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Bravo Unwrapped
Christine Rimmer
She's got issues with the Christmas issueAs editor of Alpha, the ultimate men's magazine, B. J. Carlyle is out to prove to her father, the publisher, that she's got what it takes to become editor in chief–even if it means swallowing her pride and getting her ex, Buck Bravo, for December's cover story.Landing the bestselling author, adventurer and man of the hour is a coup; the competition would kill to get the exclusive. But Buck is insisting that B.J. spend the next two weeks with him in the Sierra Mountains and write the story herself. B.J. agrees, but she's not going to tell Buck she suspects she's pregnant with his baby.B.J.'s out to get her story.She doesn't need Buck thinking she's out to get her man.
What a night. Face-to-face with Buck Bravo again.
And now she’d be expected to eat.
So B.J. faked drinking her wine. She even managed to get a little food down. On the polite conversation front, she nodded and made interested noises when spoken to. And she scrupulously avoided looking directly at Buck. No point in going there, nosiree.
Buck was, in all honesty, the man of the hour. There was talk that he’d get a Pulitzer for his last book. And the tabloids…to read what they wrote about him, you’d think every unattached woman in America longed to claim him for her very own.
Every woman except B.J. She didn’t long to claim him. She only longed for him to go away.
And soon he would go away. He’d go off and write his story and leave her alone to come to grips with the fact that she was going to have his baby….
Dear Reader,
The editors at Harlequin and Silhouette are thrilled to be able to bring you a brand-new featured author program for 2005! Signature Select aims to single out outstanding stories, contemporary themes and oft-requested classics by some of your favorite series authors and present them to you in a variety of formats bound by truly striking covers.
We want to provide several different types of reading experiences in the new Signature Select program. The Spotlight books offer a single “big read” by a talented series author, the Collections present three novellas on a selected theme in one volume, the Sagas contain sprawling, sometimes multi-generational family tales (often related to a favorite family first introduced in series) and the Miniseries feature requested previously published books, with two or, occasionally, three complete stories in one volume. The Signature Select program offers one book in each of these categories per month, and fans of limited continuity series will also find these continuing stories under the Signature Select umbrella.
In addition, these volumes bring you bonus features…different in every single book! You may learn more about the author in an extended interview, more about the setting or inspiration for the book, more about subjects related to the theme and, often, a bonus short read will be included. Authors and editors have been outdoing themselves in originating creative material for our bonus features—we’re sure you’ll be surprised and pleased with the results!
The Signature Select program strives to bring you a variety of reading experiences by authors you’ve come to love, as well as by rising stars you’ll be glad you’ve discovered. Watch for new stories from Janelle Denison, Donna Kauffman, Leslie Kelly, Marie Ferrarella, Suzanne Forster, Stephanie Bond, Christine Rimmer and scores more of the brightest talents in romance fiction!
The excitement continues!
Warm wishes for happy reading,
Marsha Zinberg
Executive Editor
The Signature Select Program
Bravo Unwrapped
Christine Rimmer
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Dear Reader,
Strong women. You gotta love ’em. I do. I like to think that I am a strong woman. And I like to write about strong heroines, women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to go out and get it.
Such a woman is B. J. Carlyle, the heroine of Bravo Unwrapped. B.J. is brilliant and, okay, she’s more than a little domineering. She loves pricey designer shoes and she’s a New Yorker through and through. She also happens to be pregnant, and she’s just decided that she’s no good at the man/woman thing. Her relationships somehow never work out. She’s giving up men.
I know what you’re thinking: Not going to happen. You are so right. Because, of course, there’s the father of her baby, Buck Bravo, the one man she’s never been able to forget.
Buck can’t forget her, either—and he doesn’t even know there’s a baby involved. Buck has decided he’s getting himself another chance with B.J., whether B.J. wants that chance or not. From New York to California and back again, Buck is determined to lay claim to the woman he knows is meant for him.
Happy holidays everyone,
Christine Rimmer
For my dad, who always believed I could do anything I set out to do—and who made sure that I believed it, too.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bonus Materials (#litres_trial_promo)
Author Interview:
A conversation with
Christine Rimmer
Recipe: Sierra Star Pumpkin Muffins
The Ballad of Blake Bravo
The Bravos: Heroes, Heroines and Their Stories
Sneak Peak: Bravo Family Way
One
For B. J. Carlyle, features editor at Alpha magazine, that fateful day in late October started out in abject wretchedness—and went downhill from there.
B.J. was not someone who hit the snooze button as a rule, but that morning she did. She hit it. And she kept hitting it every five minutes for over an hour. Eventually, she realized it was either get up—or admit she was taking a sick day. B. J. Carlyle did not take sick days.
