but behind her smile was
something…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
brought her gaze back to Daniella’s. “You know, I could probably use a little
help when I get there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Help?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I
don’t think I’m just going to move into a villa without somebody coming to
question me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Ah.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“And
if it’s soon, I’m going to be at a loss if they’re speaking Italian.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
winced. “Especially if it’s the sheriff.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
laughed. “I don’t even know if they have sheriffs here. My letter is in
English, but the officials are probably Italian. It could turn out to be a
mess. So, I’d be happy to put you up for a while.” She caught Dani’s gaze.
“Even all four weeks you’re looking for your foster-mom’s relatives – if you’d
be my translator.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Overwhelmed
by the generous offer, Daniella said, “That would be fantastic. But I wouldn’t
want to put you out.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“You’ll
certainly earn your keep if somebody comes to check my story.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
grinned. “I’d be staying in a villa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
laughed. “I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">own </i>a villa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Okay,
then. I’d be happy to be your translator while I’m here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Thank
you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Glad
for the friendship forming between them, Daniella engaged Louisa in
conversation as miles of hills and blue, blue sky rolled past them. Then
suddenly a walled village appeared to the right. The bus turned in. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Aged,
but well-maintained stucco, brick and stone buildings greeted them. Cobblestone
streets were filled with happy, chatting people. Through the large front windows
of the establishments, Dani could see the coffee drinkers or diners inside
while outdoor dining areas sat empty because of chilly first of February
temperatures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
center circle of the town came into view. The bus made the wide turn but Dani suddenly
saw a sign that read Palazzo Di Comparino. The old, worn wood planks had a
thick black line painted through them as if to cancel out the offer of vineyard
tours.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
grabbed Louisa’s arm and pointed out the window. “Look!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Oh, my gosh!” Louisa jumped out of her seat
and yelled, “Stop!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
rose too. She said, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Fermi qui, per
favore</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">It
took a minute for the bus driver to hear and finally halt the bus. After gathering
their belongings, Louisa and Daniella faced the lane that led to Louisa’s villa.
Because Dani had only a backpack and Louisa had two suitcases and a carry-on
bag, Daniella said, “Let me take your suitcase.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
smiled. “Having you around is turning out to be very handy.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
laughed as they walked down the long lane that took them to the villa. The pale
brown brick house soon became visible. The closer they got, the bigger it seemed
to be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
reverently whispered, “Holy cow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
licked her suddenly dry lips. “It’s huge.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
main house sprawled before them. Several stories, and long and deep, like a
house with suites not bedrooms, Louisa’s new home could only be described as a
mansion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">They
silently walked up the stone path to the front door. When they reached it,
Louisa pulled out a key and manipulated the lock. As the door opened, the stale,
musty scent of a building that had been locked up for years assaulted them.
Dust and cobwebs covered the crystal chandelier in the huge marble-floored
foyer, as well as the paintings on the walls and the curved stairway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
cautiously stepped inside. “Is your family royalty?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
gazed around in awe. “I didn’t think so.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Meaning
they could be?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I
don’t know.” Louisa turned to the right and walked into a sitting room. Again,
dust covered everything. A tea cup sat on a table by a dusty chair. Passing
through that room, they entered a room that appeared to be a library or study.
From there, they found a dining room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Watermarks
on the ceiling spoke of damage from a second-floor bathroom or maybe even the
roof. The kitchen was old and in need of remodeling. The first floor bathrooms
were outdated, as was every bathroom in the suites upstairs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">After
only getting as far as the second floor, Louisa turned to Daniella with tears
in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize the house would be in such
disrepair. From the picture, it looked perfect. If you want to get a hotel room
in town, I’ll understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Are
you kidding!” Daniella rolled Louisa’s big suitcase to a stop and walked into
the incredibly dusty, cob-web covered bedroom. She spun around and faced
Louisa. “I love it. With a dust rag, some cleanser for the bathroom and a
window washing, this room will be perfect.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
hesitantly followed Daniella into the bedroom. “You’re an optimist.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
laughed. “I didn’t say you wouldn’t need to call a contractor about a few
things. But we can clean our rooms and the kitchen.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Raffaele Mancini stared at
Gino Scarpetti, a tall, stiff man, who worked as the Maître D for Mancini’s, Rafe’s
very exclusive, upscale, Michelin-star restaurant located in the heart of wine
country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Mancini’s
had been carefully crafted to charm customers. The stone and wood walls of the
renovated farm house gave the place the feel of days long gone. Shutters on the
windows blocked the light of the evening sun, but also added to the old world
charisma. Rows of bottles of merlot and Chianti reminded diners that this area
was the home of the best vineyards, the finest wines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gino ripped off the Mancini’s name tag pinned to his white shirt.
“You, sir, are now without a Maître D.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A hush fell over the dining room. Even the usual clink and
clatter of silverware and the tinkle of good crystal wine glasses halted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Gino
slapped the name tag into Rafe’s hand. Before Rafe could comment or argue, the
man was out the door.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Someone
began to clap. Then another person. And another. Within seconds the
sophisticated Tuscany restaurant dining room filled with the sounds of applause
and laughter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Laughter!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">They
were enjoying his misery!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
looked at the line of customers forming beside the podium just inside the door,
then the chattering diners laughing about his temper and his inability to keep
good help. He tossed his hands in the air before he marched back to the big ultra-modern,
stainless steel restaurant kitchen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He pointed at the thin boy who’d begun apprenticing at Mancini’s
the week before. “Take off your smock and get to the Maître D stand. You are
seating people.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The boy’s brown eyes grew round with fear. “I…I…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rafe raised a brow. “You can’t take names and seat customers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I can…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But you don’t want to.” Rafe didn’t have to say anything beyond
that. He didn’t need to say, “If you can’t obey orders, you’re fired.” He
didn’t need to remind anyone in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">his </i>kitchen
that he was boss or that anyone working in the restaurant needed to be able to
do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">anything</i> that needed to be done to
assure the absolute best dining experience for the customers. Everyone knew he
was not a chef to be trifled with.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Except right now, in the dining room, they were laughing at him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The boy whipped off his smock, walked it to a laundry bin and
headed out to the dining room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Seeing the white-smocked staff gaping at him, Rafe shook his
head. “Get to work!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Knives instantly rose. The clatter of chopping and the sizzle of
sautéing filled the kitchen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He sucked in a breath. Not only was his poor restaurant plagued
by troubles, but now it seemed the diners had no sympathy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You shouldn’t have fired Gino.” Emory Danoto, Rafe’s sous chef
spoke as he worked. Short and bald with a happy face and nearly as much talent
as Rafe in the kitchen, Emory was also Rafe’s mentor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Rafe
glanced around, inspecting the food prep, pretending he was fine. Damn it. He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> fine. He did not want a frightened
rabbit working for him. Not even outside the kitchen. And the response of the
diners? That was a fluke. Somebody apparently believed it funny to see a
world-renowned chef tortured by incompetents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I didn’t fire Gino. He quit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Emory cast him a condemning look. “You yelled at him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rafe yelled, “I yell at everybody.” Then he calmed himself and shook
his head. “I am the chef. I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">am</i> Mancini’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And you must be obeyed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Don’t make me sound like a prima donna. I am doing what’s best
for the restaurant.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, well, Mr. I’m-doing-what’s-best-for-the-restaurant, have
you forgotten about our upcoming visit from the Michelin people?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A rumor.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Emory sniffed a laugh. “Since when have we ever ignored a rumor
that we were to be visited? Your star rating could be in jeopardy. You’re the
one who says chefs who ignore rumors get caught with their pants down. If we
want to keep our stars, we have to be ready for this visit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rafe stifled a sigh. Emory was right, of course. His trusted
friend only reminded him of what he already knew. Having located his business
in the countryside, instead of in town, he’d made it even more exclusive. But
that also meant he didn’t get street traffic. He needed word of mouth. He
needed every diner to recommend him to their friends. He needed to be in travel
brochures. To be a stop for tour buses. To be recommended by travel agents. He
couldn’t lose a star.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The lunch crowd left. Day quickly became night. Before Rafe
could draw a steady breath the restaurant filled again. Wasn’t that the way of
it when everything was falling apart around you? With work to be done, there
was no time to think things through. When the last patron finally departed, and
the staff dispersed after the kitchen cleaning, Rafe walked behind the shiny
wood bar, pulled a bottle of whiskey from the shelf, along with a glass, and
slid onto a tall black rot iron stool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hearing the sound of the door opening, he yelled, “We’re
closed.” Then grimaced. Was he trying to get a reputation for being grouchy
rather than exacting?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Good thing I’m not a customer then.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He swiveled around at the sound of his friend Nico Amatucci’s
voice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Tall, dark-haired Nico glanced at the whiskey bottle, then sat
on a stool beside Rafe. “Is there a reason you’re drinking alone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rafe rose, got another glass and set it on the bar in front of
Nico. He poured whiskey into the glass and slid it to him. “I’m not drinking
alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“But you were going to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I lost my Maître D.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nico raised his glass in salute and drank the shot. “You’re
surprised?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m an artist.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re a pain in the ass.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That too.” He sighed. “But I don’t want to be. I just want
things done correctly. I’ll spread the word tomorrow that I’m looking for
someone. Not a big deal.” He made the statement casually, but deep down he knew
he was wrong. It was a big deal. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t have the week
or two it’ll take to collect resumes and interview people. I need somebody
tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Nico raised his glass to toast. “Then, you, my friend, are in
trouble.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Didn’t Rafe know it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="page-break-before: always;" />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Chapter
2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The next morning, Daniella
and Louisa found a tin of tea and some frozen waffles in a freezer. “We’re so
lucky no one had the electricity shut off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Not
lucky. The place runs off a generator. We turn it on in winter to keep the
pipes from freezing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
and Louisa gasped and spun around at the male voice behind them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">A
handsome dark-haired man stood in the kitchen doorway, frowning at them. Though
he appeared to be Italian, he spoke flawless English. “I’m going to have to ask
you to leave. I’ll let you finish your breakfast, but this is private property.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa’s
chin lifted. “I know it’s private property. I’m Louisa Harrison. I inherited
this villa.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
man’s dark eyes narrowed. “I don’t suppose you have proof of that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Actually,
I do. A letter from my solicitor.” She straightened her shoulders. “I think the
better question is who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I’m
Nico Amatucci.” He pointed behind him. “I live next door. I’ve been watching
over this place.” He smiled thinly. “I’d like to see the letter from your
solicitor. Or…” He pulled out his cell phone. “Should I call the police</span><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 13pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
brushed her hands down her blue jeans to remove the dust they’d collected when
she and Daniella had searched for tea. “No need.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Not
wanting any part of the discussion, Daniella began preparing the tea.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“And
who are you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
shrugged. “Just a friend of Louisa’s.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
sniffed as if he didn’t believe her. Not accustomed to being under such
scrutiny, Daniella focused all her attention on getting water into the tea pot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
returned with the letter. When Nico reached for it, she held it back. “Not so
fast. I’ll need the key you used to get in.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
held Louisa’s gaze. Even from across the room, Daniella felt the heat of it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Only
if your papers check out.” His frosty smile could have frozen water. “Palazzo Di
Comparino has been empty for years. Yet, suddenly here you are.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“With
a letter,” she said, handing it to Nico. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
didn’t release her gaze as he took the letter from her hands, then he scanned
it and peered at Louisa again. “Welcome, to Palazzo Di Comparino.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
let out her pent up breath. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
held his gaze. “Just like that? How do you know I didn’t fake this letter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Giving
the paper back to her, he said, “First, I knew the name of the solicitor
handling the estate. Second, there are a couple of details in the letter that
an outsider wouldn’t know. You’re legit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Though
Daniella would have loved to have known the details, Louisa didn’t even seem
slightly curious. She tucked the sheet of paper into her jeans pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Nico
handed his key to Louisa as he glanced around the kitchen. “Being empty so
long, the place is in disrepair. So if there’s anything I can do to help--”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
cut him off with a curt, “I’m fine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Nico’s
eyes narrowed. Daniella didn’t know if he was unaccustomed to his offers of
assistance being ignored, or if something else was happening here, but the
kitchen became awkwardly quiet. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">When
Daniella’s teapot whistled, her heart jumped. Always polite, she asked, “Can I
get anyone tea?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Watching
Louisa warily, Nico said, “I’d love a cup.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Drat.
He was staying. Darned the sense of etiquette her foster mother had drilled
into her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I’ll
make some later.” Louisa said as she turned and walked out of the kitchen,
presumably to put the letter and the key away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">As
the door swung closed behind her, Nico said, “She’s a friendly one.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
winced. She’d like to point out to Mr. Nico Amatucci that he’d been a tad rude
when he’d demanded to see the letter from the solicitor, but she held her
tongue. This argument wasn’t any of her business. She had enough troubles of
her own.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Have
you known Ms. Harrison long?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“We
just met. I saw someone mistakenly take her bag and helped because Louisa
doesn’t speak Italian. Then we were on the same bus.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh,
so you hit the jackpot when you could find someone to stay with.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella’s
eyes widened. The man was insufferable. “I’m not taking advantage of her! I just
finished a teaching job in Rome. Louisa needs an interpreter for a few weeks.”
She put her shoulders back. “And today I intend to go into town to look for
temporary work to finance a few weeks of sightseeing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
took the cup of tea from her hands. “What kind of work?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">His
softened voice took some of the wind out of her sails. She shrugged. “Anything
really. Temp jobs are temp jobs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Would
you be willing to be a hostess at a restaurant?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Confused,
she said, “Sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I
have a friend who needs someone to fill in while he hires a permanent
replacement for a Maître D who just quit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Her
feelings for the mysterious Nico warmed a bit. Maybe he wasn’t so bad after
all? “Sounds perfect.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Do
you have a pen?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
nodded, pulling one from her purse.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
scribbled down the address on a business card he took from his pocket. “Go here.
Don’t call. Just go at lunchtime and tell Rafe that Nico sent you.” He nodded
at the card he’d handed to her. “Show him that and he’ll know you’re not
lying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
set his tea on the table. “Tell Ms. Harrison goodbye for me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">With
that he left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Glad
he was gone, Daniella happily glanced at the card in her hands. How could a guy
who’d so easily helped her have such a difficult time getting along with
Louisa?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
blew her breath out on a long sigh. She supposed it didn’t matter. Eventually
they’d become friends. They were neighbors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
finished her tea, but Louisa never returned to the kitchen. Excited to tell Louisa
of her job prospect, Dani searched the downstairs for her, but didn’t find her.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
night before they’d tidied two bedrooms enough that they could sleep in them,
so she climbed the stairs and headed for the room Louisa had chosen. She found
her new friend wrestling with some bedding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“What
are you doing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I
saw a washer and dryer. I thought I’d wash the bed clothes so our rooms really
will be habitable tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
raced to help Louisa with the huge comforter. “Our rooms were fine. We don’t
need these comforters, and the sheets had been protected from the dust by the
comforters so they were clean. Besides, these won’t fit in a typical washer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
dropped the comforter. “I know.” Her face fell in dismay. “I just need to do
something to make the place more livable.” Her gaze met Daniella’s. “You saw
the outside. It’s grown over. Inside, there’s dust and clutter…and watermarks
that mean some of the bathrooms and maybe even the roof need to be repaired.”
She sat on the bed. “What am I going to do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani
sat beside her. “We’re going to take things one step at a time.” She tucked Nico’s
business card into her pocket. “This morning, we’ll clean the kitchen and
finish our bedrooms. Tomorrow, we’ll pick a room and clean it, and every day after
that we’ll just keep cleaning one room at a time.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“What
about the roof?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“We’ll
hope it doesn’t rain?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
laughed. “I’m serious.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Well,
I have a chance for a job at a restaurant.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“You
do?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
winced. “Yes. Nico knew someone who needs a hostess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
ignored the dislike in her friend’s voice. “What better way to find a good
contractor than by chit chatting with the locals?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Louisa
smiled and shook her head. “If anybody can chit chat her way into finding a
good contractor, it’s you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Which
is also going to make me a good hostess.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“What
time’s your appointment?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Lunchtime.”
She winced. “From the address on this card, I think we’re going to have to hope
there’s a car in that big, fancy garage out back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Standing behind the podium
in the entry to Mancini’s, Rafe struggled with the urge to throw his hands in
the air and storm off. On his left, two American couples spoke broken,
ill-attempted Italian in an effort to make reservations for that night. In
front of him, a businessman demanded to be seated immediately. To his right, a
couple kissed. And behind them, what seemed to be a sea of diners groused and
grumbled as he tried to figure out a computer system with a seating chart,
superimposed with reservations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">How could no one in his
kitchen staff be familiar with this computer software?<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Everybody
just give me a minute!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He hit a button and the screen disappeared. After a second of
shock, he cursed. He expected the crowd to groan. Instead they laughed. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Laughed. Again laughter!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">How
was it that everybody seemed to be happy that he was suffering? These people –
customers – were the people he loved, the people he worked so hard to please.
How could they laugh at him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
tried to get the screen to reappear, but it stayed dark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He glanced up to see an American, clearly forgetting she was in
Italy because she spoke English, as she made her way through the crowd. Cut in
an angled, modern style, her pretty blond hair stopped at her chin. Her blue
eyes were determined. The buttons of her black coat had been left open,
revealing jeans and pale blue sweater were neat, but worn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When she reached the podium, she didn’t even look at Rafe. She
addressed the gathered crowd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ladies and gentlemen,” she said in flawless Italian. “Give me
two minutes and everyone will be seated.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His eyebrows rose. She was a cheeky little thing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>When she finally faced him, her blue eyes locked on his. Rich
with color and bright with enthusiasm, they didn’t merely display her
confidence; they caused his heart to give a little bounce.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She smiled and stuck out her hand. “Daniella Tate. Your friend
Nico sent me.” When he didn’t take her hand, her smile drooped as she tucked a
strand of yellow hair behind her ear. But her face brightened again. She rifled
in her jeans pocket, pulled out a business card and offered it to him. “See?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He glanced at Nico’s card. “So he believes you are right to be
my hostess?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Temporarily.” She winced. “I just finished a teaching position in
Rome. For the next four weeks I’m sightseeing, but I’m trying to supplement my
extended stay with a temp job. I think he thinks we can help each other – at
least while you interview candidates.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sweet, melodious tone of her voice caused something warm and
soft to thrum through Rafe, something he’d never felt before – undoubtedly relief
that his friend had solved his problem. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I
see.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hey, buddy, come on. We’re hungry! If you’re not going to seat
us we’ll go somewhere else.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Not waiting for him to reply, Daniella nudged Rafe out of the
way, stooped down to find a tablet on the Maître D stand shelf and faced the
dining area. She quickly drew squares and circles representing all the tables
and wrote the number of chairs around each one. She put x’s over the tables
that were taken.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Had he thought she was cheeky? Apparently, that was just the tip
of the iceberg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She faced the Americans. “How many in your party?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Four. We want reservations for tonight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Seven.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Flipping the tablet page, she wrote their name and the time on
the next piece of paper. As the Americans walked out, she said, “Next?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Awestruck at her audacity, Rafe almost yelled. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Almost</span></i><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He
could easily give her the boot, but he needed a hostess. He had a growing
suspicion about the customers laughing when he lost his temper, as if he was
becoming some sort of sideshow. He didn’t want his temper to be the reason
people came to his restaurant. He wanted his food, the fantastic aromas, the
succulent tastes to be the draw. Nico had all but recommended this girl by
giving her his card as an introduction. Wouldn’t he be a fool to toss her out?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The businessman pushed his way over to her. “I have an
appointment in an hour. I need to be served first.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Daniella Tate smiled at Rafe as if asking permission to seat the
businessman, and his brain emptied. She really was as pretty as she was cheeky.
Luckily, she took his blank stare as approval. She turned to the businessman
and said, “Of course, we’ll seat you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She led the man to the back of the dining room, to a table for
two, seated him with a smile and returned to the podium.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Forget about how cheeky she was. Forget about his brain that
stalled when he looked at her. She was a very good hostess. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Rafe
cleared his throat. “Talk to the waitresses and find out whose turn it is
before you seat anyone else.” He cleared his throat again. “They have a
system.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She smiled at him. “Sure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His heart did something funny in his chest, forcing his gaze to her
pretty blue eyes again. Warmth whooshed through him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Confused,
he turned and marched away. With so much at stake in his restaurant, including,
it seemed, his reputation, his funny feelings for an employee were irrelevant.
Nothing. Whatever trickled through his bloodstream, it had to have more annoyance
than attraction. After all, recommendation from Nico or not, she’d sort of
walked in and taken over his restaurant.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Dani stared after the chef
as he left. She wasn’t expecting someone so young…or so gorgeous. At least six
feet tall, with wavy brown hair so long he had it tied off his face, and gray
eyes, the guy could be a celebrity chef on television back home. Just looking
at him had caused her breathing to stutter. She actually felt a rush of heat
careen through her veins. He was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>good
looking.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">But
it was also clear that he was in over his head without a Maître D. As she’d
stood in the back of the long line to get into the restaurant, her good old
fashioned American common sense had kicked in, and she’d simply done what
needed to be done: pushed her way to the front, grabbed some menus and seated
customers. And he’d hired her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Behind
her someone said, “You’d better keep your hair behind your ears. He’ll yell
about it being in your face and potentially in his food once he gets over being
happy you’re here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She turned to see one of the waitresses. Dressed in black
trousers and a white blouse, she looked slim and professional.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That</i> was happy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her pretty black ponytail bobbed as she nodded. “Si. That was
happy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, I’m going to hate seeing him upset.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Prepare yourself for it. Because he gets upset every day.
Several times a day. That’s why Gino quit. I’m Allegra by the way. The other
two waitresses are Zola and Giovanna. And the chef is Chef Mancini. Everyone
calls him Chef Rafe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He said you have a system of how you want people seated.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Allegra took Daniella’s seating chart and drew two lines dividing
the tables into three sections. “Those are our stations. You seat one person in
mine, one person in Zola’s and one person in Gio’s, then start all over again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Daniella smiled. “Easy, peasy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Scusi?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That means no problem.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ah. Si.” Allegra smiled and walked away. Daniella took two more
menus and seated another couple.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The lunchtime crowd that had assembled at the door of Mancini’s
settled quickly. Dani easily found a rhythm of dividing the customers up
between the three waitresses. Zola and Gio introduced themselves, and she
actually had a good time being hostess of the restaurant that looked like an
old world farm house and smelled like pure heaven. The aromas of onions and
garlic, sweet peppers and spicy meats rolled through the air, making her
confident she could talk up the food and promise diners a wonderful meal, even
without having tasted it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">During
the lull after lunch, Zola and Gio went home. The dining room grew quiet. Not
sure if she should stay or leave, since Allegra remained to be available for the
occasional tourist who ambled in, Daniella stayed too.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>In between customers, she helped clear and reset tables, checked
silverware to make sure it sparkled, arranged chairs so that everything in the
dining room was picture perfect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But soon even the stragglers stopped. Daniella stood by the
podium, her elbow leaning against it, her chin on her closed fist, wondering
what Louisa was doing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why are you still here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The sound of Rafe’s voice sent a surge of electricity through
her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
turned with a gasp. Her voice wobbled when she said, “I thought you’d need me
for dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You were supposed to go home for the break. Or are you sneakily
trying to get paid for hours you really don’t work?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her eyes widened. Anger punched through her. What the hell was
wrong with this guy? She’d done him a favor and he was questioning her motives?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Without
thinking, she stormed over to him. Putting herself in his personal space, she
looked up and caught his gaze. “And how was I supposed to know that, since you
didn’t tell me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She expected him to back down. At the very least to realize his
mistake. Instead, he scoffed. “It’s common sense.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, in America--”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He cut her off with a harsh laugh. “You Americans. Think you
know everything. But you’re not in America now. You are in Italy.” He pointed a
finger at her nose. “You will do what I say.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, I’ll be happy to do what you say as soon as you say
something!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Allegra stopped dropping silverware to linen-covered tables. The
empty, quiet restaurant grew stone cold silent. Time seemed to crawl to a stop.
