Palmer is one of those authors whose books are always enjoyable. She throws in romance, suspense and a good story line.”
—The Romance Reader on Before Sunrise
“Lots of passion, thrills, and plenty of suspense... Protector is a top-notch read!”
—Romance Reviews Today
“A delightful romance with interesting new characters and many familiar faces. It’s nice to have a hero who is not picture-perfect in looks or instincts, and a heroine who accepts her privileged life yet is willing to work for the future she wants.”
—RT Book Reviews on Wyoming Tough
“Palmer proves that love and passion can be found even in the most dangerous situations.”
—Publishers Weekly on Untamed
Table of Contents
To Mary and Georgia, with love
KEENA WHITMAN’S DAY had gone backward from the moment she got out of bed. Two of her best sketches had been destroyed when Faye turned a cup of hot coffee over on them. Naturally, the sample-room staff had been livid when they had to wait for Keena to redo the sketches so that they could make up the rush samples for the salesman. Like all salesmen, he was impatient and made no attempt to disguise his annoyance. She’d missed her lunch, the seamstresses had missed theirs and to top it all off, she’d gotten the specifications wrong on a whole cut of blouses, and they had had to be redone with the buyers incensed at the holdup. By the time Keena was through for the day and back home in her Manhattan apartment, she was smoldering.
She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and threw herself down on the long, plush, blue-velvet couch with a heavy sigh. How long ago it seemed that she’d worked at textile design and dreamed of someday working for a big fashion design house. And now she had her own house and was one of the most famous designers of casual wear in the country. But the pleasure she should have been feeling simply wasn’t there. Something was missing from her life. Something vital. But she didn’t even know what. Perhaps it was just the winter weather making her morose. She longed for the freedom and warmth of spring to get her blood flowing again.
She lay on her back and stared at the ceiling. She was slender with short black hair and eyes as green as spring leaves. Her complexion was peachy, her mouth as perfect as a bow. At twenty-seven, she retained the fresh look of innocence, despite her sophistication. At least Nicholas said she did.
Nicholas. She closed her eyes and smiled. How long ago had it been when Nicholas Coleman had offered her the chance to work as an assistant designer in his textile empire? It was well over six years ago.
She’d been utterly green at twenty-one. Fresh out of fashion
