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You're Marrying Her?
Angie Ray
HOW WAS SHE GOING TO STOP THE WEDDING?There was no way Samantha Gillespie was going to let her best friend, Brad Rivers, marry a conniving woman only interested in his money! Brad may have been taken in by the beautiful blonde's act, but Sam knew differently.The problem was, the gold digger had made it impossible for Sam to tell Brad the truth without risking the bond between them. And even though the steamy looks Brad kept giving Sam made her question his engagement, she couldn't take the chance he'd choose the other woman over their…friendship? Still, was the commitment-shy Sam ready to acknowledge the desire she was feeling for her longtime "buddy" and even–gulp!–propose he marry her instead?
Brad?
Samantha started up at the man in shock. She’d seen him just eight months ago, but he looked…different. Incredibly different. His glasses were gone, he wore a dark gray, pin-striped suit that looked tailor-made, and silver cuff links.
But the difference went beyond clothes. He smelled of expensive gabardine, fine linen and spicy cologne. He was still tall and lean, but his shoulders looked broader. More powerful.
And even though he was smiling, he hadn’t hugged her or kissed her cheek. In fact, he was looking at her with a strange, watchful gaze. Her own smile dimmed.
“What are you doing here, Brad?”
He smiled broadly. “Congratulate me, Sammy. I met the girl of my dreams and she agreed to marry me.”
Dear Reader,
My, how time flies! I still remember the excitement of becoming Senior Editor for Silhouette Romance and the thrill of working with these wonderful authors and stories on a regular basis. My duties have recently changed, and I’m going to miss being privileged to read these stories before anyone else. But don’t worry, I’ll still be reading the published books! I don’t think there’s anything as reassuring, affirming and altogether delightful as curling up with a bunch of Silhouette Romance novels and dreaming the day away. So know that I’m joining you, even though Mavis Allen will have the pleasure of guiding the line now.
And for this last batch that I’m bringing to you, we’ve got some terrific stories! Raye Morgan is finishing up her CATCHING THE CROWN series with Counterfeit Princess (SR #1672), a fun tale that proves love can conquer all. And Teresa Southwick is just beginning her DESERT BRIDES trilogy about three sheiks who are challenged—and caught!—by American women. Don’t miss the first story, To Catch a Sheik (SR #1674).
Longtime favorite authors are also back. Julianna Morris brings us The Right Twin for Him (SR #1676) and Doreen Roberts delivers One Bride: Baby Included (SR #1673). And we’ve got two authors new to the line—one of whom is new to writing! RITA® Award-winning author Angie Ray’s newest book, You’re Marrying Her?, is a fast-paced funny story about a woman who doesn’t like her best friend’s fiancée. And Patricia Mae White’s first novel is about a guy who wants a little help in appealing to the right woman. Here Practice Makes Mr. Perfect (SR #1677).
All the best,
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
You’re Marrying Her?
Angie Ray
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ANGIE RAY
A RITA® Award-winning author for her first novel, Angie Ray has written historical and paranormal novels, but this is her first category romance. A native of Southern California, her mind is buzzing with ideas for stories, and she loves brainstorming while taking walks. Her husband and two children also provide plenty of distraction, but sooner or later she’s always drawn back to her computer for “just one more scene”—which invariably leads to another book!
Dear Reader,
At age twelve, I regarded anything with the word romance in it with suspicion—until a friend gave me a category romance novel and I read it. I was hooked. Actually, I was addicted, obsessed and insatiable. I quickly figured out that the new series romances always appeared in the bookstore about the seventh of each month, but that sometimes they came earlier. Starting around the first, I would beg my poor mother to take me to the bookstore every day until those books showed up on the shelf.
My love affair with romances continued through high school, college, several jobs and even through my own personal romance with the man who would become my husband. I read romances before, during and after the birth of my two children (well, not actually on the delivery table, but you get the idea).
When I finally decided to write something myself, I wrote several historicals and time travels—but part of me was still drawn to the Silhouette Romance line and its simple (???!!!) stories about two people falling in love.
Writing this book was pure pleasure—as was working with the outstanding editorial staff at Silhouette (specifically, Mary-Theresa Hussey, my editor extraordinaire, and Shannon Godwin, her remarkable assistant).
Whether you’re twelve or six times twelve, I hope you will have as much fun reading You’re Marrying Her?, as I had writing it.
Sincerely,
p.s. I love hearing from my readers! Please e-mail me at: ARay3@aol.com, or write to: P.O. Box 4672, Orange, CA 92863-4672.
