a fright every single time.
Flashbulbs disorientated him, microphones were shoved in his face.
‘Grant! Grant! Is it true you put a man in hospital? Is it true you beat him to a pulp?’
Shaking his head, he disentangled himself from the bedsheets and strode out to the living room. Starlight streamed in through the window and the city twinkled a silent tune. It was a surreal feeling to be in close proximity to thousands of people and yet be completely and utterly alone.
Opening the lid of his laptop, he settled onto the couch. His personal email showed the same sad scene it did every day: zero new messages. Even Dennis, the closest thing he had to a friend, hadn’t sent him anything...not even a stupid Lolcats photo. He clicked on the folder marked ‘family’ and sighed at the measly three emails that he couldn’t bear to delete. The last one was dated over six months ago.
He checked the spam folder, wondering if—hoping that—maybe a message had got caught in the filter, that maybe someone had reached out to him. No luck. The folder was empty.
He’d never regretted leaving the small country town where he’d grown up to pursue football and success in the big smoke, despite the verbal smack-down he’d got from his father. He could remember with clarity the vein bulging in his father’s forehead as his voice boomed through their modest country property. Those three little words: How could you? How could he desert them? How could he abandon the family business? How could he put a pipe dream before his father and sister?
Those wounds had only started healing, with the tentative phone calls and texts increasing between him and his sister. The old bonds had been there, frayed and worn but not completely broken. Not completely beyond repair. Even his father had provided a gruff enquiry as to Grant’s life in the city.
But all that was gone now. Those fragile threads of reconciliation had been ripped apart when he’d brought shame to the family name. They were his father’s words but he couldn’t dispute them. He didn’t have the right to be mad. He was alone because of his own actions, because of the mess he’d made. And, knowing his father, he wouldn’t get a second chance.
All the more reason to make sure the Jaguars were on top this year. If his career was all he had left he’d give it everything. He would not fail.
Slamming the lid of the laptop shut, he abandoned the couch to grab a drink from the fridge. If sleep was going to be elusive he might as well do something to pass the time.
Copyright © 2014 by Stefanie London
Rachael Thomas
‘I can see only one way to secure their happiness …’ Georgina paused, refusing to be drawn. ‘And to satisfy your insatiable need for business success.’
Santos leant forward at his desk. ‘And that is?’
‘You get married first, inherit the business, leaving them to enjoy a happy married life together.’
He looked at her, his handsome face set in a mask so emotionless she blinked in shock. Did this man not have any compassion in his heart?
‘As you seem to have it all worked out, who do you suggest I marry?’ The question came out slowly, as if he was sure he’d foiled her plan.
She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes. She mustn’t show any nerves, any fear. He was like a predatory lion and she knew he’d smell it.
‘Me.’
RACHAEL THOMAS was born in Cheltenham, but grew up in Worcester. As a young child she loved to read and make up stories. For as long as she can remember she’s wanted to be a writer. As a teenager she became an avid reader of Mills & Boon®, borrowing endless copies from her local library—a place she loved to be.
In her early twenties she moved to Wales, where she met and married her own hero—which meant embarking on the biggest learning curve of her life as she settled in to her new role as a farmer’s wife. When her two children were in primary school she decided it was time to rekindle her dreams of being a writer.
It took almost seven years to realise those dreams, but along the way she’s met some wonderful people, travelled to amazing places and had a fabulous time. When she entered her story into Harlequin’s So You Think You Can Write contest she never for one moment imagined a publishing contract would be the result. Now she’s thrilled to have achieved her dream, and to be writing for her favourite Mills & Boon line is the icing on the cake.
She loves to contrast her daily life on the farm by spending time creating irresistible heroes and determined heroines whose love affairs play out in glamorous settings. You can visit her website at www.rachaelthomas.co.uk
This is Rachael’s debut story— we hope you love it as much as we do!
To my family and friends, who have supported me always as I’ve pursued my dream,
and to the wonderful friendships I’ve made along the way.
GEORGINA ENTERED THE sleek luxury of the office and knew she was being watched. Her every step scrutinised by a man who was revered and feared by businessmen and women alike.
‘Ms Henshaw.’ His deep voice, with a hint of accent, was firm and commanding. ‘I don’t think I need to ask why you are here.’
He leant against his desk, arms folded across his broad chest, as if he’d already decided he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. His black hair gleamed, but the intensity in his eyes nearly robbed her of the ability to speak.
‘I’m sure you don’t, Mr Ramirez.’ She injected as much firmness into her voice as she could, determined she wouldn’t be dismissed before she’d said all she had to say. ‘You are, after all, the cause of the problem.’
‘Am I indeed?’ Santos Lopez Ramirez locked his gaze with hers and for a moment she almost lost her nerve. Almost.
She studied his face, looking for a hint of compassion, but there was nothing. His mouth was set in a firm line that highlighted the harsh angles of his cheekbones, softened only slightly by his tanned complexion. His jaw was cleanshaven, but she didn’t miss the way he clenched it, as if biting back his words.
‘You know you are.’ She paused briefly before continuing. ‘You are the one person who is preventing Emma and Carlo from doing what they want.’
‘So what are you going to do about it, Ms Henshaw?’
As he raised his brows in question a flutter of nerves took flight in her stomach. But now was the time to be the woman the world thought she was—the cold and manipulative woman who took exactly