The vein in Rafe’s temple pulsed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dani’s body tingled. Every employee in the world knew it wasn’t
wise to yell at the boss, but, technically, she wasn’t yelling. She was
standing up to him. As a foster child, she’d had to learn how to protect
herself, when to stay quiet and when to demand her rights. If she let him push
her around now, he’d push her around the entire month she worked for him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He threw his hands in the air, pivoted away from her and headed
to the kitchen. “Go the hell home and come back for dinner.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Daniella
blew out the breath she’d been holding. Her heart pounded so hard it hurt, but the
tingling in her blood became a surge of power. He might not have said the
words, but she’d won that little battle of wills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Still,
she felt odd that their communication had come down to a sort of yelling match
and knew she had to get the heck out of here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
grabbed her purse and headed for the old green car she and Louisa had found in
the garage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Ten minutes later, she was back in the kitchen of Palazzo di Comparino.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Though
Louisa had sympathetically made her a cup of tea, she laughed when Daniella told
her the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It’s not funny,” Dani insisted, but her lips rose into a smile
when she thought about how she must have looked standing up to the big, bad chef
everybody seemed to be afraid of. She wouldn’t tell her new friend that
standing up to him had put fire in her blood and made her heart gallop like a
prize stallion. She didn’t know what that was all about, but she did know part
of it, at least, stemmed from how good looking he was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Okay.
It was a little funny. But I like this job. It would be great to keep it for
the four weeks I’m here. But he didn’t tell me what time I was supposed to go
back. So we’re probably going to get into another fight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Or you could just go back at six. If he yells that you’re late,
calmly remind him that he didn’t give you the time you were to return. Make it
his fault.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It is his fault.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Louisa beamed. “Exactly. If you don’t stand up to him now, you’ll
either lose the job or spend the weeks you work for him under his thumb. You
have to do this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Dani sighed. “That’s what I thought.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Taking Louisa’s advice, she returned to the restaurant at six. A
very small crowd had built by the Maître D podium, and when she entered, she
noticed that most of the tables weren’t filled. Rafe shoved a stack of menus at
her and walked away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She shook her head, but smiled at the next customers in line. He
might have left without a word, but he hadn’t engaged her in a fight, and it
appeared she still had her job.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Maybe the answer to this was to just stay out of his way?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The evening went smoothly. Again, the wonderful scents that
filled the air prompted her to talk up the food, the wait staff and the wine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After an hour or so, Rafe called her into the kitchen.
Absolutely positive he had nothing to yell at her about, she straightened her
shoulders and walked into the stainless steel room and over to the stove where
he stood.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You wanted to see me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He presented a fork filled with pasta to her. “This is my
signature ravioli. I hear you talking about my dishes, so I want you to taste
so you can honestly tell customers it is the best food you have ever eaten.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She swallowed back a laugh at his confidence, but when her lips
wrapped around the fork and the flavor of the sweet sauce exploded on her
tongue, she pulled the ravioli off the fork and into her mouth with a groan.
“Oh, my God.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It is perfect, si?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You’re right. It is probably the best food I’ve ever eaten.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Emory, the short, bald sous chef, scrambled over. “Try this.” He
raised a fork full of meat to her lips. She took the bite and again, she
groaned. “What is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Beef brasato.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Oh my God, that’s good.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>A younger chef suddenly appeared before her with a spoon of
soup. “Minestrone,” he said, holding the spoon out to her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She drank the soup and closed her eyes to savor. “You guys are
the best cooks in the world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Everyone in the kitchen stopped. The room fell silent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">But
Emory laughed. “Chef Rafe is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">one</i> of
the best chefs in the world. These are his recipes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She turned and smiled at Rafe. “You’re amazing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She’d meant his cooking was amazing. His recipes were amazing.
Or maybe the way he could get the best out of his staff was amazing. But saying
the words while looking into his silver-gray eyes, the simple sentence took on
a totally different meaning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The room grew quiet again. She felt her face reddening. Rafe
held her gaze for a good twenty seconds before he finally pointed at the door.
“Go tell that to customers.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She walked out of the kitchen, licking the remains of the
fantastic food off her lips as she headed for the podium. With the exception of
that crazy little minute of eye contact, tasting the food had been fun. She
loved how proud the entire kitchen staff seemed to be of the delicious dishes
they prepared. And she saw the respect they had for their boss. Chef Rafe.
Clearly a very talented man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">With
two groups waiting to be seated, she grabbed menus and walked the first couple
to a table. “Right this way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Any
specialties tonight?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
faced the man and woman behind her, saying, “I can honestly recommend the chef’s
signature ravioli.” With the taste of the food still on her tongue, she smiled.
“And the minestrone soup is to die for. But if you’re in the mood for beef,
there’s a beef brasato that you’ll never forget.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She
said the words casually, but having sampled the food had the oddest effect on
her. Suddenly she felt part of it. She didn’t merely feel like a good hostess who
could recommend the delicious dishes because she’d tasted them. She got an
overwhelming sense that she was meant to be here. The feeling of destiny was so
strong it nearly overwhelmed her. But she drew in a quiet breath, smiled at the
couple and seated them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sense of destiny? That was almost funny. Children who grew up in
foster care gave up on destiny early, and contented themselves with a sense of
worth, confidence. It was better to educate yourself to be employable, than to
dally in day dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>As the night went on, Rafe and his staff continued to give her
bites and tastes of the dishes they prepared. As she became familiar with the
items on the menu, she tempted guests to try things. But she also listened to
stories of the sights the tourists had seen that day, and soothed the egos of those
who spoke broken Italian by telling stories of teaching English as a second
language in Rome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And the feeling that she was meant to be here grew, until her
heart swelled with it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Rafe watched her from the
kitchen door. Behind him, Emory laughed. “She’s pretty, right?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rafe faced him, concerned that his friend had seen their thirty
seconds of eye contact over the ravioli, and recognized that Rafe was having
trouble seeing Daniella Tate as an employee because she was so beautiful. When
she’d called him amazing, he’d struggled to keep his gaze on hers and off her
lips, but that didn’t stop the urge to kiss her. It blossomed to life in his
chest and clutched the air going into and out of his lungs making it stutter. He’d
needed all of those thirty seconds to get ahold of himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">But
Emory’s round face wore his usual smile. Nothing out of the ordinary. No light
of recognition in his eyes. Rafe’s unexpected reactions hadn’t been noticed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Rafe
turned back to the crack between the doors again. “She’s chatty.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You did tell her to talk up the food.” Emory sidled up to the
slim opening. “Besides, the customers seem to love her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Bah!” He spun away from the door. “We don’t need for customers
to love her. They come here for the food.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Emory shrugged. “Maybe. But we’re both aware Mancini’s was
getting to be a little more known for your temper than for its meals. A little
attention from a pretty girl, talking up <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">your
</i>dishes, might just cure your reputation problem. Put the food back in the
spotlight instead of your temper.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I still think she talks too much.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Emory shook his head. “Suit yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Rafe crossed his arms on his chest. He would suit himself. He
was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">famous </i>for suiting himself. That
was how he’d gotten to be a great chef. By learning and testing until he
created great meals. And he wanted the focus on those meals.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The
first chance he got, he intended to have a talk with Daniella Tate.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-75250562159787636722015-01-31T07:51:00.001-08:002015-01-31T07:51:28.363-08:00HER BROODING ITALIAN BOSS
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">Here's a sample from HER BROODING ITALIAN BOSS</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;"></span> </div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Standing
in the main room of the gallery, pressed in by art aficionados, Antonio glanced
at his watch. His “return” to the world of art had been a subtle, almost
disappointing, one. Olivia had other clients – working clients – she was
schmoozing right now. Tucker had found two business acquaintances he was
talking up. And Antonio stood by a gallery owner from Madrid who desperately
wanted him to do a showing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Half of him had gone breathless at the prospect. The
other half wanted to run in terror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The screech of a car grinding to a stop stabbed into
the noise of the gallery. He looked up, past Juanita Santos to the wall of
windows behind her. A red Jag had pulled up to the curb for valet parking. His
eyes narrowed. That looked just like Constanzo’s car.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">The driver’s door opened. A spike heel emerged,
connected to one long, slim leg.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">His eyebrows rose. The crowd outside the gallery
turned to the newcomer. Men smiled. Women gave her the onceover.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Antonio’s mouth fell open as Laura Beth tossed the
keys to the valet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">With her hair pulled up, piled high on her head, and
luscious in the slim black dress, she walked the cobblestone path like a model
working the catwalk. The dress rode her curves, accenting her womanly figure,
but the black color gave her a sleek, sophisticated look. In her worn jeans and
goofy librarian work clothes, she was an all-American girl. In this dress, she
was a woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">And all eyes were on her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His heart caught and his breathing
faltered, but he ignored them. He wasn’t in a position to get involved with
her. Though looking at her in that dress, he was again tempted. Still, for all
he knew, Constanzo had set this up. But, even if he hadn’t, his reasons for
staying away from Laura Beth were sound. Responsible. He feared watching her
belly swell with child, but his first marriage had also made him jaded, angry. She
was absolutely too nice for him. And right now she was about to be rejected at
the door. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">A gentleman, he couldn’t let that happen. He turned
to Juanita. “If you’ll excuse me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Of course.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He headed for the door, his heart
thundering in his chest with fear that she’d be embarrassingly refused entrance.
Instead, the young man smiled and motioned for her to enter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She dipped her head in thanks and glided
into the crowd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He stopped and waited for her to see him.
When she did, she approached him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, look at you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She smiled slowly. “You’ve got to stop
stealing my good lines.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He laughed. “I’m glad you’re here, but I’m
afraid I’m--”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He was about to say busy, when Olivia raced
over. “Laura Beth?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She raised her hands. “In the flesh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Olivia squealed with joy. “What are you
doing here?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I’m spending a few weeks with Antonio,
helping him try to clear out his office.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>One of Olivia’s eyebrows rose as she looked
at Antonio, who clearly hadn’t mentioned that her best friend was living with
him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Laura Beth laughed. “Don’t worry. Constanzo
hired me. Antonio didn’t. So he’s not really cooperating.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Olivia tilted her head at him. “Pity.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then Laura Beth totally surprised him by
squeezing Olivia’s hand and saying, “I’d love to chat. But Antonio was just
telling me that he’s busy. I’m assuming you’ve got people for him to meet, so
I’m going to walk around the gallery and, you know, browse.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Olivia gave her a quick hug. “Have fun. I do
have a few people I’d like Antonio to meet. But maybe we can catch up
tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Laura Beth smiled mysteriously. “Maybe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Then she turned and walked away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Antonio watched the slight sway of her hips, the
long curve of her spine, as they moved away from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Wow. She looked happy, huh?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Antonio faced Olivia. “Happy?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah. Lately she’d been a little glum.”
She slid her hand into his elbow and turned him toward the crowd again. “I
guessed she was a bit upset about being roommate-less, but she wouldn’t talk
about it. She won’t take a damned thing from me or Tucker. Not even a job
offer. Wants to make her own way in the world.” She paused and frowned. “How’d
Constanzo talk her into working for you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He blinked. Obviously, she didn’t know
Laura Beth was pregnant. So he shrugged. “I think losing her apartment really
brought home the fact that she couldn’t be choosy about who offered her a job.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah, well, if you really don’t want her,
Tucker does. He has an opening for an IT person who would work directly with
him, somebody he can trust with his secrets.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sounds perfect for her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It is perfect for her. He was going to
make the offer after the wedding, but she disappeared. Now, at least we know
where she went.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yes, you do.” And Tucker wanting to hire
Laura Beth was like a blessing from heaven. A relief. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Really.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>There was no reason for the odd feeling in
his stomach, the fear of losing her, the reminder of how empty his house was
without her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He peered around into the crowd but
couldn’t see Laura Beth. Then he caught a fleeting glimpse of her as she moved between
two conversation circles. The men in each cluster smiled at her and she
innocently smiled back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Jealousy catapulted through him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ready to mingle?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Thanking God for a reason to take his eyes and
his attention off Laura Beth, he smiled at Olivia. “Desperately.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He spent an hour with Olivia introducing
him to gallery owners, art dealers and collectors. His former charm came back to
him as if he hadn’t lost it. If he’d had anything new to display or sell, he
would have made a killing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But he didn’t have anything new to display
or sell, and he wasn’t yet entertaining commissions, so everyone drifted away. The
futility of his situation roared through him, frustrating him, making him
wonder why the hell he was even here.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He faced Olivia. “I’m going to get a drink. Would
you like one?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I think I better find Tucker.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Perfect. He could go to the bar, drink
himself stupid with scotch and be driven back to the penthouse where he could pass
out and forget he was a has-been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Shifting to the side, he slid through the
throng of happy people and to the discreet glass and marble bar set up in a
corner. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Scotch.” The bartender turned to go and he caught his
arm. “Three of them.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The young man nodded, apparently thinking
he was getting drinks for friends, and that was just fine with Antonio. He
angled himself against the marble, but when he did he saw Laura Beth, standing
alone, staring at a painting.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He studied the tilt of her head, the way it
clearly displayed her interest in the picture, saw the light and shadows he’d
use if he painted her, so everyone would see what he saw. A newcomer falling in
love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Damn it! What was he doing imagining
painting her again!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Here you are, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The bartender set three crystal glasses of
scotch on the bar. Antonio took the first one and downed it. He set the empty
glass on the bar, then dug through his pockets for a good tip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He walked away with a Scotch in each hand,
deliberately heading away from Laura Beth, but apparently she’d moved too
because there she stood, in front of another display. This one she seemed to
like about as much as she liked the Picassos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Watching her, he sipped the second Scotch.
The desire to capture her slithered through him again, just as Jason Ashbury
stopped in front of him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I wanted to give you a card.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Antonio set his second Scotch on an
available tray with a wince. “Sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jason laughed. “Never apologizing for
enjoying a good Scotch.” He handed the card to Antonio. “I know you’re
accustomed to bigger galleries, but we’d love to have you in Arizona.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And he’d love to be in a gallery in
Arizona. He love to have a showing anywhere. If he could just freaking paint
again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>His gaze strolled to Laura Beth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Jason shook his hand. “Come visit us. Maybe
we’ll inspire you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He walked away and Antonio’s eyes sought
Laura Beth again. She all but shimmered in the sophisticated dress, but she
couldn’t hide that innocence. And maybe that’s what drew him. She was his
deceased wife’s polar opposite. And if her innocence was the medicine he needed
to paint again, maybe he shouldn’t fight it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He strolled over. “Are you okay?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What? You think a woman can’t be on her
own in a gallery?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“No. You’re pregnant and it’s been a long night and
you still have a bit of a drive home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She winced. “Saw me in the car, did you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He took a step closer. “Saw you getting out of the
car.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">This time she laughed. “That was fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“You looked like you were enjoying it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Oh, I was.” She took a long drink of air. “I’m
going to miss this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Barcelona?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“No. The dressing up tonight and play acting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He raised one eyebrow in question. “Why? You’ve got
a few more weeks in Italy. You can do all the dressing up and play acting you
want.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She shook her head. “No. I can’t. Walking around
here tonight, I remembered something I’d thought at the wedding. I took what I
believed was a real job because I’m not an executive or a trust fund baby or
even employable in New York City.” She faced him. “But you don’t want me and I don’t
really belong here. It’s time for me to go home.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Panic swirled through him. “Home New York or home
Kentucky?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Kentucky.” She raised her gaze to meet his. “I know
there’s not much work for an IT person there, but I’m going to have a baby. I need
my mom for moral support.” She sucked in a breath. “But looking at one of the
pictures I also realized I’d had a pretty good childhood.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">He frowned. “Which picture?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She laughed and ambled to a painting a few feet
away. “This one.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was a painting of three dogs running
through the dead brush around a pond in late fall. The colors were cool,
dismal. The sky so dark it was almost charcoal grey.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This</i>
reminds you of home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Gazing at the painting, she said, “Yes.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Hoping for the best, he said, “You had a
dog?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She laughed. “No. We had ugly Novembers.
The cold sets in and lingers. But some of my best life things happened in
fall.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">She faced him with a light in her eyes that flicked
the switch of his longing to paint. But in a different way than the day he
found her lying on her bed wrapped in a towel, a different way even than the technical
visions of dimension and light that had overtaken him various times that day.
This was a serious, quiet need, something that didn’t hurt him or fill him with
angry longing. This one was normal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">Breathlessly afraid to lose this feeling, he quietly
said, “What sort of things?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“Well, my birthday’s in the fall, so there’s the
whole being born thing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He laughed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And every fall we returned to school.” She
smiled at him but her eyes were distant as if she were thinking back to the
past. “Going to school meant seeing my friends, getting new clothes, football
games, school play tryouts.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sounds like fun.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“It was.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“And that’s why you’re going home?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She moved her eyes up to meet his gaze. “I
just keep thinking I’d like to be around my mom when I actually have the baby.
But I also had a great childhood. I want my baby to have that too.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He whispered, “It makes sense,” not sure
why the moment felt so solemn, except it meant that their time together was
ending. Or maybe because he knew he needed to at least try to paint her and if
he didn’t ask in the next few seconds he wouldn’t get the chance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I still think about painting you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I know.” She stepped away. “You told me it
annoys you to think about painting me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He laughed. “Tonight’s feelings are
different.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She faced him. “Really?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah. Tonight it all feels real, doable.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well, that’s…something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He breached the space between them.
“Actually, it is. The uncontrollable urge might have been a first step, but
just as your feelings about becoming a mom are shifting, growing, so are my
feelings about painting you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her breath caught. “You’re serious?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He glanced around. “Yes. But this feeling
is so new and it’s only cropped up around you.” He caught her gaze. “Can you
spend the next few weeks with me? Let me see if I can paint again?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Only if you also let me work as your
assistant.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Her persistence made him laugh and long to
kiss her. In that very second, the need was so strong he doubted his ability to
resist it. Her face tipped up to him. Her earnest eyes held his. It would be so
easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But he’d kissed her once and it had only
reminded him that he couldn’t have her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Because he couldn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I want the painting to be our focus.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;">“I get to earn my keep by answering the rest of your
mail?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He laughed. “None. I want to do this right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She cocked her head. Understanding flitted
across her face. “Okay.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>And something wonderful sprinted through
his blood. Acceptance. She had needs of her own. Troubles of her own. But
instead of bargaining with him, she would simply help him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It was as strong of an aphrodisiac as the
lure of her lush mouth. He wondered about his strength, his endurance, if he
really could paint her without touching her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But he knew he wasn’t strong enough to
watch her pregnancy. And he also knew she was going home to her mom and a job
from Tucker.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>He had nothing to worry about.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px; mso-hyphenate: none; mso-pagination: no-line-numbers;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-65542478919704121002014-11-01T10:12:00.001-07:002014-11-01T10:12:51.238-07:00CHASING THE RUNAWAY BRIDE
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 12pt 0in 0pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Chapter<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i></b>One<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Piper O’Riley
watched a silver-gray Chevy Silverado pull into the parking lot of Health Aid
Pharmacy, the drugstore she managed in the small town of Harmony Hills,
Pennsylvania. A tall man climbed <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20141021T1712; mso-comment-reference: s_1;">out</a></span><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">.
His shirt displayed broad shoulders and tight abs. His jeans all but caressed
his perfect butt. His close-cut black hair and the way he carried himself—his shoulders
back, his movements smooth and efficient—reminded her of someone in the
military. He reached into his truck, pulled out a black cowboy hat, and plopped
it on his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Wow. Just wow.
He had all the makings of the man of her dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She stopped that
thought. Stomped it out with the fervor of a woman determined not to make the
same mistake three times. The absolute last thing in the world she wanted was
to notice another man. Three short months ago, she’d left her second groom at
the altar. She’d gotten halfway down the aisle to marry Ronnie Nelson, but just
like with Tom Lashinsky—the first guy she’d ditched—she’d known, just <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">known,</i> there was “more” to love than
what she felt for her groom. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">And she’d bolted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">The cowboy walked
up to the glass door, his head down, as if he were deep in thought, and pulled
it open.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Of course, when
he looked up, he saw her standing there in the middle of the aisle like an
idiot. His dark brown eyes crinkled at the corners as his full lips lifted into
a warm smile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Mornin’,
darlin’.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Oh, Lord help
her. Where did a man get a voice like that, with a western drawl that trickled
down her spine and sent goose bumps to her toes? The kind of chill bumps she’d
never felt in any of her relationships. The kind of chill bumps that explained
why she couldn’t marry either of her <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20141021T1712; mso-comment-reference: s_2;">previous </a></span><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">grooms.
The kind of chill bumps that made her wish that once—just once—she could be
with a man who made her shiver.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Can you point
me in the direction of the cards?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Cards?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Wedding cards.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">His voice was as
smooth as velvet<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20141021T1712; mso-comment-reference: NC_3;">.
His smile probably dropped women’s panties from thirty feet.</a></span><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 200%;"><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">
He wouldn’t be the kind to settle down. He didn’t have to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Piper’s inner
good girl shook her head. Was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>what
she really wanted? A sexy man who <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20141021T1712; mso-comment-reference: NC_4;">couldn’t</a></span><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><!--[endif]--><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 200%;"><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">settle
down? Sounded like a heartbreak waiting to happen—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Which explained
why she always chose safe, ready-to-settle-down men. She didn’t want to get
hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She pointed to aisle
three. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He smiled, put
his fingers on the brim of his Stetson, and walked past her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She smelled his
aftershave, felt the heat of him as his arm almost brushed hers. Her heart
tripped over itself. Her stomach fell. All her nerve endings glittered like a
prom queen’s tiara.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">And her inner
bad girl all but swooned. Usually she stayed quiet, but today she was wide
awake and curious. </span><span class="MsoCommentReference"><span style="font-size: 9pt; line-height: 200%;"><!--[endif]--><span style="mso-special-character: comment;"><span style="font-family: Courier New;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Suffering
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20141021T1712; mso-comment-reference: s_7;">a</a></span><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">
broken heart might be worth a few nights with this guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Within seconds,
he was back, shiny white wedding card in hand. Maybe if she had a red-hot fling,
something to satisfy this crazy feeling that she was missing out, she could
stop leaving fiancés at the altar and actually get married. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Who’s the
wedding card for?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“My brother.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She smiled. “If
he looks anything like you, the bride’s a very lucky girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">There. She’d
said it. She’d put it out on the table that she found him attractive. The next
move was his.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He returned her
smile and took a step closer. “Well, darlin’, he’s a little fairer than I am,
but I think we’re in the same category.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She drew in a
quiet breath as glorious need combined with fear of the unknown and created a tingly
feeling she’d never had before. A feeling that egged her on, made her say the
first flirty thing that popped into her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Then she <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">is</i> lucky.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He laughed. The
sound walked up her spine and sent <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that </i>feeling
through her again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“What about
you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Pretty girl
like you working in a drugstore. That doesn’t seem right.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She laughed. The
urge to flirt was so natural now, she couldn’t stifle it. “What do you think I
should be? A stripper?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">His gaze rippled
from her hair to her toes. “I’d pay to see you wind around a pole.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">That just plain
stopped her breathing. Her inner good girl gasped. Women who wanted to keep
their reputations did not wind around stripper poles. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">But her inner
bad girl sighed. She’d really like to be able to flirt without the constant nagging.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Piper found the
compromise position: “I’m really not the kind to pole dance, but I might take
money at the door.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He laughed
again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Happiness surged
through her. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">See, inner good girl?
