“I thought we’d have a drink, celebrating our new relationship,” he told her in his best Southern-gentleman drawl.
“Our relationship?” Alisha echoed incredulously.
“Landlord and tenant,” Brett replied, indicating first himself, then her. “Why? What did you think I was referring to?”
Still sitting on the stool, she squared her shoulders. “I didn’t have a clue,” she lied. “That’s why I asked.”
“You want something light and fruity—or something hard?” he asked her.
The words seemed disconnected as they came out of the blue like that. Confused, she could only ask, “What?” as she stared at him.
“To drink,” Brett prompted. “Light and fruity—” he gestured toward the small array of bottles filled with colorful mixed drinks “—or hard?” he concluded, waving a hand toward the bottles that contained alcohol his customers downed straight.
“What did you just have?” she asked, nodding at his empty shot glass.
“Wild Turkey, 101 proof,” he told her.
She pushed her glass to one side and said, “I’ll have the same.”
Brett looked at her uncertainly. “Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s rather strong and you might get more than you bargained for.”
Her eyes locked with Brett’s. “I think I already have.”
Her Forever Cowboy
Marie Ferrarella
A USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author, MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.
To
Pat Teal,
who, 33 years ago,
said to me,
“Have you thought about writing a romance?”
Rest in peace, Pat.
I miss you.
Contents
No one looking at her would have suspected that her heart had just been broken, or even bruised. She made sure of that.
Dr. Alisha Cordell prided herself on being self-contained. She wasn’t the type to let people in on her private hurt. Nor would she allow herself to shed tears. At least, not publicly.
Publicly, if she included the half-naked hospital administrator closeted with her fiancé as being part of the general public, the only display of emotion anyone had witnessed was when she’d thrown her three-carat diamond engagement ring at Dr. Pierce Belkin—a neurosurgeon who was much in demand, not always by his patients—and the aforementioned hospital administrator.
A flash of fury had accompanied the flying ring as well as a single seething word that wasn’t part of her usual vocabulary.
It hadn’t even been the sight of the ruggedly handsome Mayflower descendant making love to the vapid, overly endowed blonde that had made Alisha throw her ring at him. It was Pierce’s complete lack of contrition coupled with the snide remark—“Oh, grow up, Alisha. Just because we’re getting married doesn’t mean I’m going to be your slave”—that made her lose her composure and had her throwing the ring and then telling Pierce to take up residence in a much hotter location.
