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Falling into Forever
Falling into Forever
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Falling into Forever

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Falling into Forever
Phyllis Bourne

The Silk Sisters–longtime friends Janelle, Sandra and Vicki–have turned their business savvy into a top-tier event agency. And in the wealthy enclave of Wintersage, Massachusetts, there's an abundance of lavish parties, society drama and longing hearts to keep them busy. Growing up among the powerful and privileged, formal-wear designer Sandra Woolcott learned early on to never show weakness–just smile and hold your head high. And ten years ago, when her young heart was broken, she learned just how strong she really was….When Isaiah Jacobs left for the Naval Academy, he said he didn't want to hold Sandra back–although he really wanted to hold on to her forever. Sandra let him go, masking her hurt with a glittering social life and career. Now Isaiah is back in Wintersage to care for his ailing father. And when he and Sandra meet again, it's all they can do not to fall for each other once more.But they've built such different lives, and so many years have passed–is their long-ago love worth the risk? Can they bury the pain of the past and build a promising future together?

The Silk Sisters—longtime friends Janelle, Sandra and Vicki—have turned their business savvy into a top-tier event agency. And in the wealthy enclave of Wintersage, Massachusetts, there’s an abundance of lavish parties, society drama and longing hearts to keep them busy.

Growing up among the powerful and privileged, formal-wear designer Sandra Woolcott learned early on to never show weakness—just smile and hold your head high. And ten years ago, when her young heart was broken, she learned just how strong she really was….

When Isaiah Jacobs left for the Naval Academy, he said he didn’t want to hold Sandra back—although he really wanted to hold on to her forever. Sandra let him go, masking her hurt with a glittering social life and career. Now Isaiah is back in Wintersage to care for his ailing father. And when he and Sandra meet again, it’s all they can do not to fall for each other once more.

But they’ve built such different lives, and so many years have passed—is their long-ago love worth the risk? Can they bury the pain of the past and build a promising future together?

What in the hell are you doing?

Isaiah braced his hands against either side of the doorjamb and lowered his head until it touched Sandra’s front door.

He’d spent hours trying to talk himself out of coming here, staying at the rec center long after the party had ended.

It hadn’t worked.

“Go home,” he whispered. She’d never have to know he had come here.

But his body refused the direct order. It stood steadfast at the door, not caring about the fact that he had no reasonable explanation for being there or the very real possibility of Sandra slamming the door in his face.

All Isaiah knew was he had to see her again.

Now.

Exhaling, he slid one hand down to the doorbell and pressed. The chime preceded one of the longest minutes of his life.

“Forget something?” he heard her ask through the door before it swung open.

Sandra held out the blue diaper bag he’d seen slung over her shoulder earlier. He watched her brown eyes widen at the sight of him.

Before either of them had time to think, Isaiah wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. She gasped as she stared up at him, and he caught the scent of cotton candy on her breath.

“Yeah, I forgot this.”

He leaned in and captured those pouty lips of hers—lips that had played a starring role in his dreams for four nights straight—in a kiss.

PHYLLIS BOURNE

is a native of Chicago’s South Side and began her writing career as a newspaper crime reporter. After years of cops and criminals, she left reporting to write about life’s sweeter side. Nowadays, her stories are filled with heart-stopping heroes and happy endings. When she’s not writing, she can usually be found at a makeup counter feeding her lipstick addiction.

You can find her on the web at www.phyllisbourne.com (http://www.phyllisbourne.com) and www.facebook.com/phyllisbournebooks (http://www.facebook.com/phyllisbournebooks).

Falling

into

Forever

Phyllis Bourne

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Dear Reader (#ulink_852da910-4f35-5de7-bcd1-83e20cebc74d),

Family is the best thing about the Thanksgiving holiday—it can also be the worst.

In Falling into Forever Sandra’s and Isaiah’s parents are overbearing, embarrassing and hilariously obnoxious. They’re also loyal, loving and filled with high expectations for their offspring.

While Falling into Forever is foremost a romance, at heart it’s a story about us as children—from toddlers to gray-haired adults with kids and grandkids of our own. We never lose our desire to make our parents proud.

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

Phyllis

For Byron, who shoulders the heavy lifting so I can live my dream.

I’d like to thank my fellow authors in the Wintersage Weddings continuity series, A.C. Arthur and Farrah Rochon, for their support and encouragement. You ladies are the best!

Contents

Cover (#u99c4df27-4c85-5e9b-8e31-ca6b5adc753c)

Back Cover Text (#ube1e58db-d9b5-5bfa-a0d3-f39495d2ff72)

Introduction (#uf456c5d1-c282-5120-9be6-00f4188c548e)

About the Author (#u39770262-b1d6-5e91-b151-9ed9862b1519)

Title Page (#u1f736cbc-af7e-5276-9e70-da5bb2318054)

Dear Reader (#ulink_130c1598-7a25-5813-bf43-702547a6d705)

Dedication (#u59464faa-81de-5af9-9fcd-892bdcd68e37)

Chapter 1 (#ulink_729466f3-ce3c-5291-8ee7-5f5233f85fd0)

Chapter 2 (#ulink_d1f3f649-0746-5a18-915c-09d8c94ef69a)

Chapter 3 (#ulink_650170cc-e3f0-58d2-8e4c-a729a3529557)

Chapter 4 (#ulink_08c462bf-31ad-5902-b49a-c128280d10e4)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 1 (#ulink_3c8bc97b-5cd0-536c-91b0-20ea2118eada)

“I want that low-down, cheating bastard to eat his heart out.”