Flirting can be fun.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“You’re funny. I
like that.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She walked to
the counter and slid behind the cash register. “I like a guy with a sense of
humor, too.” She peeked up and caught his gaze. “And I hope it was just a joke
that you thought I should work in a strip club.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He leaned
against the counter. “Man’s gotta have his fantasies. But there’s a lot to be
said for living in the real world. You dating anyone?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Her heart
stumbled. Good God. He <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was </i>going to
ask her out. “No. Not now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Which tells me
there was somebody.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She swallowed. How
could he not know who she was? He had to be from out of town. “I kind of broke
up with him about three months ago.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He grinned.
“Three months. That’s good timing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“It is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sure. By now
the residual hurt feelings are down to a bare minimum, and you’re probably
looking to move on.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Gazing into his
sexy dark eyes, she was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">so</i> ready to
move on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“I’m not in town
for long, though.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She was right.
He wasn’t from here, and he was telling her he wasn’t into a relationship, just
a fling.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Could she do
this? Have a fling? Could she try an affair, see what she was missing, and wave
good-bye when he moved on?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Not quite sure
what to say, she picked up his wedding card. A quick scan caused $6.99 to pop
up in the digital readout of her cash register.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">His eyes
widened. “Seven freaking dollars for a card?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She laughed. His
façade of perfection cracked. Although, in some ways, his shock was cute. Clearly
the man didn’t shop. “There are cheaper ones.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He sighed, then
winked. “I’m not cheap.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a five. “I
just remembered the card when I was coming back from the diner. I spent most of
my cash on breakfast for my brothers. I’ll have to go home and get more.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“How about a
bank card?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Don’t have that
with me either. When I travel I only use it for gas. Easier to keep track of my
spending that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">His gorgeous
dark eyes met hers, and the zap of electricity that surged through her almost
stopped her heart. There was no denying she felt a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">zing</i> for this guy. But the things he’d said suddenly began to group
together in her head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Wedding.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">
Finn Donovan was getting married today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Brothers.</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">
Finn had two brothers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">When
I travel…</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Cade, Finn’s older brother, lived out of town. In
Montana. On a ranch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Which explained
the Stetson.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He might be
older, his hair shorter, his face more mature, but now that Piper had put
everything together, she recognized him. This cowboy was Cade Donovan.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She had to fight
not to squeeze her eyes shut. She wanted to have a fling with <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Cade Donovan</i>? The guy who’d left her
best friend at the altar?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Wow. She
couldn’t exactly remember the definition of irony, but Harmony Hills’s runaway
bride <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20141021T1712; mso-comment-reference: NC_8;">being
</a></span><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><!--[endif]--><a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" style="mso-comment-date: 20141021T1712; mso-comment-reference: s_9;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">attracted</span></a><!--[if !supportAnnotations]--><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">
to its most notorious no-show groom? That was too much gossip for one town to
handle, especially since the woman he’d left, Lonnie Simmons, was her best
friend. So, no. She wouldn’t be participating in that particular literary
device. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">But, more
important than the runaway bride/no-show groom gossip was the notorious Hyatt/O’Riley
feud. His grandfather had won <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her
father’s </i>grocery store in a poker game, and most people in town believed Richard
Hyatt had cheated. Cade Donovan was the grandson of the guy who had stolen her
father’s business. Taken away his livelihood. Half the people in town didn’t
shop at O’Riley’s Market because they didn’t want to support a cheat. She and
her mom would cross the street rather than walk by anyone in the Hyatt/Donovan
family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">She and Cade
Donovan weren’t just a bad bet. They were enemies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">Her spine
stiffened. Her smile became cool. “There’s no need to go back for cash. We have
less expensive wedding cards.” Though it was a struggle, she kept her demeanor
professional. “And they’re every bit as nice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 200%;">He smiled again,
and she had to take a quiet breath to stop the surge of white-hot need that
burst through her. As much as she wanted to feel this heat that she’d never
felt before, she could not be attracted to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">him</i>.
She refused.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-89168649179110870392014-10-07T08:24:00.000-07:002014-10-07T08:24:34.911-07:00Excerpt THE TWELVE DATES OF CHRISTMAS<span style="font-size: large;">
THE TWELVE DATES OF CHRISTMAS</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div class="Body-Text-No-Tab" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ricky trudged up Eloise’s four flights of steps on
Friday night, so sad he’d nearly cancelled their evening together again. On
Monday night, he’d gone to the hospital to read to the kids, as Regina had
suggested, and it had been devastating. He hated seeing kids suffer. He couldn’t
believe Regina had suggested he read to children so weak they broke his heart,
reminded him of Blake, reminded him of how stupid he’d been. His son was dead
because he’d never asked Blake’s mother to let him raise him. She was a party
girl turned mother. He’d seen the difficulties she’d had fitting Blake into
her life. She probably would have been happy to give him custody of Blake, as
long as she got visitation, but he’d never asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Anger with himself had made his pulse race, and he couldn’t stay in the children’s ward activity room that night. He’d bowed out
before the kids even knew he’d come there to read, so there was no harm done to
them. But as he’d struggled to get through his week without thinking of Blake,
without berating himself for not asking for custody, for not taking his son
away from a woman who clearly wanted an out, he’d simply forgotten about Eloise
Vaughn.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He almost laughed. Another man would think it
impossible that he could forget a woman so beautiful she could be a princess.
But that was his life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When she opened her door to him, and he looked
down at her dress, he blinked. The pale blue fabric complemented her pink skin tone
and yellow hair, but it also glittered as if someone had woven tinsel into the
material. She looked like a princess trapped in a snow globe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His heart lifted a bit. “Wow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She smiled. “You know, even if nothing else comes
of fake dating you, I’m getting a real sense of satisfaction out of your
compliments on my sewing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He took her cape. When she turned for him to help
her into it, he noticed this dress had a full back and sighed with relief. The
gloom that hung over him like a dome loosened a bit. “You deserve to be
complimented. I’d never guess you were taking old clothes and making them new.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">They headed down the hall to the stairs. “It’s not
like I’m redoing things from the last century. Five years ago, my clothes were
in style.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Then you went to university and your money had to
go for tuition.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She stopped at the top step and faced him. “Something
like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Hey, unless you’re born into money, you’re going
to suffer through university.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A strange expression crossed her face. He wouldn’t
be this far in his business dealings if he couldn’t read the look of someone
who had something to say. The pinch of pain in her eyes told him it wasn’t
something good.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">But instead of a confession, she said, “Or starve.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He smiled, but curiosity ruffled through him. She’d
told him about her job problem, but it had never crossed his mind to think she
might have had personal troubles in her past. Something that had broken her
heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Still, he pushed it from his mind. He had problems
of his own. And wondering about her wasn’t part of their deal. Getting to know
her wasn’t even part of their deal. In fact, with as pretty as she was and as
tempting, he might be wise not to ask questions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">In the limo, they talked generically about her job
and his busy schedule as they drove to a hotel in the theater district. Lit for
Christmas, Times Square took his breath away. So many lights. So much
creativity in the Santa and sleigh that rode the tickertape around the jumbo
video screens, and the Santa’s workshop filled with elves in the toy store
windows.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He shoved back the memory of bringing Blake here
for a private tour of the toy store and focused on getting himself and Eloise
out of the limo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Again, the night was cold and, as they stepped
out, Eloise shivered. His arm rose in a natural reaction to pull her close, but
just before he would have touched her, he stopped himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Too many things happened naturally with this
woman, and although that probably added to the success of their charade, it
wasn’t good for either of them personally. When they weren’t actually at a
party, he would keep his distance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A small stairway took them to the hotel lobby,
where they were directed to an elevator to the ballroom. Lively music blared at
them as the doors opened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Eloise turned to him. “Are we late?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“No. We’re right on time. Preston’s a music
promoter. Expect the unexpected. Including the fact that he might have started
the party early just because he wanted to.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Cool.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A laugh escaped, and he relaxed a little.
Technically, he had to have fun and talk to her for the charade to work. “Cool?
Maybe yes. Maybe no. But I’m betting on no.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She happily exited the elevator and nearly walked
into Preston Jenkins’s arms. High as a kite, their host took their coats and
handed them off to a huge, beefy man who looked like a bodyguard.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He hugged Eloise effusively. “You are as gorgeous
as the gossip mills are reporting.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her eyes grew round and shiny with what looked to
be fear, and Ricky remembered how she hadn’t liked getting her picture taken
the week before. Now she appeared deathly afraid of gossip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Which is why,” Preston slurred, “I’m thrilled
that we are about ten feet away from mistletoe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Her eyes grew even larger, and this time Ricky understood.
No woman wanted to be slobbered over by a stranger, regardless of how much
mistletoe hung over doorways. Protectiveness rose up in him. She was <span class="ITALIC"><span style="border: currentColor;"><span style="border: currentColor;"><em>his</em></span></span></span>
date. She wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t brought her. He needed to get her out
of this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His brain scrambled for a way to save her, and
eventually he simply opened his mouth and said, “Do you really think I’d let a
schmoozer like you kiss my date?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Preston slapped his arm. “Oh, such a kidder. I
wasn’t going to kiss her. I’m getting pictures of everybody kissing their <span class="ITALIC"><span style="border: currentColor;"><span style="border: currentColor;"><em>dates</em></span></span></span>
under the mistletoe.” He pointed to the huge bodyguard type, who displayed a
camera.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His heart did something that felt like a samba. “You
want me to kiss Eloise?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Nudging Eloise and Ricky under the mistletoe,
Preston grinned drunkenly. “Yeah. You kiss Eloise.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Happiness tumbled through him before he could stop
it, before he could think of Blake, before he could think of the myriad reasons
this was wrong. It was as if time froze and there was only him and Eloise and
mistletoe. No crowd. No past. No future. Just a kiss.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Eloise blinked up at him. Her pretty blue eyes
round and curious. The curls of her soft blond hair framing her face. Her pink
lips parted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His pulse scrambled. He hadn’t kissed a woman in
almost two years. And just touching the skin of Eloise’s back had set his
hormones dancing. What would happen when their lips met?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Fireworks probably.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His pulse kicked up again. He hadn’t felt
fireworks in forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Longing, swift and sharp, rose up in him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He silenced it. They were only fake dating.
Kissing took them to dangerous ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Except he hadn’t kissed a woman in almost two
years. Hadn’t felt alive in almost two years—<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He glanced back at Preston, who waved
dramatically. “Go on! Camera’s waiting!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He caught Eloise’s gaze again. Need prickled his
skin. Desire swelled. And he had to admit he wanted this. He wanted to feel
alive again, if only for a few seconds. It was foolish. But it was also only a
kiss. One kiss when he’d been so long deprived hardly seemed earth-shattering,
and he could go back to being miserable after that. Plus, if he didn’t kiss her,
he would ruin their charade.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">He bent his head and barely touched his mouth to
hers. Soft, smooth lips met his. She tasted like peppermint and felt like
heaven, and his head spun. Had he said this wouldn’t be earth-shattering? He’d
been wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">His mouth pressed against hers, and simple need
bubbled like a witch’s brew in his gut. He knew he was flirting with disaster. But
he couldn’t stop himself. He’d never wanted anything as much as he wanted to
simply lose himself in her. The softness, the sweetness he’d never found in
another woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="Body-TextCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: large;">One kiss. Then he would walk away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span><br />
<div class="TB" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<strong><span style="color: blue;"><span style="font-size: large;">*<o:p></o:p></span></span></strong></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-19822339177266425362014-04-04T06:32:00.000-07:002014-04-04T06:32:24.859-07:00HER SUMMER WITH THE MARINE<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As
Ellie pulled her little car in front of the funeral home, she saw Finn sitting
on one of the two wide wicker rockers on the front porch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Her face reddened, and she took her
time shutting down her engine, collecting the thirty scraps of paper covered
with notes from her Tidy Whitiez conversations, and getting out of her car. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">What was it with this guy? Did he have
radar? Did he somehow scoop her thoughts from the air and know that she’d been
thinking about him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">About having sex with him?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She climbed up the porch steps. “What do
you want?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He sat forward on the big wicker
chair. His short hair stuck up in all the right places, as if he’d combed his
fingers through it in frustration, but that only gave it a sexy, bedroom look.
He’d ditched his suit in favor of jeans and a gray T-shirt that showed off his broad
shoulders and those gloriously sexy tattoos.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Her breath stumbled. Or maybe she sighed
with disgust at her own weakness. Sure, he was great-looking. But did her
artist’s eye have to notice every detail? Especially after her thoughts while
talking to her Tidy Whitiez crew? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Is that any way to treat a guest?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> The smart move would be to get away
from him. Yes, an affair seemed logical, given how attracted she was to him and
how much she needed a distraction right now. But there were other issues to
consider. Particularly the fact that they were enemies, fighting for the same
customers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“You’re not a guest. You’re the
competition. You stole the Wojak funeral.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “I’d sold her a package months ago.”
He glanced at the glob of sticky notes in her hands. “What’s all that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “The results of hours of
conversation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “With?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Staffers for my adult diapers
campaign.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “You’re trying to get adult diapers
elected to public office?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Damn it. It was the struggle of a
lifetime not to laugh. And maybe that was the biggest temptation of all. He didn’t
just turn her on. He made her laugh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s an <i>ad</i> campaign.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“So you’re hawking adult diapers?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She grimaced. “Yes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“This is exactly why I came here.” He
chuckled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “To make fun of me?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He shook his head. “No. To hear
something that would make me laugh.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> It was one thing to joke around. It
was another to insult her. “You’re laughing at my job?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “No. I’m just laughing at the
absurdity of life.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Great.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">No matter how he prettied it up, he was
laughing at her. Despite her very rational arguments for having an affair with
him, that brought her back to planet earth. She unlocked the door to
McDermott’s and went inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">He followed her. “Hey, come on. Don’t be
mad.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Just shut up. Go home.” How had she
ever thought sleeping with him would be a stress reliever, when he was the
biggest producer of her stress? Especially when she’d told him to go home but he
was still following her up to her apartment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;">She tossed her purse on the old glass table,
her gaze colliding with his broad shoulders beneath his gray shirt, and she
almost groaned. He had the trimmed, toned body of a warrior. The sexily mussed
hair of a man who liked to take life easy. The strong, chiseled face of a Greek
god. And a voice that could melt butter. She had to forgive herself for being
attracted to him. But that </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 33.33333206176758px;">didn't</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;"> mean she would let him stay.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She raised her gaze to meet his. “I’m
not mad. I just want you to go away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“After the way you just sized me up?” He
grabbed her arm, spun her to him. “I think you lie.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;">His lips were on hers before she could
even form a reply. At first she stiffened, but the reality of her life closed
in on her. It had finally sunk in that her dad </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 33.33333206176758px;">wasn't</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;"> getting any better. And
Finn was offering a way to forget, if only for a few minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;"> He rolled his tongue along her
bottom lip and everything inside her went nuclear. Heat exploded low in her
body and roared through her. This was what she wanted from him. The heat. The
intensity. She </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 33.33333206176758px;">didn't</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;"> just need to forget her troubles. She wanted </span></span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 25pt;">him</i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;">. And he wanted her.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">And if only for a few minutes, she was
taking what she could get. Even if that was only one long, delicious kiss. She
caught the back of his neck and pulled him closer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">As if she’d taunted him or challenged
him, he deepened the kiss. Gliding his tongue along her lips again, opening her
mouth so he could dive inside. Sweet sensation exploded in her mouth. The
scratch of his tongue. The taste of peppermint. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Desperate, needy, she pressed closer,
feasting on his mouth, cruising her hands down his neck, shoulders, and arms,
feeling the strength in the corded muscles, taking what she craved. Any minute
now, he’d break away or she’d push away, and he’d leave in a huff…or maybe
teasing her. She would be fine. <i>They</i>
would be fine. She just wanted two minutes of pure pleasure.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His hands slid from her shoulders down
her back, pressing in when they reached the swell of her bottom. Heat shot
through her, scorching her, ramping up the needs swelling inside her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">His hands roamed up again, tracing her
spine, filling her with liquid heat, but instead of stopping at her shoulders,
they raced around and found her breasts. Her nipples pebbled to aching life, straining
to get into his hands, but meeting the soft lace of her bra. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">She groaned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I love this dress. Let’s take it off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">That woke her up. Instead of stopping
they were going further? <i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He stepped back, swiveled her around,
and unzipped her dress. Before she had a chance to say stop, he turned her back
to him and slid his hands under the shoulders of her simple black sheath. With
one quick shove from him, it puddled to the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">In what felt like the blink of an eye, she
stood before him in a black bra and panties, exposed, vulnerable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He chuckled as he whipped off his T-shirt.
“You’re a closet underwear junkie. I like that about you—you’re never what I
expect. You’re always better.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;"> The word “stop” died on her tongue. “Every
girl likes to be pretty.” She said the words slowly, finally understanding why
he tempted her so much. He </span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="line-height: 33.33333206176758px;">wasn't</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;"> just gorgeous. He had a way of making </span></span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 25pt;">her</i><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><span style="line-height: 25pt;"> feel beautiful. Even when they were
arguing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He put both hands on her waist and
nudged her to him again. “You are the prettiest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> “Oh, now you’re just lying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> He skimmed his lips along her neck.
“Never.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> That made her laugh out loud, then
his lips nibbled behind her ear, and her laughter died. Heat flooded her and
became an ache at the apex of her thighs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> Were they really going to do this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 25.0pt; mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-pagination: none;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> </span></div>
Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-60623378217435530702012-12-14T05:23:00.000-08:002012-12-14T05:23:13.535-08:00The Billionaire's Baby SOS<br />
THE BILLIONAIRE'S BABY SOS is book EIGHT of the Larkville continuity for Harlequin Romance. It's the last book, the book that wraps everything up for the wonderfully complex story of two families discovering they're half siblings! THE BILLIONAIRE'S BABY SOS was a fun book to write. Wrapping up the series was also great fun. I hope you enjoy this little piece of the story and snag a copy of the book in February!<br />
<br />
susan<br />
<br />
Still quiet, Matt followed Claire down the hall. She held Bella on one arm as she marched to her door, fishing her keys out of her coat pocket. Before he reached her, she had the door open and was inside.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>The exposed brick walls and hardwood floors continued throughout her open-floor-plan apartment. Her kitchen was new, dark cabinets with slim silver handles, stainless steel appliances. The chic dining area, including a table and trim buffet, flowed into her living room space which had red sofas facing each other and an overstuffed red print chair with matching ottoman.<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Wow.”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>She spun to face him. “Wow?”<br />
<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>“Your apartment.” He glanced around. “It’s so modern.” He looked around some more. “I really like it.”<br />
Nerves prickled her skin. Her breath whooshed out. She hadn’t wanted his opinion to matter, but it had and that bothered her. He might be a nice guy with Bella, but he was also blunt and self-important. Guessing he was only trying to make nice after being rude to her, she grudgingly said, “Thanks.”<br />
“I had a similar condo for a while.” He smiled as if remembering. “Right after I got my first job. Thought I’d hit the big time because I started off earning six figures.”<br />
She gaped at him. “How does somebody ‘start off’ earning six figures?”<br />
He strolled around the room. “I went to my interview with two five-year plans. One was for the company interviewing me. The other for their competitor.”<br />
She frowned. “So?”<br />
“So, it never hurts to understand what the other guy is thinking.” He chuckled. “They said I showed initiative.”<br />
“It sounds like initiative but I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been a business person, never even thought about wanting to be one.”<br />
He strolled over. “You’re more of the sensitive type.” He took a step that brought them so close she could almost feel the heat from his body. “But we’ve already discussed this.”<br />
“Yes…” She hated the tremble in her voice. He was just so damned good looking. “We have.”<br />
“But we’re really not even, you know.”<br />
“Even?”<br />
“About what we know about each other. You have a nice condo. You like working with kids. And that’s all I know about you.”<br />
“I don’t exactly know a lot about you.”<br />
He chuckled. “You’ve been through my house.” He caught her gaze. “In my bedroom. You know I was divorced but my ex-wife and I stayed close enough that she gave me custody of her child. You’ve seen my car collection, met my driver. Know that I give my employees long vacations when I travel for business. You know more about my personal life than most women I date.”<br />
Her skin flushed. A pulse started low in her belly. So did an unwanted sense of anticipation. It meant something that he was telling her things, or letting her see things about his life through his home. And right now, they stood so close he could kiss her – or she could kiss him, if she wanted.<br />
She swallowed. Suddenly grateful for the protection of the baby on her arm, she said, “Why do you want to know about me?”<br />
“I think you know.”<br />
“Because I know so much about you?”<br />
“Because there’s something between us.” He took another step, forcing her to shift Bella to the left or let the poor baby get squished.<br />
“I don’t like unusual things. I don’t like unexpected or unpredictable things.”<br />
Her breath lodged in her throat. They absolutely could not get any closer.<br />
“So you don’t like that you feel something for me?”<br />
“No. I do not.”<br />
“Well, thanks.”<br />
He chuckled again. “You should thank me. You shouldn’t want me to be interested. I don’t date. I take lovers. I hurt women foolish enough to feel anything for me.”<br />
She took a step back, putting plenty of space between them, believing the air had been cleared and they were moving on. “Thanks for the warning.” She handed the baby to him, but stopped short of giving her over. “You know, we’ve been carrying Bella around all day. It might be a good idea to let her roam a bit.” She stooped and put the baby on the white shag carpet between the two red sofas. “How’s this, sweetie?”<br />
Patting the thick carpet, Bella gurgled up at her.<br />
“Are you sure she’ll be okay down there?”<br />
“I’ve had her on this carpet plenty of times.” She rose. “But you’re going to make sure she’s okay while I’m gone.”<br />
“I am?”<br />
“Yes. I’ll be five minutes, tops, while I gather a few things. You just have to make sure she doesn’t go too far or bump her head or anything like that.”<br />
He glanced around. “Okay.” He caught her gaze again. “But we’re not done talking about this attraction.”<br />
“I think we are. You’ve warned me off enough that I’m not even worried about it.”<br />
“Liar.”<br />
She snorted a laugh. “What? You think you’re so irresistible that …”<br />
He caught her by the waist and hauled her to him. Before she could take her next breath, his lips were on hers. Soft yet demanding, they moved over her mouth until she found herself opening her lips beneath his. He took advantage. His tongue plunged into her mouth.<br />
Desire ripped through her, as her body became boneless. Her arms snaked around his neck. He tightened his grip on her waist and the kiss went on…<br />
And on…<br />
Sending sensations careening through her body, making her long for more.<br />
Until Bella screeched.<br />
Claire bounced away like a teenager caught kissing on the front porch by her parents.<br />
Matt sucked in a breath. “Sorry.”<br />
With arousal pulsing through her, his apology didn’t make sense. She blinked at him. “Sorry?”<br />
“The kiss wasn’t supposed to go that far. It was to prove a point.” He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “I was hoping that …” He winced. “I thought if I kissed you we’d see the attraction was ordinary, and we’d…”<br />
His words acted like water on a campfire. “You hoped I was a really crappy kisser?”<br />
He winced. “Something like that.”<br />
She gurgled a sound of disgust. This guy couldn’t be any more infuriating if he tried. How could she be so attracted to him? “I’m going to get my things.”<br />
She turned to walk away but he caught her arm.<br />
“I am sorry. But everything’s getting confused. I’m trying to tell you that I’m not a family man, not the settling down kind. Being with Bella is making me look like I might be…or maybe I should be. But I’m not.”<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-47752569321824267222012-04-15T05:46:00.003-07:002012-06-01T04:58:00.592-07:00THE TYCOON'S SECRET DAUGHTER, SUSAN MEIER<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3OjxG6ehHk8/T8it7pS7p-I/AAAAAAAAALk/sZMtKz2iEZE/s1600/the+tycoon's+secret+daughter.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-3OjxG6ehHk8/T8it7pS7p-I/AAAAAAAAALk/sZMtKz2iEZE/s320/the+tycoon's+secret+daughter.png" width="202" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Welcome, everyone! This is my June 2012 release THE TYCOON'S SECRET DAUGHTER.<br />
<br />
It's an interesting story about how a father's mistake can mess up the lives of his two sons. This is Max's story and in August his younger brother Chance gets to tell his side of the story!<br />
<br />
Enjoy!<br />
Chapter 1<br />
<br />
Exiting the elevator in the
lobby of Mercy General Hospital, Max Montgomery glanced up and did a double
take. The woman leaving the coffee shop looked exactly like his ex-wife. <br />
<br />
Petite as Kate had been,
wearing blue jeans and a little flowered top that was her style, with thick,
shoulder-length sable-color hair that swung when she moved, she had to be Kate.<br />
<br />
He shook
his head, telling himself that was nuts. His wife had left Pine Ward,
Pennsylvania almost eight years ago and he hadn’t seen her since. She’d
divorced him through lawyers. Hadn’t answered the letters he’d sent to her
parents’ home. Hadn’t even returned to visit as far as he knew. Not even at
holidays. That couldn’t be her. <br />
<br />
He made his way to the wide
glass exit doors and they automatically parted, but curiosity turned him around
before he could step out. <br />
<br />
The woman now stood in front
of the elevator he’d exited, her back to him.<br />
<br />
Sensation
vibrated through him, the radar he’d always had with her. He’d <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> known when she was within twenty
feet. Always known when she was about to walk into the room. Always known.<br />
<br />
It had
to be her. The radar never failed.<br />
<br />
He took
a few cautious steps toward her, but stopped. Even if it was her, why would she
want to see him? What would he say? <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sorry
I screwed up our marriage, but I’m sober now</i>.<br />
<br />
Actually,
that wasn’t such a bad idea. Of all the people on his twelve-step list, people
he needed to make amends with, he’d contacted everyone but her. The person who
most deserved his apology.<br />
<br />
If it
wasn’t her, he’d simply apologize for the mistake.<br />
<br />
Either
way, he’d be apologizing. No big deal.<br />
<br />
He
sucked in a breath, crossed the small space between them and tapped on her
shoulder.<br />
<br />
She
turned. <br />
<br />
His heart stopped then sped
up again. It <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i> her. <br />
<br />
His mind flew to the day he’d
met her at a pool party at a friend’s house. She’d worn a green bikini that
matched her eyes. But though her looks had been what caught his attention, it
was her personality that hooked his heart. Sweet. Fearless. Funny. In one short
conversation, she’d made him forget every other woman he knew. And now she was
here. In front of him.<br />
<br />
His heart stumbled. His knees
weakened. <br />
<br />
But when she realized who’d
tapped her, the happily surprised expression on her face crumbled and was
replaced by something Max could only describe as a look of horror.<br />
<br />
“Max!”<br />
<br />
A lump of emotion lodged in
his throat. More of their life together flashed through his brain. The way
they’d talked till dawn the day of the pool party. The first time they’d
kissed. The first time they’d made love. Their wedding day.<br />
<br />
He’d thrown it all away for
the contents of a bottle.<br />
<br />
He cleared his throat. “Kate.”<br />
<br />
She motioned with her coffee.