Contents
Prologue (#uadc3dfe3-8954-5150-b74a-684cadb8ade4)
Chapter One (#udab43778-2d60-5c71-bb6f-3fba7a23026e)
Chapter Two (#ud110a477-56d6-5b6f-a5e9-e48520622f82)
Chapter Three (#u5a0fff94-efc4-51fc-9caf-449d55a2a6ec)
Chapter Four (#uba50e183-e674-505e-b047-00b95f781e06)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
His lungs were on fire. Sweat dripped down his forehead, soaking the sweatband and trickling down into his eyes, clouding his vision. The cheers from the crowd on either side increased, the noise half obscured by the pounding of blood in his ears, but he knew why they were yelling. The finish line was only a few yards ahead.
Every part of him ached. He couldn’t possibly go any faster—but he had to. Agonizing step after agonizing step, he drew closer to the figure ahead of him. He drew level. One more stride and he crossed the finish line—a nose ahead of the other man.
The crowd roared. Flags waved. Confetti floated through the air. “First place goes to…Brad Rivers!” boomed a voice over the loudspeaker.
The two men stopped jogging but kept walking to keep their muscles from cramping. They both breathed heavily. After a few minutes, the shorter one managed to gasp, “Damn…you…Brad, you beat me again!”
Brad laughed, even though his lungs burned with each exhalation. “I wasn’t about to give up that trophy—I like the way it looks on my desk.”
“You like taunting me with it, you mean.” George Yorita, Brad’s business partner and best friend, scowled, his thick black brows drawing together in a mock frown.
“C’mon, George. I never taunt.”
“Then why do you start polishing the damn thing every time I come into your office?”
“Trophies need a lot of upkeep—”
George snorted. “Yeah, right.” Before he could complain any more, a tiny Japanese-American woman with a toddler in tow came up. “I saw you running, Daddy,” the three-year-old said. “How come you let Uncle Brad beat you?”
George smiled ruefully, hugging his wife and ruffling his son’s hair at the same time. “Brad is very determined. When he wants something, he gets it.”
“You’re spoiled, Brad.” Laura Yorita shook her head. “You can’t always have everything you want.”
“So far he has,” George grumbled. “You should see the car he just bought. A ’65 Mustang in mint condition. When he told me it was on eBay, I tried to bid on it but got locked out. A million people must have been trying for that car, but Brad somehow managed to get it. The prettiest little convertible I ever saw. Original seats, hubcaps, detailing—”
“Maybe you should stay here and salivate over Brad’s car,” Laura said sweetly, “while I take Collin home for his nap.”
George grinned at his wife. “No, I’ll come with you. See you at the office Monday, Brad—but you better not drive that car. And you better not polish that trophy within my sight.…”
Brad watched the three of them leave. Holding his son’s hand, George bent to whisper in Laura’s ear. She laughed and nodded. He put his arm around her waist and they continued on, George shortening his steps to match those of his wife and child.
A slight frown etched Brad’s brow and he turned away, staring at the other runners crossing the finish line but not really seeing them. He hadn’t always gotten what he wanted. There was one thing that continued to elude him.…
“Water, mister?”
Brad took the proffered bottle, nodding his thanks to the race volunteer. Drinking the cold liquid, he turned his gaze back to the race.
Another runner had just crossed the finish line—a woman. She had a great figure, large breasts, small waist, curving hips, long legs. She looked familiar. He’d seen her somewhere before.
Yeah, now he remembered. At a party he’d attended a few weeks ago. The woman had been there. He hadn’t paid too much attention to her then—beyond the obvious, that is.
“An actress,” someone had told him.
He studied her more closely now. In addition to her other attributes, she had a beautiful face and carried herself with grace and self-assurance. She wore no engagement or wedding ring.
An idea sprang into his mind.
An insane idea. A completely ridiculous idea.
But then again, it had been an insane idea to start an electronics company just when all the tech stocks were taking a dive. And it had been ridiculous to expand into e-business, just when all the dot-com’s were going belly-up.
In short, he would try. And he would succeed.
Because the truth of the matter was, in the end, he always did get everything he wanted.
Chapter One
The wedding dress glowed in the late-afternoon sunlight streaming through the plate-glass windows of the small shop. Sequins formed a delicate tracery of vines on the bodice. A cluster of palest pink silk roses gathered the back of the full satin skirt into the faintest hint of a bustle. It was a Cinderella dress, symbolic of the bride’s hopes for a happily-ever-after future with Prince Charming. Next week, a young woman would walk down the aisle in this dress and pledge the rest of her life to the man of her dreams.
Samantha Gillespie shuddered.