The edict echoing in her head, Sandra Woolcott swept the graphite pencil over the paper in bold, rapid strokes. Turning a client’s dream dress into reality was her business.

Still, this particular request was a first.

A revenge dress.

Sandra sat cross-legged on her living room sofa, sketch pad on her lap, and examined the illustration. A sleek, backless dress with a thigh-exposing split. Sexy and beautiful, the gown encapsulated the hallmarks of a garment worthy of bearing her Swoon Couture label.

She stuck the pencil behind her ear and gnawed at her bottom lip as she continued to study the sketch. Her client had a lot riding on this particular dress.

It had to be better than good. It had to be perfect.

She ripped the page from the sketch pad, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it in the direction of a wastebasket stationed near the sofa. It landed on the hardwood floor in a pile of similar wads filled with rejected ideas.

Sandra scrubbed a hand down her face in frustration.

She worked by appointment only, with a private clientele, her schedule packed months ahead with back-to-back appointments for consultations and fittings. She also had to handle the business end of running her custom shop.

Mondays were the day of the workweek Sandra focused solely on the creative side of Swoon Couture.

Instead of retreating to the studio at her shop, she’d decided to work from home, hoping a change of scenery would help her get caught up on the tasks she’d put on hold last week to help arrange her friend Janelle’s wedding.

No such luck.

She’d barely made a dent in her to-do list, which included ideas for Everley Madison, a pop singer she was scheduled to meet with in a few days to discuss a gown for her New Year’s Eve wedding, and the preliminary designs for clients preparing for the spring season of charity balls.

Instead, she’d spent the majority of the day stumped on the last-minute plea from one of the most prominent citizens of Wintersage, Massachusetts.

“We built that business together. Now he expects me to sit home alone while he strolls into the party celebrating its silver anniversary with his new skank on his arm,” Octavia Hall had complained during her design consultation. “A party I spent over a year planning. I didn’t even use Alluring Affairs, because I wanted to see to every detail personally.”

Sandra had listened patiently while Octavia spent the entire hour painstakingly listing her soon-to-be ex’s faults, without giving as much as a clue to the style of dress she wanted.

It didn’t matter.

Behind the older woman’s bravado, longing had lurked in her eyes. It told Sandra that, deep down, her client was really seeking a gown so breathtaking, the sight of her in it would make her estranged husband think twice about abandoning their marriage for a twenty-year-old.

It was a lofty goal for a dress. However, Sandra intended to do everything within her power to make Octavia, a former Miss Massachusetts, once again the most stunning woman in the room.

The clock on the mantel over the fireplace chimed, and Sandra calculated she could squeeze in another hour of work before making the short walk from her house, overlooking the harbor, to The Quarterdeck for her weekly business meeting/gossip session with her two best friends and business partners. In the meantime, she needed to concentrate on coming up with a showstopper of a gown.

She stared at the blank sketch-pad page. A vague idea of a shimmering dress embellished with beads and sequins...no, satin in the same caramel tones as Octavia’s skin...danced on the edge of Sandra’s imagination.

She closed her eyes and focused as the details slowly unfolded. Excited, she opened her eyes and snatched the pencil from behind her ear. She needed to get this design down on paper quickly, while it was fresh in her mind.

The doorbell sounded. Both the jarring chime and the accompanying pounding on her front door jerked Sandra from her thoughts, and visions of the satin gown faded.

So much for thinking working from home was a good idea. Muttering a curse, she set the pencil and pad aside.

She peered through the peephole and frowned. What were her parents doing in town?

“I thought you two were in New York City.” Sandra shivered against a blast of late-October wind coming off the nearby Atlantic Ocean as she pushed the door closed behind them.

“We barely had time to visit with the Kings before your father began griping about getting back to Wintersage and returning to work,” Nancy Woolcott said, “and his girlfriend.”

Stuart Woolcott winked at his wife. “Don’t be jealous of my side piece. She may be sexy, but you’re still my number one.”

As they walked into her living room, Sandra couldn’t help smiling at her parents’ running joke over her dad’s prized 1970 Chevy Chevelle SS. He’d acquired the muscle car of his boyhood dreams back when Sandra was in elementary school, and the rare hours he wasn’t in his office he spent in the garage, restoring his girlfriend to her seventies glory.

“I got a call about a 454 engine. I need to take a look at it,” he said. “Afterward, I’m going into the office.”

“That office isn’t going anywhere. Surely it can wait until tomorrow morning,” her mother countered.

“Woolcott Industries doesn’t run itself, dear. And neither of our children can be bothered to help run it, either.”

Sandra felt her father’s pointed stare as she bussed her mother’s upturned cheek.

Here we go, she thought, and steeled herself for the lengthy lecture that always accompanied that look. Sure enough, he launched into it.

“Computer hardware was good enough for me, my father, my grandfather and his father, who started out selling typewriters and adding machines, but it’s not good enough for my kids.” Her dad walked past her into the living room. “Fred King’s daughter, Ivy, is vice president of his company, you know. Her husband also works for their company, and they’ve given Fred two beautiful grand—”