“I…Um…I need to get this up to mom.”<br />
<br />
This time when his heart
up-ended it was with fear for her. “Your mom is here? As a patient?”<br />
<br />
“No. No. She’s fine.” She glanced
around nervously. “Daddy had a stroke.”<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Was that any better? </i>“Oh, my God. I’m sorry.”<br />
<br />
“He’s okay.” She looked to
the right again. “The stroke was reasonably mild. Prognosis is good.” She tried
to smile. “I’ve really gotta go.”<br />
<br />
It was the worst moment of
his life. Eight years ago, she would have turned to him in this kind of tragedy.
Today, she couldn’t stand to be around him. In some respects, he didn’t blame
her. But he’d changed. He’d been in Alcoholics Anonymous for seven years. He
was sober. And he did realize what he’d lost. But more than that, apologizing,
admitting his faults, was part of his twelve-step program.<br />
<br />
When the elevator pinged, he
caught her arm to prevent her from turning. Electricity crackled through him. <br />
<br />
Their gazes caught. His heart
swelled with misery. God, how he’d loved her.<br />
<br />
She swallowed. “I’ve really
gotta…”<br />
<br />
“Go. I know. But I need a
minute.”<br />
<br />
Hospital employees walked out
of the elevators behind them. The gathering crowd waiting for the elevator
loaded inside. <br />
<br />
She glanced around
nervously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
Pain
skittered through him. She couldn’t even stand to be seen with him. He thought
back to the times he’d embarrassed her and the pain became a familiar ache.
He’d disappointed so many people.<br />
<br />
But that
was seven years ago.<br />
<br />
And today was today.<br />
<br />
He
pulled her a few feet away from the elevators. “I have to tell you that I’m
sorry.”<br />
<br />
Her face
scrunched with confusion. “Have to?”<br />
<br />
“Yes.
It’s part of the program.”<br />
<br />
Her eyes
lit with recognition. “Oh, twelve steps.”<br />
<br />
“Yes.”<br />
<br />
She
looked at him differently now, closely. “You’re sober.”<br />
<br />
He finally
let himself smile. He’d wanted to be able to tell her that for seven long
years. “Yes.”<br />
<br />
Her
voice softened. “I’m so glad.”<br />
<br />
His
chest loosened a bit. Breathing became easier. “I am too.”<br />
<br />
An
awkward silence stretched between them. He understood. There really wasn’t
anything for them to say. He’d ruined their marriage. She’d left him to save
herself.<br />
<br />
She showed him the two cups
of coffee again. “I should get this to my mom before it gets cold.”<br />
<br />
Pain
radiated out from his heart to his entire body. He’d had this woman. She’d
loved him and he’d loved her. She’d been everything to him and he’d driven her away.<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t dwell on the past. Focus on the future.<o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
He stepped back. “Yeah. Sure.
I’m sorry.”<br />
<br />
The bell for the second
elevator pinged. The doors swooshed open. Kate turned to get inside, but a
little girl raced out. <br />
<br />
“Mom! Grandma sent me to find
you. She thinks you’re making that coffee.”<br />
<br />
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mom?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i><br />
<br />
His knees that had been
weakened began to shake. The little girl’s hair might have been the same sable
color as Kate’s, but those blue eyes … they were <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Montgomery</st1:city></st1:place> eyes. <br />
<br />
Pain morphed into shock. Could
this be his child? His <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">daughter?</i> <br />
<br />
“And who is this?”<br />
<br />
Kate’s gaze flicked to his.
Her hand fell protectively to the little girl’s shoulder. “This is Trisha.”<br />
<br />
His body went stock still. “Short
for Patricia?” His beloved grandmother’s name? Why name the little girl after
his grandmother if she wasn’t his? <br />
<br />
She smiled weakly. Her eyes
filled with tears. She whispered, “Yes.”<br />
<br />
Damn it.<br />
<br />
He had a child. A daughter. And
Kate had kept her from him?<br />
<br />
He looked at the little girl
again. Pain, wonder, curiosity simultaneously burst inside him. Everything in
him wanted to touch her. To examine her. To see the beautiful child <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">he’d</i> made. <br />
<br />
But anger warred with longing
and both of them were wrapped in confusion. Was this why she’d left him?
Because she was pregnant? Because she didn’t want him to know his child?<br />
<br />
Fury rose, hot and eager for
release, but thank God his common sense had not deserted him. With this
beautiful little girl standing so sweetly innocent in front of him, he couldn’t
out-and-out ask Kate if this was his daughter.<br />
<br />Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-888171075367122782011-11-21T11:12:00.000-08:002011-11-21T11:12:11.688-08:00KISSES ON HER CHRISTMAS LIST<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ByB4eYj1gw/Tsqgzg2XYQI/AAAAAAAAALI/KBfKPOn9eJk/s1600/51Jpt6BT57L__SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_ByB4eYj1gw/Tsqgzg2XYQI/AAAAAAAAALI/KBfKPOn9eJk/s200/51Jpt6BT57L__SL500_AA300_.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Chapter 1<br />
<br />
Shannon Raleigh turned to get a look at herself in the full-length mirror in the bathroom of her executive office suite and gaped in horror. The tall black boots and short red velvet dress she wore exposed most of her legs and the white fur trimmed “U” at the bodice revealed a sizeable strip of cleavage. <br />
<br />
“I can’t go into a roomful of kids dressed like this!”<br />
<br />
Even from behind the closed door, she could hear her assistant Wendy sigh heavily. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”<br />
<br />
“Because I know you’ll say I look fine, when I don’t. I can’t usher kids to Santa’s lap in a skirt so short I can’t bend over.”<br />
<br />
“So don’t bend over.” Another sigh. “Look, Shannon, it doesn’t matter that you’re eight inches taller than Carlie. There’s nobody else who’s even remotely thin enough to fit into that suit. Carlie’s car is stuck in a snow drift. If you don’t play Santa’s helper there’ll be no one to–“ <br />
<br />
The ring of the phone stopped Wendy mid-sentence. The next thing Shannon heard was Wendy’s happy voice saying, “Raleigh’s Department Store. Shannon Raleigh’s assistant, Wendy, speaking.”<br />
<br />
In the lull while Wendy obviously listened to the caller, Shannon cast another critical eye over her reflection. The little red dress was kind of cute. The color complimented her long black hair and made her blue eyes seem bluer. If she were wearing it anywhere else, she’d actually think she looked pretty.<br />
<br />
A long-forgotten ache filled her. It was the first time in a year she felt pretty, sexy. But sexy wasn’t exactly the way a grown woman should dress in a room filled with babies, toddlers and elementary school kids. <br />
<br />
The ache was quickly replaced by fear – which was the real reason she didn’t want to play Santa’s helper. How could she spend four hours in a room full of adorable children? She wanted a baby so badly it hurt, but she couldn’t have kids. And seeing all those sweet faces, hearing their cute little lists, would crush her.<br />
<br />
“Um, Shannon?”<br />
<br />
“I’m not coming out.”<br />
<br />
“Fine. That was Tammy in the Shoe Department. No one’s come into the store for the past hour. Because she could tell the storm was getting worse, she checked the forecast on the Internet. They have no clue how much snow we’re going to get, but they aren’t shy about suggesting we might get another foot.”<br />
<br />
“Another foot!”<br />
<br />
Shannon raced out of her bathroom and pulled back the curtain behind her huge mahogany desk. Thick fluffy snowflakes cascaded from the sky, coating the tinsel and silver bells on the streetlamps of Main Street, Green Hill, Pennsylvania. It blanketed the Christmas lights that outlined shop doorways, and sat on the roof of the park’s gazebo like a tall white hat. <br />
<br />
“Holy cow!”<br />
<br />
Her gaze on the little red Santa’s help outfit, Wendy also said, “Holy cow.”<br />
<br />
“Don’t make fun. We have a serious problem here.” Or maybe a way out. She turned from the window. “I think it’s time to admit that the storm is keeping shoppers away.”<br />
<br />
“And most of the staff is scared silly about driving home. The longer we stay, the worse the roads get.”<br />
<br />
“Okay, announce that the store is closing in fifteen and tell the employees they can go home. I’ll call the radio stations so they can add us to their list of closings. Then I’ll lock up.”<br />
<br />
“Okay.”<br />
<br />
As the announcement went out over the loudspeaker, Shannon called all the local radio stations and advised them to let listeners know Raleigh’s would be closed for the night. <br />
<br />
Just as she hung up the phone from the final call, Wendy peeked in. “Okay. Fifteen minutes are up. Store’s empty.”<br />
<br />
“Great. Thanks. Be careful going home.”<br />
<br />
“My boyfriend’s coming to pick me up in his truck. I’ll be fine.”<br />
<br />
Shannon smiled. “See you tomorrow.”<br />
<br />
“If we can make it.”<br />
<br />
“We better hope we can make it. The weekend before Christmas is our busiest time.”<br />
<br />
Wendy shrugged. “If shoppers don’t get here tomorrow, they’ll just come on Sunday or Monday or Tuesday or whatever. Nobody’s going to go without gifts this Christmas. I’d say your profits are safe.”<br />
<br />
Shannon laughed. Wendy waved and headed off. With a few clicks on her keyboard, she activated the building locks and the alarm system. Reaching for her coat, she peered down at her little Santa’s helper outfit. She should change, but knowing the roads were getting worse with every passing minute, she simply yanked her long white wool coat from the closet and ran out.<br />
<br />
At the end of the hall, she pushed on the swinging door that led from executive row to Housewares. Striding to the elevator, she passed shelves and tables bulging with merchandise, all under loops of tinsel and oversized ornaments hanging from the low ceiling. On the first floor, she hurried past the Candy Department, to the back door and the employee parking lot. Putting her SUV into four-wheel drive, she edged onto the street and slowly wound along the twisty road that took her out into the country, to her home five miles outside the small city. <br />
<br />
As she stepped out into the eighteen inches of snow in her driveway, a sense of disconnect shivered through her. Though it had been a year, it felt like only yesterday that she was married and living in sunny, happy Charleston, South Carolina – where people didn’t often see snow, let alone need winter coats and boots. Then she’d been diagnosed with stage-four endometriosis and forced to have a hysterectomy, her husband had unceremoniously divorced her and she’d returned home to the comforting arms of her parents. <br />
<br />
But just when she’d gotten adjusted to being back in town and working at the store, her parents had retired and moved to Florida. Worse, they wanted her to sell the store to fund their retirement.<br />
<br />
Once again, she was alone – and soon she’d be unemployed.<br />
<br />
She trudged up the back steps to the kitchen door, scolding herself for being so negative. She knew what was wrong. The near-miss with playing Santa’s helper had rattled her. Four hours of ushering kids to Santa’s throne and listening to their sweet voices as they gave their Christmas lists to the jolly old elf would have been her undoing – a bittersweet reminder her that she’d never bring a child into this world. <br />
<br />
Inside the cold yellow kitchen, she’d just barely unwound the scarf from her neck when the doorbell rang. Confused, she walked up the hall, dodging the boxes of Christmas decorations she’d brought from the attic the night before. She flipped on the porch light and yanked open the door. <br />
<br />
A snow-covered state policeman took off his hat. “Evening, ma’am. I’m Trooper Potter.”<br />
<br />
She blinked. What the devil would the police want with her? “Good evening.” <br />
<br />
Then Trooper Potter shifted a bit to his left and she saw Rory Wallace. All six-foot-one, no-more-than-a-hundred-and-eighty-five-gorgeous pounds of him. His black hair and topcoat were sprinkled with snow. His dark eyes were wary, apologetic. <br />
<br />
“Rory?”<br />
<br />
“Good evening, Shannon.” <br />
<br />
The policeman angled his thumb behind him. “I see you know Mr. Wallace.”<br />
<br />
“Yes. I do.” How could she forget a dark-haired, dark-eyed sex god? While he dated her roommate Natalie their first year at university, Shannon had had a secret crush on him. With his high cheekbones, well defined chin, broad shoulders and flat abs, he had the kind of looks that made women swoon and Shannon wasn’t blind. <br />
<br />
“Mr. Wallace was stranded on the Interstate. The hotels filled up quickly with travelers and now his only options are a cot in the high school gym or finding someone to take him in. He tells me that he’s in Pennsylvania because he has business with you on Monday and --”<br />
<br />
“I came a few days early to get a look at the store on my own,” Rory interrupted, stepping forward. “But I ran into the storm. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind me staying the night. Normally, I wouldn’t ask such a big favor, but as you can see I’m desperate.”<br />
<br />
Mind? She almost laughed. She would bet that fifty percent of the women he met fantasized about being stuck in storm with him.<br />
<br />
She opened the door a little wider. Not only would having him stay the night get her out of the doldrums about her life, but this had all the makings of a perfect fantasy. Cold night. Gorgeous guy. And wine. She had tons of wine.<br />
<br />
“Daddy, I’m cold.”<br />
<br />
Her fantasy came to an abrupt halt as she glanced down and saw a little girl standing beside Rory. She wore a pink ski jacket and carried a matching pink backpack. Little strands of yellow hair peeked from beneath her hood.<br />
<br />
Her heart pinched with fear. Her breathing stuttered out. Did Fate think it was funny to let her dodge playing Santa’s helper only to drop an adorable child on her doorstep?<br />
<br />
“You can see why I don’t want to stay in a shelter.”<br />
<br />
Fear and yearning collided as she glanced down at the sweet little girl with big blue eyes and fine yellow hair. As much as she knew spending time with this child would intensify her longing for her own, she couldn’t leave Rory and his daughter out in the cold or ship them to a crowded gym with hundreds of other noisy travelers and a tiny cot. <br />
<br />
She also couldn’t be a Scrooge or grumpy Gus. Her problem wasn’t their problem. She would be a good hostess. <br />
<br />
She stepped back so they could enter. “Yes. Yes, of course.” <br />
<br />
Carrying a duffle bag and brief case as he squeezed into the foyer, Rory brushed against her, setting off a firestorm of sensations inside her. She ignored them. Not just because a man with a child was mostly likely married, but because she probably wouldn’t have made a pass at him even if he’d been alone. In the year since her divorce, she hadn’t been able to relate to men as anything other than employees. After her husband’s anger over her inability to have kids and the way he’d dropped her like a hot potato – no consideration for their five-year marriage, no consideration for her devastation – the fear of another man rejecting her paralyzed her.<br />
<br />
Plus, come Monday, they’d be doing business. His family owned a holding company for various types of stores and Raleigh’s would probably fit their collection. That’s why she’d thought of Natalie’s old boyfriend when her parents decided they wanted her to sell the store. It could be a quick, painless sale. She didn’t want to jeopardize that.<br />
<br />
But, wow. It had been fun to fantasize about being stranded with him, fun for the ten seconds before reality intruded, reminding her she wasn’t normal.<br />
<br />
As Rory dropped his duffle bag, she said, “It’s a terrible storm.”<br />
<br />
“Worst in ten years,” the trooper agreed, staying behind on the porch. “If you’re all settled, I need to get back on the road.”<br />
<br />
“We’re fine,” Shannon said, as she began to close the door. As an afterthought, she added, “Thank you.”<br />
<br />
“Yes, thank you,” Rory Wallace called out too.<br />
<br />
Already on his way down her front steps, the trooper waved goodbye and trudged through the thick snow on the sidewalk to his car.<br />
<br />
Awkward silence reined as Rory Wallace took in the foyer of Shannon Raleigh’s home. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d been forced to humble himself and ask shelter from a business associate, it appeared she was moving. Boxes blocked half the corridor that led from the foyer to the kitchen behind it. They littered the living room to the right and the dining room to the left.<br />
<br />
Which made him feel even guiltier for being forced to ask for shelter. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”<br />
<br />
She smiled graciously. “You’re welcome.” Then she shivered, even though she wore a long white coat and the house wasn’t that cold, just chilled, as if the heat had been on low all day while she was at work. “Give me a minute to turn on the furnace.” She walked to a thermostat on the wall and adjusted it. “You might want to keep your coats on until it heats up in here.”<br />
<br />
He unbuttoned his topcoat. “Actually, after spending ten hours in a car, your house is warm to us.” He stooped to help his daughter with her jacket. Realizing he’d never introduced her, he peeked up at Shannon. “This is my daughter, Finley.”<br />
<br />
Crouching beside them, Shannon said, “It’s nice to meet you, Finley.” <br />
<br />
Finley mumbled, “Nice to meet you too,” then she looked at him as if wanting to make sure he’d noticed that she’d been polite.<br />
<br />
Sliding her arms out of her little pink jacket, he gave her a subtle nod of approval. Lately, she’d been something of a six-year-old diva. Disciplining her worked, but not always. And some days he was at his wits end with her. So he was lucky she’d been polite to Shannon Raleigh. He didn’t know how he’d deal with her if she insulted the woman who’d rescued them.<br />
<br />
“This is the perfect night to be stranded with me,” Shannon said, taking Finley’s jacket to the closet behind her. “My parents will be home from Florida next Saturday and I promised I’d have the house decorated for Christmas. All these boxes are decorations they left behind when they moved to Florida. You can help me.”<br />
<br />
While Rory breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t interrupted her moving, Finley’s nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed with distaste. Before he realized what she was about to do, she spat, “I hate Christmas.”<br />
<br />
Shannon reared back as if someone had slapped her. Her pretty blue eyes widened in disbelief. “Hate Christmas? How can you hate Christmas?”<br />
<br />
“How can you believe that a fat guy in a red suit brings you presents?”<br />
<br />
Anger pulsed through Rory’s veins and he shot Finley a warning look. He wouldn’t yell at her in front of Shannon, but he did need to provide a few rules for behavior when imposing on someone they barely knew. He faced Shannon. “Why don’t you tell me where we’re sleeping and I’ll take Finley to our room and help her get settled in.”<br />
<br />
Shannon winced. “Actually, there’s only one bedroom.” <br />
<br />
“Oh.” <br />
<br />
“It’s no big deal. We’ll give the bed to Finley, and you and I will use sleeping bags. You can put yours on the floor beside the bed and I’ll sleep on the sofa.”<br />
<br />
Mortal embarrassment overwhelmed him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d be putting her out when he gave her name to the state policeman. “This is such an imposition. You can’t give us your room. Finley and I don’t mind sleeping in the living room.”<br />
<br />
Finley stomped her foot. “I don’t want to sleep on the floor.”<br />
<br />
He flashed Finley another warning look. “You won’t. You can have the sofa.”<br />
<br />
“I want a bed!”<br />
<br />
Rory’s head pounded. He understood that this time of year wasn’t easy for Finley. Her mom had left on Christmas day two years before. So every year, she got moody, and every year he indulged her by taking her on vacation from Christmas Eve to New Years. For a guy who’d also lost his marriage on Christmas Day, a vacation from the holiday was good for him too. But the foot-stomping and the pouting and the demands that everything go her way, those had just started. And he absolutely refused to get on board with them. He had to spend the next week looking at Raleigh’s Department Store for his family’s holding company. He couldn’t have her acting like a brat all week.<br />
<br />
He turned to Shannon. “Would you mind showing us to the bedroom so I can get Finley settled?”<br />
<br />
“Not at all.”<br />
<br />
She led them into a small first floor bedroom that was as neat and clean as the rest of the house – minus boxes. A feminine white ruffled spread sat on a simple double bed. Red pillows on the bed matched the red shag carpet beneath it and the drapes on the double windows. <br />
<br />
He dropped his duffle bag to the floor. “Wow.”<br />
<br />
She faced him with a smile. Her shiny black hair was a wonderland of long, springy curls. In the years since university, her face had shifted just slightly and she’d become a softer, prettier version of the young girl he remembered.<br />
<br />
“Wow?”<br />
<br />
“I’m just a little surprised by your room.”<br />
<br />
Her smile grew. “Really? Why?”<br />
<br />
“The red.” He felt the same color rising on his cheeks. The room was girlie, yet incredibly sexy. But he certainly didn’t feel comfortable saying that to the woman giving him and his daughter shelter, especially not after Finley’s mini-tantrum. Still, he never would have guessed this sexy combination of color and style from the sweet Shannon he knew all those years ago at school.<br />
<br />
“There’s a private bathroom for the bedroom.” She gestured toward a door to the right. “Over there.”<br />
<br />
“Thank you.”<br />
<br />
“Just come out when you’re ready.” She smiled. “I’ll start supper. I hope you like toasted cheese sandwiches and soup. I’m not much of a cook.”<br />
<br />
“On a cold day like this, soup is terrific.”<br />
<br />
She closed the door behind her and Rory crouched down in front of Finley. Smoothing his hand down her shiny yellow hair, he said, “You’re killing me.”<br />
<br />
She blinked innocently “What?”<br />
<br />
“Ms. Raleigh is doing us a favor by letting us stay. We should be polite to her.”<br />
<br />
“I was polite.”<br />
<br />
“Saying you want the bed while you stomp your foot is not polite.”<br />
<br />
Her bottom lip puffed out. “Sorry.”<br />
<br />
And this was why he had trouble disciplining her. The second he pointed out something she did wrong, she turned on that little girl charm. Batted her long black lashes over her pretty blue eyes.<br />
<br />
Scrubbing his hand over his mouth, he rose. “I’ll tell you what. You stay in here for a few minutes, while I spend some time getting acquainted with our hostess.” And apologizing and doing damage control. “While I’m gone, you can get your pajamas and tooth brush out of your backpack and think about how you’d want a little girl to behave if she were a guest in our house.”<br />
<br />
Apparently liking her assignment, she nodded eagerly. <br />
<br />
“And don’t spend all your time thinking about how you’d spoil your little guest, because you wouldn’t. If you had to give up your bed for a stranger, you’d want her to be nice to you.”<br />
<br />
Finley nodded again and said, “Okay. I get it.”<br />
<br />
Rory was absolutely positive she didn’t, but he had to make amends to Shannon. He left Finley in the bedroom and walked up the hall to the kitchen. <br />
<br />
The house was small, but comfortable. The furniture was new and expensive, an indication that Raleigh’s Department Store did, indeed, make lots of money. So maybe the trip to Pennsylvania might not have been the mistake he’d thought while sitting in his car for ten hours, not moving, on the Interstate?<br />
<br />
He found Shannon in the kitchen. Still wearing her coat, she drew bread from a drawer and cheese from the refrigerator.<br />
<br />
“Thanks again for taking us in.”<br />
<br />
“No problem.” She set the bread and cheese on the center island of the sunny yellow kitchen with light oak cabinets and pale brown granite countertops. She reached for the top button of her coat. “Furnace has kicked in,” she said with a laugh, popping the first button and the second, but when she reached the third, she paused. “I think I’ll just take this out to the hall closet.”<br />
<br />
She walked past him, to the swinging door. Wanting something to do, he followed her. Just as he said, “Is there anything I can do to help with supper?” her coat fell off her shoulders, revealing a bright red dress.<br />
<br />
But when she turned in surprise, he saw the dress wasn’t really a dress but some little red velvet thing that dipped low at the bodice, revealing an enticing band of cleavage. Tall black boots showcased her great legs.<br />
<br />
She was dressed like Mrs. Santa – if Mrs. Santa were a young incredibly endowed woman who liked short skirts.<br />
<br />
His dormant hormones woke as if from a long winter’s nap, and he took a step back. These little bursts of attraction he was having to her were all wrong. He had an unruly daughter who took priority over everything in his life, including his hormones, and he was a guest in Shannon’s house. Plus, tomorrow morning, when the storm was over, they’d go into her department store as adversaries of a sort. She’d be trying to sell her family business to him and he’d be looking for reasons not to buy. He couldn’t be attracted to her.<br />
<br />
He swallowed back the whole filing cabinet of flirtatious remarks that wanted to come out. “That’s an interesting choice of work clothes.”<br />
<br />
She laughed nervously. “I was going to fill in for our Santa’s helper in the Toy Department.”<br />
<br />
Ah. Not Mrs. Santa but Santa’s helper.<br />
<br />
“Well, the dress is very …” He paused. He knew the dress was probably supposed to be Christmassy and cute. And on a shorter woman it probably was. But she was tall, sleek, yet somehow still womanly. He didn’t dare tell her that. “… festive.” <br />
