everything.”
“I love you, too.” She kissed him again.
“Would you mind if I stayed the night with you?” he asked, his lips hovering near hers.
“One night only?” she said, turning to him.
“No. It would never be enough. I want you every night for the rest of our lives, does that work for you?”
“Yes, Zack. I think a lifetime sounds about right.”
CLARA Parsons looked at the mostly uneaten cake. Three tiers of blue frosting that had been perfectly smooth just a few hours earlier, before two, chubby hands had taken some fistfuls out of the side.
“That was the most extravagant cake I’ve ever seen at a one-year-old’s birthday party,” Zack said, looking down at the crumbs all over the kitchen floor. “And I don’t think Colton ate half of it. He mostly just spread it around.”
“That’s what kids do, Zack.”
“He’s asleep. I think we put him in a sugar coma. Anyway, you only get one first birthday, I suppose. You might as well live it up.”
Clara looked at the cake again. “This reminds me of another cake I made that didn’t really get eaten. A wedding cake.”
“I’m still very thankful that one didn’t end up being used for its intended purpose.”
“Oh, so am I. Because then we wouldn’t have had our wedding cake, or our wedding.”
“Or our son,” Zack said.
“So, all things considered, it was a pretty important uneaten cake.”
Zack advanced on her and pulled her up against his body, resting his forehead against hers. Her heart stopped for a moment, like it always did when she looked at him. Like it had from the moment she’d first met him.
“A lot has changed since that day,” he said, dropping a kiss on her lips.
“A whole lot,” she agreed.
“Do you know what’s stayed the same?”
“What’s that?”
“You’re still my best friend.”
She kissed him, deeper this time, love expanding her chest. “You’re my best friend, too.”
Janette Kenny
For as long as JANETTE KENNY can remember, plots and characters have taken up residence in her head. Her parents, both voracious readers, read her the classics when she was a child. That gave birth to a deep love of literature, and allowed her to travel to exotic locales – those found between the covers of books. Janette’s artist mother encouraged her yen to write. As an adolescent she began creating cartoons featuring her dad as the hero, with plots that focused on the misadventures on their family farm, and she stuffed them in the nightly newspaper for him to find. To her frustration, her sketches paled in comparison with her captions.
Though she dabbled with articles, she didn’t fully embrace her dream to write novels until years later, when she was a busy cosmetologist making a name for herself in her own salon. That was when she decided to write the type of stories she’d been reading – romances.
Once the writing bug bit, an incurable passion consumed her to create stories and people them. Still, it was seven more years and that many novels before she saw her first historical romance published. Now that she’s also writing contemporary romances for Mills & Boon she finally knows that a full-time career in writing is closer to reality.
Janette shares her home and free time with a chow-shepherd mix pup she rescued from the pound, who aspires to be a lap dog. She invites you to visit her website at www.jankenny.com and she loves to hear from readers – e-mail her at [email protected]
KIRA MONTGOMERY pressed her forehead against the massage table’s padded face cradle and shifted again to loosen the tension knotting her shoulders and neck. Impossible.
Her masseuse had “stepped out for a moment.” The term obviously meant something different to her than it did to Kira. Leaving a client waiting fifteen minutes was unsuitable.
Chateau Mystique couldn’t afford more bad press. The tragic deaths and ensuing scandals associated with the five-star hotel on the Las Vegas strip had hurt business. Hurt her in ways she’d never imagined.
To make her life more of a jumble, her doctor had confirmed the one thing she’d never anticipated. She was pregnant.
Her insides quivered and she took a deep breath. Held it. Let it out slowly. It didn’t help. Nothing helped.
Ever since she’d heeded her solicitor’s advice and traveled to the Caribbean island of Petit St. Marc for a closed meeting with André Gauthier, her life had tumbled into a chaotic nightmare. The devastatingly handsome billionaire had denied ever knowing of their meeting, and had refused to divulge how he’d gained stock in her hotel. Though she’d been frustrated and angry, she’d been captivated by the sheer power of his persona and his rapier-quick ability to debate an issue.
He’d mentally stimulated her and physically aroused her more than any man she’d ever met. But she wouldn’t be swayed by his staggering offer to buy out her shares. He owned minority stock, and that was all he’d ever have.
The Chateau was her home. Her dream. Her legacy. There’d been no reason to tarry on the island any longer.
No reason except desire. She hadn’t been able to deny the passion blazing between them and the raw hunger he stirred in her. And why should she?
She was an adult. Surely she could engage in a brief affair and walk away?
But thirteen weeks later she hadn’t been able to forget their stolen night of passion. Or the scandal that had erupted the following morning to rip them apart. Or André Gauthier, the father of her child, the man who’d recently made headlines with his ruthless attempt to break Bellamy Enterprises.
Would the shareholders force Peter Bellamy to sell his father’s empire? Would they decide to defy André and set the stage for a hostile takeover?
Perhaps they’d agree to a merger. Yes, a nice peaceful working arrangement, like the one she’d thought to forge with André before she learned of his perfidy.
How