The reaction was involuntary. She really had nothing against marriage, Sam told herself as she studied the dress on the dais before her. It just wasn’t something she wanted to do right now. Or any time soon. She was only twenty-four, for heaven’s sake, and no matter what her mother said, Sam wasn’t ready to get married yet. Not when life held such an endless array of possibilities. Why would she want to give that up for marriage?
“Well?” a voice demanded impatiently from the back of the shop. “Have you finished it?”
Sam glanced over her shoulder at the petite woman standing in the doorway of the small office at the far end of the showroom. “Almost,” Sam told her sister. “I think it needs a few more clusters of roses at the back.”
“For heaven’s sake!” Dressed in a pastel-pink suit and frilly white blouse, Jeanette glared over the top of her chunky, black-rimmed reading glasses, her lips pursed. Samantha recognized the expression—and the suit. She’d tried to get Jeanette to wear something less insipid, more contemporary, but her sister refused to cooperate. “I can’t wear that stuff you wear,” Jeanette always said.
Which was completely unfair, Sam thought, tightening the knot of the shirt tied at her waist and smoothing her ancient blue jeans. The casual look might not suit Jeanette, but a deep red suit with a tailored cut would flatter her dark hair and eyes and make the most of her pleasingly plump figure.
“Why don’t you let me make you a new suit?” Sam wheedled, ignoring Jeanette’s disapproving expression. “We got in some red linen that would look gorgeous on you.”
“No, thank you.” Jeanette’s toe, in a dull pink pump, tapped a stern tattoo. “I would prefer you worry about Miss Blogden’s gown rather than my attire. She and her mother are supposed to be here in half an hour. Mrs. Blogden will be furious if the dress isn’t finished.”
“Don’t worry.” Samantha retrieved a sewing kit and some pink silk from an antique armoire, then returned to the dais where the dress in question was reflected in a three-way mirror. “It won’t take me long.”
“Good grief, Sam!” Jeanette advanced from the office to the hat stand in the middle of the room—a more strategic spot for lecturing. “Must you always wait until the last minute? You know what Mrs. Blogden’s like.”
Sam sighed. Besides wearing boring clothes, Jeanette’s favorite activity was to lecture Sam on her habit of procrastinating. Sam listened sometimes, and even made sporadic efforts to change, but somehow her bad habits always crept back.
“Don’t worry,” Sam said again. “The dress will be ready.” Kneeling beside the mannequin, she twirled a piece of silk into a rose shape and stitched it onto the skirt of the wedding gown.
Jeanette chewed her lip. “I hate to leave you alone with her, but I promised Matt I’d come home early tonight.”
“Oh?” Sam glanced sideways at her sister. “How is Matt?”
Jeanette’s expression closed up. “He’s fine,” she said shortly.
Sam didn’t press. She knew Jeanette and her husband had been arguing a lot lately, but Jeanette was as unrevealing as her suit when it came to talking about her marriage. Sam hoped the couple found some way to resolve their problems—for the sake of their three children if nothing else.
“Go on then,” Sam told her. “Go home. Don’t worry about Mrs. Blogden.”
“I can’t help worrying about Mrs. Blogden,” Jeanette muttered. “I can’t afford to lose any clients.” She straightened a veil on the hat stand. “By the way, Brad Rivers called half an hour ago. He wanted to talk to you.”
“Brad?” Sam’s thimble fell to the floor and rolled off the dais, but she paid no attention. “What did he want?”
“If you’d been here on time, you would know.”
Sam rolled her eyes at her sister’s back as Jeanette retreated into her office. “Did he say anything?” she called after her.
“Not really.” Jeanette’s muffled voice floated out. “Just that he would call again later.”
How odd. Sam crouched down to look for her thimble. She’d barely talked to Brad since Christmas, eight months ago. She’d just returned to Southern California after a two-year absence, and when she arrived—late—at her mother’s house, she’d been delighted to see him. Only he hadn’t been so happy to see her. He’d been stiff, almost unfriendly. She’d thought at first that her long absence was responsible for his behavior. But as the day wore on and he didn’t loosen up, she’d realized something else was bothering him. She’d asked him flat out what was wrong, but he’d said everything was fine.
She’d called him several times over the next several months and left messages, but some barrier remained. When he’d made some excuse not to come to Easter dinner, everyone in her family had been surprised. He’d spent every holiday with them since Samantha was fourteen. And suddenly he couldn’t come because of “pressing demands at work”?
Hurt and confused, she’d stopped calling. He hadn’t made any effort to contact her. Until today.
Sam frowned at the rose she’d just sewn into place. What could he want to talk to her about now, after ignoring her for so long?