<br />
She brought the coat to her neck, using it to shield herself. “That’s the look we’re after. Festive and happy. And it actually works for the girl who fits into this costume. I was lucky Mother Nature saved me and I didn’t have to fill in for her tonight.” <br />
<br />
Recognizing her acute nervousness, Rory pulled his gaze away from her long, slim legs. He cleared his throat. “I … um… just followed you to see if I could help you with anything.”<br />
<br />
She motioned toward his black suit and white shirt. “Are you sure you want to butter bread or stir tomato soup in a suit?”<br />
<br />
He took off his jacket, loosened his tie and began rolling up his sleeves.<br />
<br />
And Shannon’s mouth watered. Damn it. She’d already figured out she couldn’t be fantasizing about him. Sure, his shoulders were broad, his arms muscled. And she’d always been a sucker for a man in a white shirt with rolled up sleeves looking like he was ready to get down to business. But as far as she could tell, he was married. That shut down the possibility of any relationship right then and there. Plus, she wanted him to buy her parents’ store. She couldn’t be drooling on him.<br />
<br />
She hung up her coat, then scurried past him, into the kitchen and directly to the laundry room. Leaning on the closed door, she drew in a deep breath. God, he was gorgeous. But he was also married. <br />
<br />
Married. Married. Married.<br />
<br />
She forced the litany through her head, hoping it would sink in, as she grabbed a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from the dryer and changed into them.<br />
<br />
When she returned to the kitchen he stood at the center island, buttering bread. “While we have a few seconds of privacy, I also wanted to apologize for Finley. I brought her because she’s on Christmas break from school and I hate to leave her with her nanny for an entire week. But I know she can be a handful.”<br />
<br />
Walking over to join him, she said, “She’s just a little girl.”<br />
<br />
“True, but she’s also recently entered a new phase of some sort where she stomps her foot when she doesn’t get her own way.”<br />
<br />
Standing so close to him, she could smell his aftershave. Her breathing stuttered in and out of her lungs. So she laughed, trying to cover it. “A new phase, huh?”<br />
<br />
“She’s was perfectly fine in pre-school and kindergarten, but first grade is turning her into a Diva.”<br />
<br />
“Diva?”<br />
<br />
“Yeah.” Smiling, he caught her gaze, and every nerve ending in her body lit up like the lights on the Christmas tree in central park. Spinning away from him, she repeated the litany in her head again.<br />
<br />
Married. Married. Married!<br />
<br />
“You know, I can easily handle this myself. You can use the den for privacy if you need to call your wife.”<br />
<br />
He snorted a laugh. “Not hardly.”<br />
<br />
She set the frying pan for the sandwiches on the stove and faced him again. “I’m sure she’s worried.”<br />
<br />
“And I’m sure she and her new husband aren’t even thinking about me and Finley right now.”<br />
<br />
“Oh.” Nerves rolled through her. He was divorced? Not married?<br />
<br />
Their gazes caught. Attraction spun through her like snowflakes dancing in the light of a streetlamp. She reminded herself that they were about to do business, but it didn’t work to snuff out the snap and crackle of electricity arching between them. <br />
<br />
She pivoted away from him. Pretending she needed all her concentration to open two cans of soup, she managed to avoid conversation. But that didn’t stop the chatter in her brain. As difficult as it might be to have a little girl around, she was abundantly glad Finley was with him. She might have had that quick fantasy of being stranded with him, but now that sanity had returned, she knew the sale of the store had to take precedence over a night of … she swallowed…passion? Good God, she hadn’t even thought the word in a year, let alone experienced it. She’d probably dissolve into a puddle if he made a pass at her.Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-69605485224603036402011-05-15T05:16:00.000-07:002011-05-15T05:16:00.468-07:00BABY AT THE RANCHChapter 1<br />
<br />
Suzanne Caldwell shoved against the spot in the door of Amanda Mae’s Old West Diner where the “waitress wanted” sign filled the glass. The scent of fresh apple pie greeted her, along with a rush of noise. Though there were no more than ten people at the counter and in the booths, the place was as rowdy as a party. Women wearing jeans and tank tops sat with men dressed in jeans, T-shirts and cowboy hats. She didn’t get two steps into the room before the noise level began to drop. As if noticing the stranger, people stopped talking mid-sentence. <br />
<br />
She clutched her six-month-old baby, Mitzi. There was nothing like walking into a roomful of staring strangers to make you realize how alone you were in the world. <br />
<br />
And she was definitely alone. She’d run out of gas about a mile out of Whiskey Springs, Texas, and, literally, had no one to call for help. <br />
<br />
No family. Her grandmother had died six months ago and her mom had died when Suzanne was six. Her dad, whoever he was, had never acknowledged her. <br />
<br />
Her mom and grandmother were both only children so she had no aunts, no uncles, no cousins.<br />
<br />
And no friends. The wonderful sorority sisters who’d vowed to be her ally for life had dumped her when she got pregnant by a popular university professor. It was her fault, they’d said, and had accused her of trying to ruin Bill Baker’s career. As if. The guy had gone on a campaign to seduce her and had wormed his way into her life because of her grandmother’s fortune. When Martha Caldwell made some major mistakes in money management and lost the bulk of her wealth, Professor Baker suddenly didn’t want to see her anymore. And he most certainly wanted no part of their baby.<br />
<br />
So, yeah. She was alone. Alone. Broke. Desperate to make a home for herself and her baby. And she’d left Atlanta bound for Whiskey Springs hoping to find some help. <br />
<br />
But after walking the last mile on a hot June day, her heels thumped in her black stiletto boots. Mitzi squirmed in her arms. Her heavy diaper bag was dislocating her shoulder. Still, she kept her head high as she made her way to the first empty booth. By the time she got there, the diner was dead silent.<br />
<br />
A waitress shuffled over. “Help you?”<br />
<br />
She cleared her throat. “I’d like a piece of the apple pie I can smell, a cup of coffee, a glass of milk and some pudding, please.”<br />
<br />
“What kind of pudding?”<br />
<br />
She swallowed. Not one person had turned back to his or her coffee or food. They just stared as if she were a zombie or vampire or some other mythical creature they’d never seen before. “What kind do you have?”<br />
<br />
“Vanilla or chocolate.”<br />
<br />
“Mitzi loves vanilla.”<br />
<br />
Without so much as a word of acknowledgement, the waitress scurried away.<br />
<br />
“You’re not from around here.”<br />
<br />
Knowing the man could only be talking to her, she followed the voice and found herself staring into a pair of the shrewdest eyes she’d ever seen. Cool, calculating, so black the pupils were almost invisible, his eyes never blinked, never waivered as they held her gaze.<br />
<br />
Toto, we are not in Kansas anymore.<br />
<br />
“No, I’m not from around here.”<br />
<br />
“What’s your business?”<br />
<br />
“None of yours.” She turned away from the penetrating, unsettling eyes and shifted Mitzi on her lap.<br />
<br />
To her horror, the man walked over and plopped down on the bench seat across from hers. His full lips pulled upward into a devilish smile. His dark eyes danced with pleasure. “Now, see. That’s not just a bad attitude; it’s also wrong.”<br />
<br />
She should have been scared to death. He was big. Not fat, but tall and broad-shouldered. The kind of guy who could snap a little five-foot-five girl like her in two. But instead of fear, a very unladylike shiver of lust rippled down her spine. <br />
<br />
“Everything that happens in Whiskey Springs is my business because this is my town.”<br />
<br />
Not at all happy with herself for even having two seconds of attraction to an ill-mannered stranger, she said, “Your town? What are you, the sheriff?”<br />
<br />
He chuckled. The people at the counter and in the booths around them also laughed.<br />
<br />
“No. I’m Cade Andreas. I own this town. I bought all the buildings last year. I lease the businesses back to their proprietors, but I still own every square inch, including the one you’re sitting on.”<br />
<br />
Oh, good God. This was Cade Andreas?<br />
<br />
Fear and confusion immediately replaced attraction. Wasn’t the Andreas family broke? <br />
<br />
She owned one-third of Andreas Holdings stock and hadn’t been able to sell it because the company was on the skids. What was he doing buying a town?<br />
<br />
“And I’d like to know what brings you to my town.”<br />
<br />
She raised her gaze to his face. A day-old growth of beard covered his chin and cheeks, giving him a sexily disreputable look. His lips were full, firm, kissable. His nose had been broken – undoubtedly in a fight – but it wasn’t disfigured, more like masculine. Definitely not dainty. There was nothing dainty about this man. He was all male. One-hundred percent, grade A, prime specimen sexy.<br />
<br />
Finally, their eyes connected. Her chest tightened. Her breathing stalled. She could have blamed that on her unwitting attraction, but refused. A guy who bought a town had to be more than a little arrogant. Definitely past vain. Maybe even beyond narcissistic. And she’d learned her lesson about narcissistic men with Mitzi’s father. It would be a cold, frosty day in hell before she got involved with another self-absorbed man. So she refused to be attracted to Cade Andreas. Refused. <br />
<br />
But she still needed a job. She might own stock worth millions of dollars, but nobody wanted to buy it. Potential didn’t sell stock these days. Dividends did. And in the past two years Andreas Holdings hadn’t paid any. So she was hoping that since she owned one-third of the company they could at least let her work there. The choice to approach Cade Andreas, the youngest of the three brothers who owned controlling interest of Andreas Holdings stock and ran the company, was simply a matter of practicality. Texas was driving distance. New York City, the headquarters for the corporate offices, wasn’t. Still, if they gave her a job, she’d get there somehow. She’d go anywhere that she could put down roots and make a home. Maybe find some friends. <br />
<br />
“What brings you to my town?”<br />
<br />
This time the words were harsh. Not quite angry, but definitely losing patience.<br />
She glanced at the waitress who stood behind the counter, balancing a coffee pot and Suzanne’s piece of pie, obviously holding them hostage until she answered Cade.<br />
She looked back at him. His already sharp eyes had narrowed in displeasure, and she had the sudden, intense intuition that if she told him who she was – in front of his adoring friends and the frozen waitress – he would not jump for joy. She would bet her last dollar that none of these people knew how much trouble Andreas Holdings was in and Cade would not be happy with the person who announced it. <br />
<br />
There was no way she could say who she was and why she was here without talking about something he would want kept private, and no way she could explain her presence in this two-bit town so far from a major highway that no one was ever just passing through.<br />
<br />
She glanced around, saw the sign in the door advertising for a waitress and grabbed the first piece of good luck that had come her way in over a year.<br />
<br />
“I heard about the job for a waitress, so I came.”<br />
<br />
“In your fancy boots, with your baby all dolled up?”<br />
<br />
“We put on our best stuff --” she said, making herself sound as if she fit the part of a waitress. She regretted the deception, but if anybody ever deserved to be played, this guy did. Owned a town, huh? She potentially held the future of his family’s company in her hands just by whom she chose to sell her stock to, yet he’d never once considered that she might be somebody worthy of his time. “-- For the interview.”<br />
<br />
A short, round, dark-haired woman wearing an apron scampered out of the kitchen. “You’re looking for a job?”<br />
<br />
“Yes.” The truth of that brought her back to reality. Her purpose for coming to Whiskey Springs had been to get a job – from Andreas Holdings. Now that plan was on hold. She wasn’t exactly here to be a waitress, but money was money. And she needed some. Now. Today. She had enough cash to pay for her piece of pie and even buy extra milk for Mitzi, but after that she and Mitzi were sleeping in her car.<br />
<br />
“I’m Suzanne Caldwell.” Because her grandmother had held the stock in a trust, her name wasn’t mentioned on any documents, so she could give it without worry. “This is my baby Mitzi.”<br />
<br />
Mitzi picked that exact moment to cry. The little brunette scrambled over. “I’m Amanda Mae.” She shot Cade an evil look, causing Suzanne to immediately love her. “Real men don’t make babies cry.”<br />
<br />
Cade held up his hands innocently. “Hey, I was on my own side of the booth the whole time. I didn’t touch her.”<br />
<br />
“You’re threatening her mama.”<br />
<br />
His face fell. “I never threatened her!”<br />
<br />
“Just your voice is threatening.”<br />
<br />
He sighed. “Yeah. Right. Whatever.”<br />
<br />
She took the baby. “Would you like a bottle, little Mitzi?”<br />
<br />
Suzanne said, “I ordered some milk and pudding for her.”<br />
<br />
Amanda Mae looked horrified. “June Marie, where are you with this baby’s food?”<br />
<br />
The waitress hustled over, set Suzanne’s pie in front of her and poured her a cup of coffee before she rushed away and got both the pudding and the milk.<br />
<br />
<br />
Eyes narrowed, Cade studied the woman across the booth from him. She was a pretty little package. Eyes so blue they bordered on the purple color of the wildflowers that grew on his pasture in the spring. Black hair cut in a straight, blunt line at her chin, giving her a dramatic look that didn’t fit with a woman who needed a job as a waitress. And those boots. Black stilettos. The kind a man envisioned on his chest, pinning him to a bed.<br />
<br />
He stopped those thoughts. She might be a pretty with her perfect nose and full, tempting lips, but he wasn’t interested.<br />
<br />
Still, he had no doubt that he had to keep an eye on her. Something wasn’t right with her. It wasn’t just her city-girl clothes. Her demeanor didn’t fit. Waitresses didn’t have smooth hands, perfect posture, an unblinking stare. <br />
<br />
He rose from the booth. “Well, seeing as how you got the job you wanted, I guess we’ll be running into each other from time to time.”<br />
<br />
She only smiled. A cool, remote smile that heated his blood and all but challenged him to turn on the charm and see how long it would take to get that smile to thaw. Luckily, he was smarter than that.<br />
<br />
Amanda Mae said, “Do you have someplace to stay, honey?”<br />
<br />
She faced the diner owner. “I – No. Actually, I need a place to stay.”<br />
<br />
“Hotel’s in the next town over,” Cade said, striding back to his seat at the counter and his now cold coffee.<br />
<br />
Amanada Mae shot him another evil glare. “Or she could use the apartment upstairs until she gets on her feet.”<br />
<br />
“I’d like that.” Suzanne pressed her fingers to Amanda Mae’s hand in a gesture of appreciation that stopped Cade cold. Maybe she was in need of a little help? Her crisp white blouse and fancy jeans could be the last good things she owned. He hadn’t heard a car drive up. He glanced out the big front window into the street. He didn’t see a car. She could be dead broke-- <br />
<br />
Nope. His business sense wouldn’t accept that. Something about her screamed money. Big money. If she was pretending she didn’t have any, there was a reason.<br />
<br />
Damn. He was going to have to keep an eye on her.<br />
<br />
Immediately after Cade left, Amanda Mae took Suzanne upstairs to look at the little furnished apartment. <br />
<br />
“One of the waitresses always lives here,” she said, leading Suzanne into the tiny bedroom that barely had enough space for a crib and a double bed. “So we keep it furnished.”<br />
<br />
Gratitude weakened Suzanne’s knees. At least now they wouldn’t have to sleep in her car tonight. She turned Amanda Mae to with a smile. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”<br />
<br />
Amanda Mae stuffed a few bills into her palm. “And here’s some money to go to the secondhand store down the street and buy some sheets and towels.”<br />
<br />
Her face reddened. This time last year she was telling her grandmother she was three months pregnant and that her baby’s daddy wanted no part of her. Her wonderful, loving grandmother had taken her hand and told her not to worry. That everything would be okay. Even though she’d made some bad investments, they still had the Andreas Holdings stock.<br />
<br />
A couple of months hadn’t just changed everything; they’d taken away her home, her only family. Instead of being a well-loved granddaughter, she was a broke single mom. So alone her only contacts had been lawyers and accountants, until her grandmother’s estate was settled. Then even they didn’t call.<br />
<br />
Tears welled up. She caught Amanda Mae’s gaze. “I’ll pay you back.”<br />
<br />
Amanda Mae squeezed her hand. “In good time. For now, I’m just happy to have some help for the breakfast crowd.”<br />
<br />
Driving back to his ranch, Cade speed-dialed the number for his assistant. <br />
<br />
“Hey, Cade.”<br />
<br />
“Hey, Eric.” He’d hired Eric right out of grad school because he was sharp and educated, but also because he had total recall. If someone mentioned an aunt, cousin, sister, brother or long-lost friend even once in a conversation, Eric would remember him or her. “Have you ever heard of Suzanne Caldwell?”<br />
<br />
“Can’t say that I have.”<br />
<br />
Damn. <br />
<br />
“Who is she?”<br />
<br />
“Just a woman who came into the diner today. She took the waitress job, but something just didn’t seem right about her.”<br />
<br />
“Ah. I’m guessing your business sense kicked up.”<br />
<br />
He scowled at the phone. “Don’t poke fun at my business sense. It’s made me rich enough that I’d never have to work another day in my life. While you, on the other hand, still work for me.”<br />
<br />
He disconnected the call. But when he though of Suzanne, the hair on his nape snapped up. Damn it! Why would a waitress activate his business sense? And why was he going back to his ranch when his instincts were screaming that he should be checking into this?<br />
<br />
Slamming on the brakes of his Chevy Silverado, he manipulated it through a fishtail and headed back into town. He pulled his truck into a parking space at the diner, but when he walked by the huge front window, he saw that the new waitress wasn’t inside. <br />
<br />
His instincts calmed, his intuition quieted and he cursed himself for being the suspicious fool that Eric hinted he was. But before he could turn around and go back to his truck, he saw Suzanne coming down the outside steps from the second-floor apartment, carrying her baby. <br />
<br />
A hot rush of desire whooshed through him. Luckily, the hair on his nape also prickled the way it always did right before a negotiation went sour. The first reaction might have been attraction. But the nape prickle? That was his business sense. The one that told him he was about to get into a fight. Not a fist fight, but a disagreement, or maybe a battle to protect what was his. He slid into the alley between the general store and the hardware and watched her head up the street.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, the view from behind was every bit as stunning as her front profile. Her straight black hair fringed the collar of the crisp white blouse that hugged a trim, toned back. It slid along the indent of her small waist to an absolutely perfect behind that swayed ever so slightly with every step of her long legs – legs made to look longer and sexier by her stiletto boots.<br />
<br />
Attraction hit him like a warm ocean wave and left him drowning in sensation. This time he had to admit it was only attraction. He tried to blink it away but failed. There was just so much about her that was geared to appeal to a man. No male alive could resist a nice waist curve that took him to a tight butt and long, shapely legs. Especially when the pretty little package had a face to match. Dramatic hair. Eyes that could very well glow in the dark.<br />
<br />
He shook his head to clear the haze. Fantasizing would not do either one of them any good. He needed to figure out why she set off his business alarms or it would drive him crazy. Yes, that might make him a control freak. But he was a rich, successful control freak. And if his business sense said jump, his answer was always how high.<br />
<br />
When he was sure she was far enough ahead that she wouldn’t see him, he followed her. When she ducked into the secondhand store, he stopped. He waited for her to get deep enough into the building that she wouldn’t notice him hovering beyond the display in the big glass front window. <br />
<br />
Judy Petrovic, proprietor of Yesterday’s Goods, ambled over to her. <br />
<br />
Suzanne turned and offered her a sweet, sincere smile, which nearly knocked Cade off his feet. He’d never seen her smile. Well, he’d seen her sassy imitation smile, but never a genuine smile until now. And he was glad. Had she smiled at him like that in the diner he worried he would have stuttered.<br />
<br />
She handed her baby to Judy, then her heavy-looking diaper bag. Judy bounced the little girl as Suzanne dipped down and rummaged through a table of what looked to be sheets, maybe towels. Walking back and forth from the display to the cash register, she made a pile of linens before she grabbed a pair of secondhand jeans and a T-shirt, and several things for her baby. After Judy rang up her purchases, she paid with crumpled up bills that she’d been clutching in her left hand.<br />
<br />
Cade pulled back and slid around to the side of the building, his chest tightening with regret. She’d said she’d come to Whiskey Springs for the job as a waitress and she’d taken it without a hint of regret. Now she was buying somebody’s old, worn sheets to fit on the old, worn mattress on a bed that had seen more years than most of the people in this town.<br />
<br />
She really was broke.<br />
<br />
And here he was spying on her like some old goof.<br />
<br />
He was a goof. The truth was he wasn’t entirely sure that his sixth sense about her really was his business sense. It could be nothing but attraction. Lord knew, it had been so long since he’d been naturally overwhelmingly attracted to a woman that he might have forgotten the signs. He’d botched his first marriage so much that he stayed away from any woman who might inspire anything more than lust. And a woman with a baby wasn’t somebody a man should be fooling around with. Since he didn’t want to be attracted to Suzanne, he could be trying to kid himself into thinking it was his sixth sense. Rationalizing so he didn’t have to admit to anybody that he virtually tripped over his tongue when he looked at her.<br />
<br />
A dry dusty breeze swirled around him, reminding him that he was hiding in an alley, spying on a waitress.<br />
<br />
Good God. What was he doing?Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-70171504803120561502011-04-15T05:14:00.000-07:002011-05-08T16:26:28.622-07:00SECOND CHANCE BABYSECOND CHANCE BABY<br />
<br />
Chapter 1<br />
<br />
“Your ex-wife applied for the job as your assistant.”<br />
<br />
Nick Andreas glanced up at his current assistant, soon-to-be-retired Julie Farnsworth. He’d just flown back to North Carolina after six weeks in New York City. He was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go to his beach house, get out of his monkey suit and take a nap on his hammock. He’d only popped into the office because he had a huge bid due to renew the government contract that was the bread and butter of his manufacturing plant. He had to get an assistant in now. <br />
He just wasn’t sure hiring Maggie Forsythe as Julie’s replacement was the best way to go. When he had a bid due, his assistant worked with him – directly with him, at his side – ten hours a day, six days a week. No man wanted to spend that much time with his ex-wife. Not even an ex-wife he hadn’t seen in fifteen years. An ex-wife he barely remembered.<br />
<br />
He tossed his pen to his desk. “You wouldn’t be telling me this if she wasn’t qualified.”<br />
<br />
“She’s qualified. Over qualified in some respects.”<br />
<br />
“And she actually applied?”<br />
<br />
“Well, we certainly didn’t drag her in off the street.”<br />
<br />
He laughed and leaned back in his chair. So Maggie wanted to work for him? He smiled skeptically as weird feelings assaulted him. He hadn’t thought about Maggie Forsythe in over a decade. Now, suddenly, he could vividly recall how the sun would catch her red hair and make it sparkle, her wide, happy smile, the sound of her laughter. <br />
<br />
“Sorry if I’m finding all this a little hard to believe, but we didn’t exactly part on the best of terms. Andreas Manufacturing should be the last place she wants to work.”<br />
<br />
His sixty-five-year-old assistant caught his gaze with serious dark eyes. “She needs the money.” <br />
<br />
She was broke? The way he’d been when they’d met?<br />
<br />
Memories of his childhood and teen years cascaded through his brain like water spilling from a waterfall. Maggie at six, toothless in first grade, dividing her morning snack with him before they went into the building so no one in their class would see he hadn’t brought one. Maggie at twelve, fishing with him so he and his mom could have something for supper. Maggie at fifteen, hanging out in the souvenir shop where he worked, entertaining him on long, boring afternoons before the tourist season picked up. Maggie at eighteen, swollen with his child. <br />
<br />
A long-forgotten ache filled his chest and made him scowl. The woman he was remembering with such fondness had dropped him like a hot potato when she’d lost their baby. She hadn’t loved him. She’d only married him because he’d gotten her pregnant one reckless night. Twenty minutes after they returned from the hospital after her miscarriage, she was out the door of his mom’s house. Out of his life.<br />
<br />
“She should have as many reservations about working with me as I have about working with her.”<br />
<br />
“Her stepmom died while you were in New York. Rumor has it that she came home for the funeral and decided her dad needed her. She quit her job and moved back permanently but in three weeks of looking she couldn’t find work – unless she wants to commute to the city.” Julie peered at him over the rim of her glasses. “Aside from tourism, you’re the only real employer in Ocean Palms.” <br />
<br />
He picked up his pen again. “Hire her.”<br />
<br />
Julie gasped softly. “Really?”<br />
<br />
“Sure. We were married as kids. Fifteen years have gone by.” He wasn’t such a selfish, self-centered oaf that he’d let someone suffer because she had the misfortune of having a history with him. He knew what it was like to have no options. He’d spent his entire childhood living hand-to-mouth. He wouldn’t ignore the person who, as a child, had shared with him, helped him, even rescued him a time or two.<br />
<br />
Plus, if Julie said Maggie was the person for the job then she was. <br />
<br />
Julie rose. “Okay. She’s in my office. She said she can begin today. I’ll bring her in and we can get started.”<br />
<br />
Nick sat up in his seat. Today? He didn’t even have ten minutes to mentally prepare?<br />
Julie walked to his office door and opened it. “Come in, Maggie.”<br />
<br />
A true southern gentleman, Nick rose from the tall-back chair behind his huge mahogany desk. Ridiculously, he couldn’t squelch the pride that surged up in him as he took in the expensive Persian rugs that sat on the hardwood floors of his office, the lamps from China, the heavy leather sofa and chair in the conversation area, the art from the broker in New York City. He was rich, successful, and his office showed it. He’d fulfilled the promise of his youth. He had brains and skill and he’d parlayed those into wealth beyond anyone’s expectations. One look at his office would tell Maggie he wasn’t the eighteen-year-old boy she’d deserted anymore.<br />
<br />
The click of high heels on the hardwood announced her arrival two seconds before she appeared in his doorway. Her gorgeous red hair flowed around her, but it was shaped and curled in a way that framed her face, not straight as she had worn it when they were married. Her once sparkly green eyes now held soul-searching intensity. Her full red lips rose slightly in a reluctant smile. <br />
<br />
Just as he wasn’t the eighteen-year-old she’d left behind anymore, she didn’t look a thing like his Maggie. <br />
<br />
He relaxed as his gaze involuntarily fell from her face to her dress. A simple red tank dress that showed off a newly acquired suntan, but also couldn’t hide her only slightly protruding stomach.<br />
<br />
She was pregnant?<br />
<br />
He gave her tummy a more thorough scrutiny.<br />
<br />
She was pregnant.<br />
<br />
And suddenly he was that eighteen-year-old boy again. Seeing his woman, the love of his life, swollen with his child. More memories washed over him. The dreams he’d had for the kind of father he would be rose up as if he’d been lost in them only yesterday. Love for her, the woman bearing his child, burst in his chest.<br />
<br />
But this wasn’t his child. She’d lost their child.<br />
<br />
And she didn’t love him.<br />
<br />
Hell, he no longer loved her.<br />
<br />
“Come in,” he said. His voice was tight with a bit of a squeak but he ignored that, motioning to the chair in front of his desk.<br />
<br />
Maggie took a few hesitant steps inside. Now trim instead of lanky, she wore her pregnancy the same way another woman would wear a designer dress.<br />
<br />
That was when he realized she was probably married. Happily married. Not scared and hesitant, but with no other options because her stepmom had kicked her out of the house. But happy. Having a child with the man she loved.<br />
<br />
He swallowed the knot that formed in his throat, reminding himself that these emotions churning through him were ridiculous. He was over her. Plus, they hadn’t even seen each other in fifteen years. The feelings weren’t really feelings. They were residue. Like cobwebs that had clung to the walls of his brain and would disappear once he got to know the adult Maggie.<br />
<br />
“Julie wants to hire you but I have a few reservations.”<br />
<br />
He didn’t even try to stop the words that flowed from his mouth. Though he’d already told Julie to hire her, now that he saw that she was pregnant, he had some concerns. Not about the “feelings” seeing her pregnant aroused, but her ability to do the job. <br />
<br />
She gracefully sat on the chair in front of his desk, smiled softly. “You mean because we were once married?”<br />
<br />
He snorted a laugh, but Julie’s hand flew to her throat. “You know, I think I’ll just go get us some coffee.”<br />
<br />
Nick said, “She can’t drink coffee,” at the same time that Maggie said, “I don’t drink coffee.”<br />
<br />
Julie said, “Then I’ll get some coffee for myself.” She fled the room, closing the door behind her.<br />
<br />
Nick sat back in his chair, reaching deep inside himself for the calm that was his trademark. He had to treat her as any other employee and speak accordingly.<br />
<br />
“For the next four weeks I need to work ten-hour days.”<br />
<br />
“Six days a week. I get that. Julie told me.”<br />
<br />
“Can you keep up?”<br />
<br />
“Of course, I can keep up. I’m pregnant not sick.”<br />
<br />
The room plunged into eerie silence. Memories of the day she’d lost their baby haunted him like menacing ghosts. <br />
<br />
As if recognizing where his thoughts had gone, Maggie sighed. “Nick, I’m fine. Really. And I need this job. If you don’t hire me I’ll have to get work in the city and commute an hour each way.”<br />
<br />
“An hour commute might be better for a pregnant woman than racing around the plant looking for documents I need, assembling information from different departments--”<br />
<br />
He paused to catch her gaze and when he saw green eyes sparking with fire, everything he intended to say fell out of his head. He remembered that look very well, remembered how many times it had taken them straight to bed.<br />
<br />
“I already told you I can keep up.”<br />
<br />
He took in a quiet breath, reminding himself that Maggie was a married woman who wanted to work for him. The last thing he needed to be thinking about was how her fiery need for independence had played out between the sheets.<br />
<br />
“Yeah, well, maybe I want some kind of proof.”<br />
<br />
She smiled sweetly, calmly. “In a couple of months, I’m not going to be pregnant anymore. Then you’re going to be sorry you lost the chance to hire me.”<br />
<br />
A laugh escaped. Dear God. This really was his Maggie. Fiery one minute, serene the next. And the common sense, logical Maggie could be every bit as sexy as the impassioned one.<br />
<br />
But she was married.<br />
<br />
And he was a runaround now. <br />
<br />
Having a father who’d abandoned him had made him want commitments, but Maggie leaving him had set him straight on that score. And he’d changed. He wasn’t simple Nick Roebuck anymore. The guy who hadn’t taken his father’s name. The guy who wanted commitments. A wife. Family. Nope. Nick Roebuck was gone. He was now Nick Andreas, playboy.<br />
<br />
“Besides, my father needs me.”<br />
<br />
Shifting in his chair, Nick blew his breath out in a gusty sigh. Who he was didn’t matter. Who she was didn’t matter. She was off limits. “I’m sorry about your stepmom.”<br />
<br />
“Thanks.”<br />
<br />
“I was out of town or I would have paid my respects.”<br />
<br />
Her gaze dipped. “I know.”<br />
<br />
“Was everything – you know – okay?” He nearly bit his tongue for his clumsiness. But what could he say? How could he ask if she and Vicki had mended fences? If they’d ever gotten beyond the fact that Vicki had favored Charlie Junior over her? If Vicki had ever forgiven Maggie for getting pregnant? If Maggie had ever forgiven Vicki for kicking her out of the house?<br />
<br />
“It was fine.” She shrugged. “Losing someone is always hard.”<br />
<br />
Which told him nothing. Not that it was any of his business. He scrambled for something safe to say, but the only thing he could think of was, “Yeah. My father died last January. I know how hard these things can be.”<br />
<br />
She smiled and her eyes brightened. “Oh, so you met your father? You had a relationship?”<br />
<br />
“Yes and no.” He tapped his fingers on the edge of his desk, tamping down the sudden, unexpected urge to tell her everything. They weren’t friends anymore. She might act like the girl he’d known and loved, but she wasn’t. And he wasn’t the love-sick boy she’d married. <br />
<br />
Still, he couldn’t ignore her question. “I met my father but we didn’t really have a relationship. Unless you call having dinner every other year a relationship.” <br />
<br />
“That’s too bad.” Genuine regret colored her voice. “So how’s your mom?”<br />
<br />
He chuckled. “She’s just like a little general at the daycare. Loves the kids, but keeps them in line.”<br />
<br />
Maggie’s laugh was quick and easy. “God I missed her.”<br />
<br />
“We missed you.” The words slipped out and he knew why. He was getting comfortable with her. And that was wrong. If they were going to work together, he had to draw lines. Be professional.<br />
<br />
She looked away. “No point in staying once I’d lost the baby.”<br />
<br />
Hearing her say that now hurt almost as much as it had the day she left. “Right.”<br />
<br />
“Before I got pregnant, we both had plans.”<br />
<br />
“Is that what you were thinking about while I was talking to my father’s attorney?” <br />
For years he’d wondered. What kind of coincidence could it have been that the dad who’d ignored him his entire life suddenly wanted to give him a trust fund? Had it been a gift from fate to Maggie, or a curse of fate for him?<br />
<br />
She caught his gaze. “Yes.”<br />
<br />
When his heart squeezed, he swore at himself inwardly for asking the stupid question. He’d already reasoned all this out in his head. Gotten beyond it. There was no point going over it again. Certainly no point rehashing it with her. Fifteen years had passed and he loved the life he’d built without her.<br />
<br />
If they were going to work together, the past would have to be forgotten. His only goal should be to make sure she really did have the education and experience to do the job.<br />
<br />
“So you’ve have a business degree?”<br />
<br />
“Yes.” She shifted on the chair. Her shoulders went back. Her expression became businesslike. “But I’m not looking down on this job. I think there are a lot of ways I can help you.”<br />
<br />
“What did you do at your last job?”<br />
<br />
“I was an analyst for a firm that put venture capitalist groups together with struggling businesses looking for investors or a buyer.”<br />
<br />
“Do you know much about manufacturing?”<br />
<br />
She laughed. “Most of the businesses looking for investors or buyout are manufacturing companies.”<br />
<br />
He tapped his pen on the desk. He needed somebody and, as Julie said, Maggie was qualified. Now he and his ex-wife would be spending ten hours a day, six days a week together. <br />
<br />
He looked over at her just as she looked at him and the years between them melted away. Her eyes weren’t as wary as they had been when she walked in the door. Her smile was genuine. <br />
<br />
Doubt rumbled through his soul. In the sea of women that he’d dated since he’d hit puberty, she was the only one he’d loved. It had taken almost five years to really get beyond her leaving; years before he stopped hoping every ring of the phone was her calling; years before he stopped looking for her in crowds. One five-minute conversation had already brought an avalanche of memories. This was not going to be easy.Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-79744156028077527142011-01-15T05:13:00.000-08:002011-02-21T15:20:40.444-08:00THE BABY PROJECT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K0RfmxhbXJU/TWLzMEGDaCI/AAAAAAAAAF4/u0WOe9JCMAU/s1600/9780373177219%252520200x316%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="200" width="127" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-K0RfmxhbXJU/TWLzMEGDaCI/AAAAAAAAAF4/u0WOe9JCMAU/s200/9780373177219%252520200x316%255B1%255D.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
THE BABY PROJECT <br />
<br />
Chapter 1<br />
<br />
“The Andreas brothers have arrived.”<br />
As the secretary’s announcement came through the speaker phone, attorney Whitney Ross turned from the window in her father’s law office. The gathering January storm clouds above the New York City skyscrapers concerned her, but the Andreas brothers’ visit would be every bit as tumultuous.<br />
Gerard Ross pressed a button on his phone. “Tell them I need five minutes.” <br />
He caught Whitney’s gaze, his green eyes bright with something she decided was a cross between trepidation and humor.<br />
<br />
“You’re enjoying this.”<br />
<br />
“Not enjoying exactly.” He grimaced, leaning his round body back in his office chair. He rhythmically tapped the blotter on his cherry wood desk. “How about if we say Stephone used his will to accomplish a few important things?”<br />
<br />
Though Whitney had never met Stephone Andreas’s sons, Stephone had been a close friend of her father’s. He’d come to dinner at least once a month from the time she was six, and had talked about “his boys” incessantly. So she suspected she knew what was going on. The senior Andreas had always believed his three sons needed a kick in the pants and it seemed he’d finally found a way to give them one. <br />
“You persuaded Stephone to use his will to force them to grow up.”<br />
<br />
“This is about more than growing up. All three are smart. All three are good businessmen. Any one of them could take over the family holdings. But not one of them has a sense of loyalty or family.”<br />
<br />
“And this is where the will comes in?”<br />
<br />
“Yes. Stephone gave everything important to his oldest son, Darius. Whether or not that divides them for good or forces them to unite all depends on whether Darius takes the reins like a true leader and unites them.” <br />
<br />
He rose and headed for the black leather sofa in the comfortable meeting area in the corner of his big law office. After he sat, he patted the spot beside him, indicating this is where she should sit for their upcoming meeting.<br />
<br />
“But before I bring the brothers in, there’s something you need to know. Missy had something put in her will for you that Stephone agreed would also go into his.” <br />
<br />
Whitney took the seat he’d offered. “Missy put something in her will for me?” She wasn’t surprised. Missy Harrington had been her roommate from the time they were freshman at university the whole way through law school. With an alcoholic mom and a dad who’d left when Missy was young, Missy had adopted Whitney’s family. For seven years, she’d shared every holiday and most of her vacations with the Rosses. Though Whitney had hardly seen her since she introduced Missy to Stephone, when they’d run off to Greece together, Whitney and Missy had a strong bond. <br />
<br />
“She didn’t exactly leave you something. In accordance with Stephone and Missy’s wills, you and Darius got shared custody of their son.”<br />
<br />
Her stomach squeezed. “What?”<br />
<br />
“Okay. Look. It’s been three years since the accident that took Burn and Layla. And though I hadn’t known Missy and Stephone would die so soon when I let them put this provision in their wills, it’s still time you came back to the land of the living.” Her dad pulled a small envelope from one of the files in the stack on the coffee table. “She left this note for you.”<br />
<br />
Her hand wrapped around the envelope and she paled.<br />
<br />
“Stephone wanted Darius to raise their son, but Missy was adamant about you having joint custody. The Andreas brothers are rich and spoiled. And they don’t even know their father had another son. It’s anybody’s guess how they’ll react when they find out. I believe that Missy made you co-guardian to assure Gino was also in the hands of someone she trusted.”<br />
<br />
“But I don’t know Gino either! When Missy and Stephone moved to Greece, we lost touch. I’ve never met Gino. I’ll be no better for this baby than his brother.”<br />
He caught her hand. “You might not know Gino, but Missy knew you. She knew you had a sense of family. A sense of right and wrong. You’ve also been a mom. You’ll get to know Gino and, as young as he is, Gino will grow accustomed to you too.” He squeezed her fingers. “Besides, you need this.”<br />
<br />
She tried to bounce off the sofa, but her dad held fast to her hand. When she faced him her eyes were blazing. “No! I don’t need this! I’m fine!”<br />
<br />
“You’re not fine. Otherwise, getting custody of Gino wouldn’t make you angry.” <br />
He pressed a button on the phone on the coffee table that sat in the center of the circle made by the sofa and three black leather chairs. “Cynthia, bring in Gino, please.”<br />
<br />
Whitney’s heart stopped. Her stomach rolled. Her head spun. For the past three years, she’d avoided even being near a baby. The scent of baby powder, the feel of snuggly blankets, the sight of someone so tiny, so helpless, and so beautiful would have been her undoing. And now her father wanted her to take a baby into her home?<br />
<br />
The side door opened and Cyndy Smith walked in carrying six-month-old Gino Andreas in a baby carrier, along with a diaper bag and duffle. <br />
<br />
Her father squeezed her hand again. “Your mother and I have been keeping Gino during the Andreas funerals, but it’s time you took him.” He rose and accepted the baby carrier from Cyndy. “Thank you, Cyn.”<br />
<br />
She nodded and her blonde hair bobbed. “You’re welcome, sir.”<br />
<br />
As Cyn left the room, Whitney’s father set the carrier on the sofa, pulled Gino out and presented the dark-haired, dark-eyed baby boy to her. “He’s yours, Whitney.”<br />
<br />
Knowing there was no arguing with her father or he’d send her back to therapy, Whitney slid the envelope into her jacket pocket and took the six-month-old with shaking hands. He immediately began to cry. <br />
<br />
“Don’t cry, sweetie,” she crooned, automatically pressing his head to her shoulder to comfort him. “It’s okay.” <br />
<br />
Her instinctive response to his crying amazed her, but she wasn’t surprised by the pain that sliced through her – the memories that flashed through her brain. Her daughter had been a tiny blonde with huge blue eyes. She’d rarely cried. Except when she missed her mother. She’d loved bananas and puppies. To Whitney she’d seemed the smartest baby on the face of the earth. <br />
<br />
Tears filled her eyes. Her stomach tightened.<br />
<br />
She couldn’t do this. <br />
<br />
Maybe she did need more time with Dr. Miller?<br />
<br />
But before she could say anything to her dad, the office door opened. Wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a cable knit sweater, Cade Andreas entered first. Behind him was Nick, the dark-haired, dark-eyed brother who most resembled the senior Andreas. And finally Darius. Taller than their father, but with eyes and hair as dark as his, striking in his expensive business suit, Darius was very clearly the leader of the group.<br />
<br />
Their expressions were solemn, yet strong. Almost arrogant. The head of the Andreas family was dead. They now controlled one of the largest shipping conglomerates in the world. <br />
<br />
Or so they thought.<br />
<br />
She glanced at the baby in her arms. For the first time in three years she felt a swell of protectiveness only a mother could feel, and she understood why Missy had given her custody along with Darius. The Andreas men were strong. Maybe too strong. And babies needed love.<br />
<br />
The question was did she have any left to give?<br />
<br />
<br />
“Are you kidding me?”<br />
<br />
Darius Andreas gaped at Gerard Ross, his deceased father’s attorney, then his daughter Whitney Ross, a tall, cool blonde with gray-blue eyes who looked nothing like her short, round father. The pair sat on the black leather sofa. The Andreas brothers sat across from them on three black leather chairs. Beside Whitney was a baby carrier and inside the carrier was a baby boy who looked to be only a few months old. His black hair and dark eyes marked him as an Andreas as clearly as Gerard Ross’s pronouncement did. <br />
<br />
“I assure you, there’s no joke.” Gerard leaned back, getting more comfortable. “This little boy is your father’s final son. There are four of you now.”<br />
<br />
He picked up the will and began reading again. “It is my wish that the remaining two-thirds share of Andreas Holdings be divided equally among my four sons: Darius, Cade, Nick and Gino.”<br />
<br />
Gino.<br />
<br />
A baby.<br />
<br />
His final half-sibling was a baby!<br />
<br />
Darius sucked in a breath, forcing that to sink in, but it wouldn’t. His brain had frozen. He was stunned, speechless, and working not to lose his temper over something he couldn’t change. Silent Nick and Cade appeared to be equally shell shocked.<br />
<br />
Finally, the business sense Darius had trusted his entire life came to his rescue. “I want a DNA test.”<br />
<br />
The smooth leather sofa sighed when Gerard sat forward. He looked down at his entwined fingers then caught Darius’s gaze. “Your father might not have married Missy Harrington, but he’s named on the birth certificate as Gino’s father. Had Missy not died with your father, you might be fighting her for the company right now.”<br />
<br />
“I still want DNA.”<br />
<br />
“I understand you’re surprised—“<br />
<br />
“Surprised? How about shocked? First, our father calls us to the hospital after the accident to tell us that he gave one-third interest in the company to his first administrative assistant. So we’ll never fully own our own damned company. Then he tells us we have no sense of family and unless we pull together we’re going to lose everything he built. Then he dies. Just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Now you’re telling us there’s a fourth brother?”<br />
<br />
“Mr. Andreas, the very fact that you didn’t know your father had another child is proof that your sense of family leaves a bit to be desired.”<br />
Darius nearly cursed. Who was his womanizing father to tell him that he had no sense of family? His father had abandoned his mother. Hell, Stephone had abandoned him until he was in his teens. And then he’d only appeared in Darius’s life because he wanted to assure that Darius went to a good university so he could be groomed to work for Andreas Holdings.<br />
<br />
“For decades our father preached that we shouldn’t take family troubles to outsiders.” He rose. “Yet it looks like that’s exactly what he’s done.” He reached for the baby carrier. Now that the shock was receding, things were beginning to sink in and make sense. He didn’t really need DNA to tell him this was his brother. His father had been living with a thirty-year-old woman. It was no shock she’d gotten pregnant. Gino had all the physical markings of an Andreas. With his father’s name on the birth certificate and Gino’s name in the will, this little boy was family. And his father wanted him to care for him. So he would. Unlike his two brothers, Darius always did want their father asked.<br />
<br />
“We’ll take our brother and go now.”<br />
<br />
Whitney held back the carrier. “Dad?”<br />
<br />
Gerard said, “There’s more.”<br />
<br />
Darius just barely controlled his rising fury. “More?”<br />
<br />
“You, Darius, get custody of Gino but you share it with Whitney.”<br />
<br />
He turned his heated gaze on her. <br />
<br />
Her yellow hair was probably pretty, but she had it rolled in a tight, no-nonsense bun at the back of her head. Her gray suit hid any hint of the body beneath it. He caught the gaze of her blue-gray eyes. In spite of the fact that she dressed to downplay her appearance, Darius felt a click of attraction. And it was mutual. He saw the flicker in her pretty blue orbs.<br />
<br />
“It’s up to you how you divide Gino’s time. If you want to have him three days a week and Whitney four, or if you want to have him for two weeks a month and Whitney two, whatever you choose is up to you two. But she will vote his share at your board of directors meetings.”<br />
<br />
This time Darius did curse. But he quickly pulled in a breath, struggling to rein in his temper, and glanced again at Whitney. The click of attraction he’d felt when he’d first looked into her eyes turned into a current of electricity that zapped between them. They were definitely attracted.<br />
<br />
If this were any other day, any other time, any other circumstance, he would have pursued her. Peel off a few layers of clothes, take down her hair and he was just about certain he’d find paradise.<br />
<br />
But those eyes, those pretty Persian cat eyes, told him to forget it. It didn’t matter if they were attracted to each other. They had a job to do. Raise Gino. <br />
Together. <br />
<br />
Whitney stayed perfectly still under Darius Andreas’s scrutiny, though warm, sweet attraction hummed through her. She ignored it. He was a gorgeous man with his dark, brooding good looks, tailored suit made to accentuate his broad shoulders and trim hips, and commanding personality. Any woman would react to him. Simply from the way his other brothers hadn’t even spoken since introductions were made, it was clear that Darius was the brother in charge. And that was very sexy.<br />
<br />
With piercing his onyx eyes boring into hers, she suppressed a shiver. But she wasn’t worried about falling victim to the attraction. Attractions frequently grew into relationships and relationships made people vulnerable. The pain that had followed the loss of her husband had been indescribable. She’d never put herself through that again. She’d never even let herself get close. She couldn’t be attracted to Darius Andreas. She refused.<br />
<br />
Darius squeezed his eyes shut in disgust and popped them open again. “All right. Fine.” He motioned for Whitney to follow him. “Let’s go.”<br />
<br />
“Go?”<br />
<br />
“If this baby’s on the board, he’s working for a living.”<br />
<br />
Whitney’s dad laughed. “Very funny, Darius.”<br />
<br />
“I’m not laughing. My father left the company in a sad state. There’s work to do. And nobody’s excused. Since your daughter has his vote, she’ll pull his share of the duty.”<br />
<br />
“That’s preposterous—“<br />
<br />
“Dad,” Whitney interrupted her father. “It’s okay. I’ve never been one to shirk my responsibilities.” She straightened her shoulders and looked Darius in the eye, accepting his challenge. If he thought he’d intimidate her on day one, he was sadly mistaken. She could handle a little work. “If everybody’s working, then I will too.”<br />
<br />
“All right,” her dad agreed, “but before anybody leaves there’s one more thing.”<br />
<br />
Darius turned. His dark eyes were ablaze now.<br />
<br />
Whitney’s dad looked from Darius to Cade to Nick and back at Darius again. “With your father’s former assistant in possession of a one-third share of Andreas Holdings, and four brothers sharing the other two thirds, you don’t have to be a math scholar to know that individually none of you has controlling interest in the whole company.” He glanced from Darius to Cade to Nick again. “Your father has instructed me to allow the benefactor of the final one-third interest to remain anonymous until she decides how to handle her position. She’s in her seventies, so she may simply want to sit back and enjoy the profits. But if she decides she wants to be active in the company, you had better be united or Andreas Holdings will end up being run by somebody other than an Andreas.”<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Don't forget to go to susanmeier.com to read What Came Before...The beginning of Darius's story!Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-135709804632804652010-11-10T09:39:00.000-08:002010-11-10T09:49:22.995-08:00A Fairytale Christmas<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9Wf--fuW3aQ/TNrbEWwlKSI/AAAAAAAAAE8/LkCFbUhVIa0/s1600/9780373176939%255B1%255D.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 126px; height: 200px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9Wf--fuW3aQ/TNrbEWwlKSI/AAAAAAAAAE8/LkCFbUhVIa0/s200/9780373176939%255B1%255D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537979559680747810" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />A Baby Beneath The Christmas Tree<br /><br /><strong><em><br />Excerpt</em></strong><br /><br /><em><strong>Chapter 1<br />For as long as Gwendolyn MacKenzie could remember the old timers in the tiny town of Towering Pines, West Virginia had whispered that Teaberry Christmas Tree Farm was enchanted. The rumor was that if you touched one of the Teaberry trees while wishing, your wish would come true.</strong></em><br /><br />Driving up the fir-lined mountain road that took her to the farm, Gwen glanced around in amazement, understanding why the legend had formed. Majestic evergreens punched into a vast indigo sky. Fat fluffy white snowflakes pirouetted around the green pine branches, falling heavily, like frosting on sugar cookies, creating a magical world. <br /><br />But when she reached Teaberry mansion, Gwen’s mouth dropped open in dismay. Two rows of tall windows with thin black shutters dominated the huge red brick home, but the shutters tilted drunkenly from age and neglect. The Teaberry family hadn’t even visited for at least a decade. It didn’t surprise her that the house was in disrepair. But she’d thought Andrew Teaberry, her new boss, would have called ahead to have the place prepared to be used. If the house was this bad on the outside, she feared it would be worse on the inside.<br /> <br />Still, a wisp of smoke rose from the red brick chimney, disappearing into the inky sky, proof that the caretaker, Max Peabody, had started a fire in preparation for the owner’s return. At least she and her daughter wouldn’t spend their time shivering, while they waited for Drew Teaberry to arrive.<br /><br />She got out of her beat up little red car and opened the back door, reaching in to unbuckle the car seat of her three-month-old baby. When she’d gotten pregnant by a boyfriend who’d bolted the very second she told him, Gwen and her twin sister Gill had both worried that she might fall into the same trap their mom had. Ginger MacKenzie had married the man who had gotten her pregnant. But when twins were born, he’d panicked, saying one baby was difficult enough to handle, two was impossible, and he’d left town. Leaving Ginger to raise the girls alone, watching out the window, longing for him to come home. <br /><br />Six months after her mom’s sudden death, finding herself in a position very close to Ginger’s, Gwen had quickly shaped up. She didn’t want to be one of those women who wasted her entire life pining after a man who didn’t want her. She stopped believing in miracles. She stopped believing wishes came true. She packed her dreamy side away. And she now only dealt in facts. <br /><br />Which was why she was at this rundown old house, about to start a job as the assistant for a man she’d never met. She had to pay her own way, support a child and finish her degree. This job might be temporary, but it paid enough money that if she watched how she spent, she could keep herself and Claire through her last semester of university.<br /><br />“Hey, Claire-bear,” she said, lifting the little girl and rubbing noses. Bundled in her thick pink snowsuit, with the white fur of the hood framing her face, chubby, happy Claire really did look something like a stuffed pink bear.<br /><br />Using the key sent to her by Andrew Teaberry, Gwen unlocked the front door and stepped inside. A huge curving mahogany staircase greeted her and Claire. But so did cobwebs. A layer of dust coated the banister and the stairs. <br /><br />“Wow. We could be in big trouble, Claire-bear.”<br /><br />Walking from room to room, her dismay grew. Though the lights worked, the sinks had water and the kitchen appliances had been plugged into electrical outlets and hummed with life, the house was filthy. Drew Teaberry might have instructed the caretaker to get the utilities turned on and the furnace working, but he’d forgotten about cleaning.<br /><br />Discovering a suite in the back that had probably at one time been maid’s quarters, Gwen set Claire’s baby carrier on the dusty bare mattress of the single bed but lifted it back up again. She’d arrived an hour early, hoping to make a good impression but Drew Teaberry hadn’t yet arrived. If she hurried, she could race home for a vacuum cleaner, mop, broom, soap and dust cloths, and still have time to clean this suite enough that Claire could sleep here.<br /><br /><br />Two hours later, Andrew Teaberry pulled his shiny black SUV into the circular driveway in front of his family’s old homestead and his face fell in disgust. Pressed for time on this spur-of-the moment trip, he’d thought ahead enough to hire an assistant and have the caretaker open the place, but he hadn’t considered that Teaberry mansion might not be habitable.<br /><br />“So this is the fabulous Teaberry Farm.” In the passenger’s seat of the SUV, Drew’s sixteen-year-old son Brody glanced around and snorted with derision. “Looks like a rat hole to me.”<br /><br />Drew nearly squeezed his eye shut in frustration. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he had to move into this old monstrosity while he negotiated the purchase of a local manufacturing company, his ex-wife decided to get remarried, forcing Drew to keep their son for the entire month of her honeymoon. So while he negotiated to buy the business of crusty old Jimmy Lane, a West Virginia entrepreneur who only wanted to sell his business to someone who lived in West Virginia, he was saddled with a sassy sixteen-year-old.<br /><br />Inserting the key into the back door lock, he glanced behind him at Brody, who was so engrossed in whatever he was doing with his cell phone that he didn’t even watch where he walked. Wearing a black knit cap over his yellow hair and a thick parka that seemed to swallow him whole, Brody was the complete opposite of his dark-haired, dark-eyed, always observant dad. The kid was going to step into traffic one day. <br /><br />Brushing up against one of the pine trees beside the kitchen door as he pulled the key out of the door lock, Drew prayed that they both survived this month. He pushed open the door, stepped into a kitchen that looked like something out of a horror movie and froze. <br /><br />“Mr. Teaberry!” The woman standing by the dusty kitchen counter winced. “I’d say welcome home, but I’m not sure that’s exactly appropriate, given the condition of the place.”<br /><br />Drew blinked at yet another surprise this morning. Unless she was Max Peabody, the caretaker, this had to be his temporary administrative assistant, Gwen MacKenzie. In their phone interview, she’d told him she had one more semester of university to finish, so he’d pictured her as being a petite blonde sprite, someone who’d look only a little older than his son. Instead, he’d hired a classically beautiful woman with thick dark hair and catlike green eyes, who was built like every man’s fantasy come to life. A bright red sweater accented her ample bosom. Dark, low riding jeans caressed her perfect bottom. Her shoulder-length hair swung gaily when she moved.<br /><br />He slid his laptop to an available counter, glancing around at the nightmare of a kitchen. The oak cabinets were solid, but coated in dust, so were the kitchen table and the four chairs around it. But, like the cabinets, the furniture and the ceramic floor tiles looked to be in good shape. The house wasn’t really falling apart, just dirty.<br /><br />“Good morning. Sorry we’re late. We couldn’t get on the road until hours after what we’d planned.”<br /><br />She batted her hand in dismissal. “Not a problem.” <br /><br />Brody pushed into the kitchen behind his dad, not caring that he’d bumped into him. “Hey, babe, thought for sure you’d have muffins and coffee waiting.”<br /><br />Drew blanched at his son’s disrespect. “Not only is Gwen not our cook, but we don’t call employees babe.”<br /><br />“All right. Great. No babe.” Brody pulled his sunglasses down his nose and peered over the rim at Gwen. “Sorry about that, sweetie.”<br /><br />“We don’t call employees sweetie, either!” Drew said, his temperature rising. If he didn’t know better, he’d think the kid was deliberately antagonizing him. “How about an apology?”<br /><br />Brody glared at his dad. “Fine. I’m sorry. Why don’t you just write a list of rules so I know what the hell I can and can’t say this next month!”<br /><br />With that he stormed through the kitchen, all but knocking the swinging door off its hinges as he punched through it. <br /><br />Though Drew knew he should go after him, he had no idea what to say to this new version of Brody. That was part of the problem. Sixteen years ago, when his ex had moved herself and their son to Colorado, two thousand miles away from Drew, he’d protested. But in the end she hadn’t budged and his visits with Brody became something like two-week vacations spent on tropical islands or ski resorts. <br /><br />They’d always gotten along well. Until this trip. Now, Brody was suddenly obnoxious. Drew had absolutely no idea what the heck was he going to do with him for the entire month of December. One-on-one in a house so far out in the country that it didn’t get cable, they were going to be miserable. Especially since Drew wasn’t even sure when or why Brody had turned into such a mouthy kid or where to start with discipline.<br /><br />He did, however, know exactly what to say to an embarrassed employee. He turned to Gwen. “I apologize for my son’s behavior.”<br /><br />“Not a big deal,” she said with a laugh. “He’s what? Fifteen? Sixteen? He’s testing the water. All kids do it.”<br /><br />A steamroller of relief rumbled through Drew. At least the relationship with his temporary administrative assistant would be normal. Then she smiled at him, her pretty green eyes shining, her full lips winging upward, and everything male inside of Drew responded. Her thick, shiny dark hair framed a heart-shaped face with bright eyes, a pert nose and generous lips made for kissing. <br /><br />Involuntarily, his gaze swept down the red sweater and tight jeans. He rarely went out and, when he did, the women he dated were nothing like Gwen. They were tall, cool blondes. Sophisticates. Models. Starlets. But there was no denying that this gorgeous brunette ignited a spark inside him, made him wonder what it would be like to kiss her-- <br /><br />He groaned inwardly. He wanted a normal working relationship with this woman! Plus, even if he was the kind to dabble in affairs, she was too young for him and an employee. If those weren’t enough, he had responsibilities as the Chairman of the Board of his grandfather’s conglomerate. The pressure of holding the top position in a global company left him no time for anything but work. That was why he’d only spent vacations with Brody. Why Brody had had time to change without Drew even realizing. Why he had to figure out how he’d handle him for the four long weeks in December.<br /><br />“I think I’ll grab Brody and get our bags.”<br /><strong></strong><em></em>Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-90067544765224380362010-04-08T15:10:00.001-07:002010-04-08T15:11:21.454-07:00Coming in July 2010...MAID FOR THE MILLIONAIRE<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9Wf--fuW3aQ/S75UfVScc4I/AAAAAAAAADw/RQ_kExhplsA/s1600/41zN5ELOMTL._SL500_AA300_%5B1%5D.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9Wf--fuW3aQ/S75UfVScc4I/AAAAAAAAADw/RQ_kExhplsA/s200/41zN5ELOMTL._SL500_AA300_%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457892695686804354" /></a>Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-1467139479590853542010-04-08T15:03:00.000-07:002010-04-08T15:06:38.098-07:00MAID FOR THE MILLIONAIREChapter 1<br />Pink underwear?<br /> Cain Nestor tossed his formerly white cotton briefs into the washer and slammed the door closed. Damn it! He should have stopped at the mall the night before and bought new, but it had been late when his private plane finally landed in Miami. Besides, back in Kansas he had done his own laundry plenty of times. He couldn’t believe he’d forgotten so much in twelve years that he’d end up with pink underwear, but apparently he had. <br /> Tightening the knot of the towel at his waist, he stormed out of the laundry room and into the kitchen just as the back door opened. From the pretty yellow ruffled apron that was the trademark of Happy Maids, he knew that his personal assistant was one step ahead of him again. He’d been without a housekeeper since February 1 – three long weeks. Though Eva had interviewed, he’d found something wrong with every person she’d chosen – his maid lived in and a man couldn’t be too careful about whom he let stay in his home – but the lack of clean underwear had clearly proven he’d hit a wall. <br /> Leave it to his assistant to think of the stopgap measure. She’d hired a cleaning service. Ready to make an apology for his appearance, Cain caught his once-a-week housekeeper’s gaze and his heart froze in his chest. His breathing stopped. His thigh muscles turned to rubber.<br /> “Liz?”<br /> Though her long black hair had been pulled into a severe bun at her nape and she’d lost a few pounds in the three years since he’d seen her, he’d know those catlike green eyes anywhere.<br /> “Cain?”<br /> A million questions danced through his head, but they were quickly replaced by recriminations. She’d quit a very good job in Philadelphia and moved with him to Miami when she’d married him. Now, she was a maid? Not even a permanently employed housekeeper. She was a fill-in. A stopgap measure.<br /> And it was his fault. <br /> He swallowed. “I don’t know what to say.”<br /><br />Liz Harper blinked a few times, making sure her eyes were in focus and she really was seeing her ex-husband standing wrapped in only a towel in the kitchen of the house that was her first assignment for the day. He hadn’t changed a bit in three years. His onyx eyes still had the uncanny ability to make her feel he could see the whole way to her soul. He still wore his black hair short. And he still had incredible muscles that rippled when he moved. Broad shoulders. Defined pecs. And six-pack abs. All of which were on display at the moment.<br /> She licked her suddenly dry lips. “You could start by saying, ‘Excuse my nakedness. I’ll just run upstairs and get a robe’.”<br /> Remarkably, that made him laugh and myriad memories assaulted her…<br />The day they met on the flight from Dallas to Philadelphia…<br />How they’d exchanged business cards and he’d called her cell phone even before she was out of the airport... <br />How they’d had dinner that night, entered into a long-distance relationship, made love for the first time on the beach just beyond his beautiful Miami home, and married on the spur of the moment in Las Vegas.<br /> And now she was his housekeeper.<br /> Could a woman fall any farther? <br /> Worse, she wasn’t in a position where she could turn down this job.<br /> “Okay. I’ll just—“<br /> “Do you think—“ <br /> They stopped. The scent of his soap drifted to her and she realized he hadn’t changed brands. More memories danced through her. The warmth of his touch. The seriousness of his kiss. <br />She cleared her throat. “You first.”<br /> He shook his head. “No. Ladies first.”<br /> “Okay.” She pulled in a breath. She didn’t have to tell him her secrets. Wouldn’t be so foolish again as to trust him with her dreams. If everything went well, she wouldn’t even have to see him. “Are you going to have a problem with this?”<br /> He gripped his towel a little tighter. “You working for me or chatting about you working for me while I stand here just about naked?”<br /> Her cheeks heated. The reminder that he was naked under one thin towel caused her blood to simmer with anticipation. For another two people that might be ridiculous three years after their divorce, but she and Cain had always had chemistry. Realistically, she knew it wouldn’t simply disappear. After all, it had been strong enough to coax a normally sensible Pennsylvania girl to quit her dream job and follow him to Miami, and strong enough that a typically reclusive entrepreneur had opened up and let her into his life.<br /> “Me working here for you until you hire a new maid.” She motioned around the kitchen. The bronze and tan cut-glass backsplash accented tall cherry wood cabinets and bright stainless steel appliances. “Is that going to be a problem?”<br /> He glanced at the ceramic tile floor then back up at her. “I’ve gotta be honest, Liz. It does make me feel uncomfortable.”<br /> “Why? You’re not supposed to be here when I am. In fact, I was told you’re typically at the office by eight. It’s a fluke that we’ve even run into each other. And I need this job!”<br /> “Which is exactly why I feel bad.”<br /> That changed her blood from simmering with chemistry to boiling with fury. “You feel sorry for me?”<br /> He winced. “Not sorry, per se—“<br /> “Then sorry, per what?” But as the words tumbled out of her mouth she realized what was going on. Three steps got her to the big center island of his kitchen. “You think I fell apart when our marriage did and now I can only get a job as a maid?”<br />“Well—“<br />Three more steps had her standing in front of him. “Honey, I own this company. I am the original Happy Maid.”Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-71237237850743971322009-12-13T08:23:00.001-08:002009-12-13T08:23:29.916-08:00THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS, EXCERPTSaturday, October 17, 2009<br />The Magic of a Family Christmas <br />I thought it was very appropriate that my November release was titled THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS.<br /><br />For me, the "holiday" season begins in November. It used to begin in August! Back when my kids were younger, I'd "layaway" everything they needed for Christmas and gave myself months to pay for it. By the time I picked it up, the gifts were even a surprise to me because I'd forgotten most of what I'd bought. LOL<br /><br />But as my kids and I get older, I really don't begin preparations until November. If you start too early, you stretch the mood too thin. But, if you "open the season" in November, beginning with shopping for and preparing a wonderful Thanksgiving meal for family, you open a season that continues for the next four weeks with shopping, parties, wrapping gifts, attending parties, visiting and baking . . . and ends with a New Years Eve party!<br /><br />You get six or so weeks of wonderful time with family and friends that really does feel like a holiday!<br /><br />My mother hosts one of my favorite holiday traditions. The day after Thanksgiving when lots of my nieces and sisters are shopping for those Black Friday bargains, my mother hosts her grandkids and greatgrandkids in a cookie painting day.<br /><br />She bakes "shaped" sugar cookies and prepares different colored icings for the kids to paint onto the cookies. There's a segment about this in the back of THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS, including my mom's recipes for both the cookies and the icings.<br /><br />Anyway, when the cookies are iced and cooled, they loop ribbons through them so they can be hung on her cookie and candy tree in the family room. It's a fabulous tradition that has become one of the most special memories for all my mother's kids, grandkids and great grandkids!<br /><br />To me that's the real "magic" of Christmas. Don't get me wrong. I love a good gift! But the get togethers are more fun for me. The traditions that bring us back to our roots and reminds us of all the good things in our lives...the good things we've had for decades. So that we can appreciate them and each other.<br /><br />That's why I was so thrilled with the title of my November release. THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS...I couldn't have said it better myself!<br /><br />susan<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />NOVEMBER WRITING TIP!<br /><br />A few years ago, I wrote a workshop called, THIS IS THE YEAR YOU WRITE THAT BOOK! When I was looking through my writing material for something to share with you this month, I realized the first lesson COMMITTING, is actually a mini goal setting workshop. Because we're coming up on the beginning of a new year when many of you may want to set some new goals, I thought this might have some insights for you as you ponder new goals for 2010!<br /><br />Enjoy!<br /><br /><br />Lesson One: Committing <br /><br />The first step you must take to assure that this is the year you will write your book is to make a commitment. Believe it or not, you're already halfway there. How do I know that? Well, nearly all the pundits agree that there are seven steps to goal setting.<br /><br />1. Decide what you really want<br />2. Write your goals out on paper<br />3. Determine the price you have to pay<br />4. Make a plan<br />5. Take action immediately<br />6. Do something every day that takes you to your goal<br />7. Resolve in advance that you will never quit.<br /><br />When you signed up for this class, technically you were telling yourself that you wanted to write a novel, an entire novel, this year.<br /><br />You did step 1. You…Decided what you wanted. Then you did step two. You wrote it out on paper (cyber paper when you signed up for this workshop). You determined the price by paying a workshop fee and recognizing that you were committing yourself to four weeks of lessons, as well as the price of one year's time. (To write your book!) <br /><br />You're pretty much depending upon me for some assistance with number four - - the "plan" end of things, and I'm going to hold to my end of the bargain by giving you tons of information in the next seven lessons. You will get both motivational ideas and crafting tools that will enable you to create your plan to write a book this year.<br /><br />But to cement your commitment, you need to finish the seven steps.<br /><br />The three things left for you to do are:<br /><br />5. Take action immediately<br />6. Do something everyday that takes you to your goal <br />7. Resolve in advance that you will never quit.<br /><br />So, pause, raise your right hand and repeat after me. Today, I will take action immediately on my book. I also promise to do something everyday that will take me closer to my goal of completing a novel this year. And I also resolve, not promise, not hope, but resolve that I will never quit.<br /><br />Put your hand down and realize that unless you intend to break another promise to the most important person in your world (you) you're going to write a book this year.<br /><br />But before I tell you to get the heck off the Internet and start writing, let's talk a little bit about why I want you to promise me you will take some sort of action immediately, do something everyday that takes you another step closer to your goal and also to resolve in advance that you will never quit.<br /><br />Why do I believe steps five through seven are the most important steps of goal setting? <br /><br />Because anybody can know what they want, anybody can write out those goals on paper, anybody can determine the price he or she has to pay and anybody can make a plan. But not everybody can take action immediately, discipline himself to do something everyday and resolve in advance that he or she will never quit.<br /><br />These last three steps, taking action, disciplining yourself to do something every day and resolving never to quit are the hardest part of any goal because they are the engine of the goal.<br /><br />Let’s start by examining step five: Take action immediately. <br /><br />Why is that so important? Why is that part of the engine of your goal setting process? Because, quite simply, by actually taking action on your goal, you physically say you are committed. You tell yourself you believe you can do this.<br /><br />If you don’t take action immediately, there’s always a question mark. Sure, you said you could write your book this year, but you haven’t even turned on the computer, so do you really think that you can write a book this year? Or were you wishful thinking again? Do you really have faith in yourself? And if you don’t…why the heck did you torture yourself by making a promise you don't believe you can keep?<br /><br />I think you know you can do this. I think you know it's physically possible to write a book in a year. After all, at one page a day, you would have 365 pages at the end of a year. That's not hard at all. It makes writing a book very doable.<br /><br />Taking an action immediately is like saying: I know it's possible so I'm going to take the first step. I can do this.<br /><br />So… Do it!<br /><br />But there’s another reason to take action immediately. The beginning of any project is the hardest. Once you set your goal and then take action by doing something, the difficult hurdle of “beginning” is handled. Your goal no longer seems like something off in the distance. Instead, it’s something you’ve already started.<br /><br />It becomes real, manageable, and you begin to feel the sense of ownership necessary to commit for the long haul.<br /><br />Simply put, step five, take action immediately, speaks of self-confidence and commitment!<br /><br />But so does Step six: Do something every day to take you closer to your goal. Except it doesn’t merely speak to commitment, it also has two other advantages. <br /><br />First, doing something every day, a piece of your project every day, breaks your work down into manageable increments and pieces, and teaches you that any task can be completed when taken one step at a time. <br /><br />Second, working on your goal every day keeps you involved in your goal. You can’t forget it. But more than that, you can’t fall behind. At least not so far behind that you feel overwhelmed. Working on your goal everyday keeps you active, involved and moving toward the prize.<br /><br />And that usually ends procrastination. Do you know why? Because most of us procrastinate out of a feeling of overwhelm. Consistently and consciously doing something everyday that takes you toward your goal eliminates overwhelm. And if you're never overwhelmed you'll probably have no trouble getting yourself to sit down every day and write at least one page.<br /><br />But if you begin talking yourself out of your daily portion, if you don't do something everyday, then that work begins to stack up. When you sit down to write, instead of having one page to write, your quota is now one page for today and one for yesterday. And then your portion doesn't seem so easy anymore, and then you might just blow off another day and another until you're so far behind you can't work at all. You're paralyzed. (Sound familiar?) Instead of floating along, maybe even getting ahead because some days you can write more than your quota, you find yourself in yet another uphill battle!<br /><br />So the trick is…Do something every day to take you closer to your goal. Don't let yourself miss a day!<br /><br />Step Seven: Resolve in advance never to quit. No matter how difficult things get.<br /><br />This step is the best. The resolution to keep going, no matter how defeated you feel, no matter how far your faith has depreciated, will actually walk you through the hard times. It will get you through the times when you want to quit, when you feel like it’s pointless, when your back has been broken by criticism or a rejection.<br /><br />Face it. You are going to have days when you don’t feel like doing your daily portion. You will have days when your plan seems insane. You will get rejections, hear of friends who sold or got agents, get poor critiques, lose contests and face every form of hurdle known to writerkind.<br /><br />But… If you’ve made the vow that you will not quit, that you will stick it out for your year -- or until your book is written -- then you will see yourself not merely face, but also overcome (or outlast) hurdles that might have otherwise defeated you!<br /><br />Truthfully, I face a "hard time" every week. Every darned week something potentially work stopping happens at my house!<br /><br />For instance, my husband has so many vacation days that he surprises me by taking weeks off. Weeks. Entire weeks! Weeks when I have deadlines and don't want him under foot! <br /><br />My children have gotten sick. Editors have quit. Manuscripts have gotten lost. Chapters haven't worked the way I thought they would. Endings have been wrong. Outlines haven't worked. But I didn't quit. (Otherwise, I wouldn't have over forty books published.) I had made a promise to myself years ago that I would provide my share of the income (in the form of the monthly mortgage) as a writer and I have done it by keeping that promise that I made to myself.<br /><br />That's commitment. Doing what you say you are going to do. Keeping the promises you make. The funny thing is we CAN AND DO keep promises that we make to our kids, the PTO, our parents, our pastor, even the bank, but we don't follow through on things like watching our weight, taking vitamins, maintaining an exercise program, pursuing our art -- the very promises that should be the most important to us because they don't merely sustain our physical person, they also nurture our souls.<br /><br />Then we wonder why we're tired, depressed, defeated.<br /><br />If you do nothing else this year…for once…keep the promises you make to yourself. <br /><br />And that takes us to today's assignment. Make your commitment to this book this year. Really make the commitment. Don't merely pay lip service. Realize that your goal of writing, revising, polishing your book is possible. It's not a stretch. It's an accomplishment, but you've got an entire year and you can break your project down whatever way it needs to be broken down, and work incrementally. Realize also that you are worth a couple of hours every day. You're worth the effort. <br /><br />Take your first action toward the goals you’ve set. Make the initial calls, write the first few pages, start a synopsis, buy the crafting book, find the Internet sites for research…Take all those first steps.<br /><br />Then resolve to continue to do something every day.<br /><br />And then resolve never to quit.<br /><br />Keep this promise you've made to yourself. Not for anybody but you. Not for any reason other than you count. So does your book. Somebody might be waiting for it.<br /><br /><br />* * *<br /><br /><br />What you missed...<br /><br /><br />If you haven't been to susanmeier.com lately you missed...<br /><br />A recipe from my sister at the Homecooking Blog...<br />As well as my "made up" Easy, Peasy Ham Pot Pie recipe...<br />The story of the sprinkle we gave for my mother...<br />A blog about eliminating writer's block...<br /><br />The announcement that HER BABY'S FIRST CHRISTMAS tied for first place in the MORE THAN MAGIC CONTEST!<br /><br />The announcement of my new 3-book contract.<br /><br />My 2 new speaking engagements for next year...2010 Written in the Stars Conference in Louisiana March 5th and 6th and the WRW conference in April.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />CAT TAILS!!!<br /><br />Last month the spotlight was on Sophia. Today, it's Fluffy's turn. Fluffy's real name is Fluffy Doodle...like Yankee Doodle, without the feather in the cap or the macaroni.<br /><br />Sarah and I had both longed for a cat, but my husband didn't really like cats and he constantly vetoed us. Then a week after Sarah got her driver's license I sent her for tomato sauce and forty-five minutes later she hadn't returned. I'd promised to take her to the mall to get her new "cheerleading" shoes so I knew she wouldn't dilly dally. <br /><br />I started calling the hospitals and we found Sarah at Conemaugh. Furious that no one had contacted us, we raced to the hospital where they told us we had to wait to see her. We sat for an hour, totally convinced by this time that she was dead or dying.<br /><br />Finally, we ventured up to the nurses station and asked about Sarah and the nurse was surprised no one had called our names. We could go right back.<br /><br />We were so relieved we raced back and when my husband saw Sarah he blurted, "Anything you want you can have it!" (Silly man.) Though she had a concussion and torn ligiments, Sarah had the presence of mind to say, "Can I have a cat?" And my husband was stuck!<br /><br />We got two cats, Fluffy and Basil. We had to put Basil to sleep a year or so later, but that's another Cat Tails.<br /><br />Anyway, Fluffy is absolutely Sarah's best guy. He sleeps on the foot of her bed, waits by the door for her when it's time for her to come home and knows the sound of her car! It's amazing.<br /><br />Fluffy is also the inspiration for Creamsickle, the cat with the bell in THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />EXCERPT from THE MAGIC OF A FAMILY CHRISTMAS!<br /><br />Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.<br />Wendy Winston twisted the key to silence her small car and turned to the boy on the seat beside her. Six-year-old Harry Martin blinked at her from behind brown-framed glasses. A knit cap covered his short yellow hair. His blue eyes were far too serious to be those of a child. A thick winter coat swallowed his thin body. His mittened hand clutched a bag of toy soldiers. "I'm really sorry to have to bring you to work." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "S'okay." She wanted to say not really. It wasn't okay that he'd be forced to sit and play with his plastic soldiers for God only knew how long while she worked. It wasn't okay that he'd lost his mom. Or that Betsy's lawyer had been out of town when she'd died. It had been four weeks before Attorney Costello had finally called to tell Wendy that Betsy had granted her custody of Harry in her will, and another few days before social services could pull him out of his foster home and give Wendy custody—and then only temporarily.<br />Regardless of what Betsy's will said, Harry's biological father's rights superseded her custody bequest. But no one knew where Harry's dad was, so, for now, Wendy had a child who needed her, and, for the first time in two years, she had someone to anticipate Christmas with. Though social services was searching for Harry's dad, Wendy believed she and Harry could have as long as a month to shop, bake cookies and decorate. If it killed her she would make it the best month before Christmas this little boy had ever had.<br /><br />She smiled. "I promise I'll make this up to you."<br /><br />"Can we bake cookies?"<br /><br />Her heart soared. It seemed that what he needed done for him was what she needed to do. They were the perfect combination. Maybe fate wasn't so despicable after all.<br /><br />"You bet we can bake cookies. Any kind you want."<br /><br />Wicked wind battered them with freezing rain as they raced across the icy parking lot to the executive entrance for Barrington Candies. Juggling her umbrella and her purse as they ran toward the door, she rummaged for her key, but before she found it, the right side of the glass double doors burst open.<br /><br />Cullen Barrington stood in the entryway. Six foot three, with black hair and eyes every bit as dark, and wearing a pale-blue sweater that was probably cashmere, the owner of Barrington Candies was the consummate playboy. He was rich, handsome and rarely around, assigning her boss Paul McCoy the task of managing the day-to-day operations of the company while he handled the big-picture details from the comfort of his home in Miami. Cullen was also so tight with money that no one in the plant had gotten a raise since control of Barrington Candies had been handed to him by his mother.<br /><br />Scrooge.<br /><br />That's what she'd taken to calling the man who'd summoned her to work on a Saturday afternoon. Even though he'd surprised everyone with his offer to fill in for her boss so Mr. McCoy could take an extended Christmas vacation, Wendy wasn't fooled into thinking he'd changed his ways and become generous. Though he'd probably called her in today to prepare before he took over on Monday morning, he'd paid no thought to the fact that she would lose her day off. She'd lose precious minutes with Harry. She'd lose the chance for them to enjoy whatever time they had together, and maybe even the chance for her to show him life wasn't entirely bad, just parts of it.<br /><br />Even if, some days, she didn't quite believe that herself.<br /><br />Occupied with her thoughts, she slipped on the ice and plowed into Cullen. She braced her hand on his chest to stop her forward momentum and it sank into the downy cashmere covering the hard muscle of his chest. His body was like a rock.<br /><br />Confused, because she thought all rich men were soft and pampered, she looked up. He glanced down. And everything inside Wendy stilled. She swore the world stopped revolving. As dark as moonless midnight, his eyes held hers. Her femininity stirred inside her.<br /><br />That confused her even more. She hadn't felt anything for a man since her husband's death, and Cullen Barrington was the last man on the planet she wanted to be attracted to. A playboy from Miami? No thanks. She'd glimpsed him a time or two in the four years she'd been working for his company and never felt anything but distaste at the way he treated his employees. She had no idea what was going on with her hormones, but it had to be an aberration of some sort.<br /><br />She stepped away, and as the door swung closed behind her a bell rang.<br /><br />Funny, she didn't remember a bell being on that door.<br /><br />She turned to investigate and sure enough someone had tied a bell to the spring mechanism at the top of the door.<br /><br />Probably Wendell, the janitor, making sure he'd be alerted if one of the executives sneaked in to check up on him.<br /><br />"Why did you bring your little boy?"<br /><br />She pulled off her mittens. "Oh, I don't know. Because I wasn't supposed to be working today? Because it's such short notice that I couldn't get a sitter?" She shrugged. "Take your pick."<br /><br />His gorgeous eyes narrowed. He obviously didn't like her speaking so freely with him.<br /><br />Wendy almost groaned at her stupidity. A single woman who might get custody of a little boy couldn't afford to be fired!<br /><br />"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you. It's just cold and I had things to do. So tell me what you want to work on and we can get started."<br /><br />"I'd like to catch up on what's been going on, so I'll need production schedules and the financials. Once you help me find those, you can go home."<br /><br />He didn't smile. Didn't give any reason at all for her heart to catch at the smooth baritone of his voice, but it did. Her entire body felt warm and soft, feminine in response to his masculinity.<br /><br />She stepped back. She did not want to be attracted to him. It had taken her two long, miserable years to get over Greg's death. And she refused to go through the misery of loss again by being attracted to a playboy who—as sure as the sun rises every day—would dump her.<br /><br />Of course, she might not be attracted to Cullen as much as she was simply waking up from the sexual dead. It had been two years. And she had been feeling like her normal self for at least three months. Maybe this was just a stage?<br /><br />She peeked at Cullen, knowing that beneath that soft sweater was a very hard male body. Something sweet and syrupy floated through her. Moving her gaze upward, she met his simmering dark eyes and knew she could get lost in them.<br /><br />She swallowed. Nope. Not a stage. It was him. She was attracted to him.<br /><br />He turned to walk back to the office. Following him, she caught Harry's hand and brought him along with her.<br /><br />"As far as the financials go, I don't want those fancy reports that go out in the annual statement. I want the spreadsheets. The nuts and bolts."<br /><br />She stopped with a frown. She had access to everything, but if he was looking for the whys behind the line entries, she couldn't help him. "Why didn't you call Nolan, the accountant?"<br /><br />He faced her. "Are you saying you can't get me the financials?"<br /><br />"No. I have them. Everything is in my filing cabinet. But—"<br /><br />She stopped talking. First, his eyes were simmering sexily again and her whole body began to hum—which made her want to groan in frustration. Second, she was making this harder than it had to be. All she had to do was find a few documents for him. The faster she found them, the sooner she'd be at home making cookies.<br /><br />She squeezed Harry's hand. "I can get you anything you need."<br /><br />"Thank you."<br /><br />Cullen turned and resumed his walk to the executive suite. Wendy and Harry scurried behind him.<br /><br />In her office, she stripped off her coat and removed Harry's. Cullen stood patiently by her desk as she rummaged through her purse for the key to the filing cabinet. Walking over, she noticed the door to her boss's office was open. Papers were strewn across his desk.<br /><br />"Oh, you're already working?"<br /><br />Cullen nodded. "I typed a few letters. But there isn't a printer in the office. I'm guessing I have to send my things to a remote printer, but I'm not sure which one is which."<br /><br />"E-mail them to me and I'll print them."<br /><br />"Why don't you just come to the computer with me and show me which printer to send them to?"<br /><br />Okay. So he didn't want her to see what he'd written. No big deal. Whatever he wanted to print was probably personal. Not her business. She not only got the message; she also agreed. The less she knew about this man and the faster she got away from him, the better.<br /><br />She unlocked the cabinet, pulled out the accordion file that contained the backup documentation for the financials for the year that had passed and handed it to him.<br /><br />He glanced at the packet, then back up at her. Her stomach flip-flopped. His eyes were incredible. Dark. Shiny. Sexy. And the perfect complement to his angular face. He had the look of a matador. Strong. Bold. Everything about him was dramatic, male.<br /><br />"Is the forecast in here?"<br /><br />With a quick shake of her head, she rid herself of those ridiculous thoughts, not sure where the heck they kept coming from but knowing they were absolutely wrong. She returned her attention to the open drawer and pulled the file folder for the five-year plan. "Here you go."<br /><br />"Great."<br /><br />Cullen took the folder from her hands and stepped back. He'd thought that bringing in Paul's administrative assistant would make his life easier, but this woman wasn't at all what he'd been expecting. For a widow, she was young and incredibly good-looking. Long, loosely curled red hair fell to the shoulders of her thick green cable-knit sweater. Her cheeks had become pink in the cold, accenting the green of her eyes. Low-riding jeans hugged a shapely bottom.<br /><br />He wasn't sure what the heck had happened when she'd fallen into his arms after she'd slipped on the ice. Their eyes had met and he'd felt a jolt of something so foreign it had rendered him speechless. He couldn't blame it on the fact that she was attractive. He knew hundreds of gorgeous women. Women even prettier than she was....Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2633605286974122456.post-37257539742868480782009-04-15T14:14:00.000-07:002009-05-07T07:06:33.142-07:00MAID IN MONTANA June 2009After checking to make sure Brady was in a deep sleep, she slid into her one-piece bathing suit and the matching terrycloth cover-up then grabbed the portable baby monitor from the bedside table and walked through the sitting room to the door of her suite. She opened it slowly, not wanting to run in to anyone since her cover-up was short and she felt uncomfortable walking around only half dressed. <br /><br />Common sense told her she had no reason to fear. It was late. She was on the first floor. Her boss’s suite of rooms was on the second floor. Slim had a cabin behind the homestead. Only a few hands actually slept in the bunkhouse, but even they were so far from the house that no one would see her – if they were awake. She was perfectly safe.<br /><br />She took a breath, stole down the short hall that led to the kitchen and then slipped into the family room with French doors that led to the pool. In another two steps, she was standing on the stone patio.<br /><br />Silence descended on her like a warm blanket. The city always had sound. Background noise. A person might grow accustomed to it and not "hear" it, but it was always there. On this ranch, so far away from civilization, she learned the meaning of the word silence.<br /><br />Removing her cover-up, she glanced around in awe. Except for dim lights illuminating the blue water of the pool, this world was also inky black. Remembering something about seeing stars in the country, she quickly glanced up and sighed.<br /><br />"Oh, my gosh."<br /><br />"Oh, my gosh what?"<br /><br />On gasp, Sophie spun around to find Jeb walking out of the shadows behind her. Anger rose like hot lava in her veins and her first instinct was to turn and walk away. But the closer he got, the more her anger was replaced by confusion. Water flattened his thick black hair and droplets cascaded from his shoulders and down his broad chest, making trails through whorls of dark hair leading to six-pack abs. Wet black swimming trucks clung precariously to lean hips and a butt made for a woman to sink her fingernails into in the throes of passion. <br /><br />Even as her mouth went dry, she groaned inwardly. How could she be attracted to the man who had just fired her?<br /><br />"Oh, my gosh what?" He repeated his question as he walked over to her, stopping within arm's reach.<br /><br />Awareness shimmied through her. With her cover-up in her hand and wearing only her bathing suit, she wasn't quite as naked as he was, but they were both scantily dressed, alone, in the darkness.<br /><br />She pulled in a breath, reprimanding herself. Not only were they were both sufficiently covered, but also she was furious with him and he clearly didn't like her. She didn't intend to continue their argument, but she wouldn't cower from him either.<br /><br />She forced herself to meet his gaze. "The stars. There are so many."<br /><br />"You have big city syndrome," he growled, back to being the grouch boss. He looked up into the star spangled darkness and back at her. "The sky is always lit over a city, blocking one of nature's greatest gifts. A starry night."<br /><br />He took another glance up at the sky and her gaze skimmed his broad chest and perfect tummy. He was, quite literally, the sexiest man she'd ever seen. <br /><br />"Yeah. We certainly don't have stars like this in the city." She swallowed, desperately trying to will away her attraction. He was a self-centered grouch, who had fired her. He was the last person she wanted to feel anything for. But she couldn't deny that being this close to him, her whole body hummed. She told herself it was just plain foolish to be attracted to a man she didn't even like. Yet, here she stood, her breathing erratic, her nerve-endings on red alert, just from standing close to him. <br /><br />"I’ll just go back to my room now."<br /><br />He snatched a huge green towel from a nearby chaise. "No, I'll go. I'm done with my swim. In about ten seconds the patio will be all yours."<br /><br />A nervous laugh bubbled up from her. There was no way she'd let him leave his own swimming pool on account of her. No way she'd give him another thing to complain about. "No. That's okay. You stay. I only came out here to get a breath of fresh air."<br /><br />She watched his gaze move from her face, down her one-piece suit, pausing on the length of leg exposed beneath the high-cut bottom. <br /><br />"If you only came out for fresh air, then why are you in a swim suit?"<br /><br />Her breathing, which had been erratic, stalled in her chest. His voice might have been strong, detached, but the look he'd given her had been long and slow. He'd taken in every square inch of her and lingered on the part of her that usually drew a man – her legs. <br /><br />She swallowed. <br /><br />Not sure what to think, she tried to fall back on humor. "All right. You caught me. I'm guilty as charged. I wanted a quick swim, but I didn't realize you were using the pool or I wouldn't have come out."<br /><br />He took a step closer. "I didn’t picture you as the one-piece suit type. I figured you more for a bikini girl."<br /><br />Another nervous laugh escaped her. If he made a pass at her, she wasn't sure if she would melt or faint. They both knew she was leaving in three weeks. And maybe that was why he was suddenly behaving so different with her? If he made a pass at her, nothing would come of it but an affair. <br /><br />She took a breath. One little look shouldn't have her automatically assuming he was after an affair! She had to stop jumping to conclusions. So far he hadn't said or done anything out of line. She might have even misinterpreted the look he'd given her. What if he wasn't attracted at all, but actually confused by her choice of swimwear?<br /><br />"Why a bikini?"<br /><br />"Don't you surf?"<br /><br />"No."<br /><br />"Hum. A California girl who doesn't surf. Another myth debunked."<br /><br />Relief skittered through her. She had been correct. He wasn't attracted to her but confused by her. She could breathe again. "You think all California girls surf?"<br /><br />He caught her gaze, his pale eyes soft and serious in the moonlight. "Yes."<br /><br />Realization of how close they were slid over her. He was a very different man when he wasn't yelling at her. In fact, from the way he was looking at her she'd never guess he had a problem with her at all.<br /><br />She licked her suddenly dry lips, feeling reactions and emotions that were more instinctive than conscious. Her eyes desperately wanted to move down again, soak in the beauty and masculinity of his chest, and she struggled to keep them locked with his. Her nerve endings sparkled like the stars overhead. Her breathing became forced, labored.<br /><br />He stepped back, his gaze still locked with hers. "You'd do well to remember that I'm a grouch and check to make sure the pool isn't occupied the next time you want to swim."<br /><br />Embarrassment poured through her in a rush of heat. Good grief! So much for him behaving differently! Why did she keep making mistakes with this guy? Normally, she was a better judge of character. Yet, this was the third time she'd totally misread him. <br /><br />"I"m sorry. Next time I want to swim I'll ask."<br /><br />"There's no reason to ask. Just remember that I swim every night around ten-thirty and don't come out and we'll be fine."<br /><br />Though his words were appropriate, his voice went back to being soft, hypnotic, resurrecting the sprinkle of gooseflesh that covered her body. She peeked at him, confused again. What was going on here?<br /><br />She took a breath, reminding herself it didn't matter. She'd be gone in three weeks. Dropping her cover-up to the chaise, she turned to the pool. Before she dove in, she glanced over her shoulder and saw him walking toward the French doors. Her sigh of relief was swallowed up by the splash she made when she plunged into the water.Susanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10319652591847155422noreply@blogger.com0