So she crawled out of bed groaning and headed straight for the bathroom, where she dropped to her knees, banged the seat lid back and threw up. Repeatedly.
By the time she finally stopped gagging and staggered upright, it was much too late for her usual session on the Stairmaster, let alone her blenderized breakfast cocktail of fruit juice and vitamin-packed protein powder.
Okay, she told herself. Fine. Tomorrow for the Stairmaster.
And the protein drink? Skipping it was not a problem, considering that the thought of gulping it down had her queasy stomach threatening to bring her to her knees again.
B.J. ate three saltine crackers and grabbed a quick shower. Precious extra minutes went into her makeup. She troweled on the concealer in a mostly failed effort to hide the ravages incurred by five virtually sleepless nights in a row. Finally, she put on her favorite short black pencil skirt and that cute pink Donna Karan silk blouse with the opera-glove sleeves and the wild spill of ruffles at the neck and the black snub-toed Pradas with the four-inch heels. Though she was a tall woman—five-eight in flats—on a day like this, she could use all the extra height she could get. She pulled on a short, snug pink leather blazer over the blouse, grabbed her big black alligator bag and her briefcase, and went out the door without so much as glancing at her message machine.
That little red light was blinking and she knew it. It had been blinking when she came in the night before. She knew who’d called. She’d checked the display.
Buck.
She wasn’t talking to him—she wasn’t even going to listen to his deep, sexy recorded voice. Uh-uh. Not a chance.
Downstairs, she waited, trying not to tap her toe, while sweet old Melvin, the doorman, got her a cab. Traffic on Broadway was a zoo—no surprise. The cab smelled of garlic and wet shoes. Her cell rang twice. Probably Giles, her right-hand man at Alpha. By now, Giles would be wondering where the hell she was.
B.J. ignored the calls. She stared out the side window at the sea of scurrying pedestrians and honking vehicles and told herself she was not going to vomit—garlic and stinky-shoe smell be damned. She was keeping down her three measly crackers and that was that.
At West 58th, she got out of the cab and sucked in a deep breath of lovely exhaust-rich, garlic-free air. She paid the cabbie. She tugged on her blazer and brushed at her skirt. Then she yanked her shoulders back, stuck her chin in the air and strode purposefully toward the black-marble-and-glass building that housed the offices of Alpha magazine. B.J.’s father, L.T. Carlyle, owned the building. Alpha had the fifteenth floor.
B.J. spent the ride up to the offices trying not to look at her own reflection in the elevator’s mirrored walls and ignoring her cell, which was ringing again. She had that Bride of Chucky look around the eyes. Scary. Very scary. And she really should have used a little more blusher….
The doors slid wide and she was facing the Alpha reception desk, complete with stunning receptionist Melanie, who had exotic slanted eyes and preternaturally large lips—lips that went with her breasts, as a matter of fact. Melanie automatically beamed her blinding big-lipped smile, as she’d been trained to do whenever the elevator doors opened.
Then she realized it was B.J. “Oh! B.J. You’re…late.” Melanie stated the obvious with a look of pure bewilderment. B.J., after all, was never late. And beyond the bewilderment, didn’t Melanie seem a little…guilty? She had a magazine open in front of her. She flipped it closed, folded her slim French-manicured hands on top of it and blinked three times in rapid succession.
Even with Melanie’s tightly clasped hands in the way, B.J. could see enough of the cover to make a positive identification: TopMale magazine. Apparently, Melanie felt guilty for checking out Alpha’s competition. Did B.J. care what the receptionist read while she was supposed to be working?
Not today, she didn’t. “Good morning, Melanie,” B.J. announced vehemently, and headed for the hallway to the left of the desk.
Melanie called after her. “Uh. Giles says he needs to talk to you. He’s been trying to reach you….”
B.J. stopped, pivoted on her mean black heels, and gave the receptionist her most terrifying smile. “And I’m headed his way as we speak, now aren’t I? Or I was, until you stopped me.”
“Uh. Well,” said Melanie, coloring prettily. “Yeah. Okay. That’s right….”
B.J. proceeded down the hall, sprinkling tight greetings at random colleagues as she went, careful not to make eye contact, which would encourage further communication. She was so not up for anything beyond “Hi,” right then—not that anyone tried to get her talking. In fact, they all seemed a little…strange, didn’t they? A little sheepish, their grins of greeting bordering on smarmy.
Or was she only being paranoid due to sleep deprivation, unremitting nausea and raging hormones?
Hmm. Could be.
Giles had the office next to hers. His door was open. She had to walk past it to get to her own. She was tempted to try that—zip right by, pop into her own office and shut the door. Silently.
Which was absurd. No point in coming to work just to hide in her office.
She stepped boldly into the doorway of Giles’s narrow cubicle, which only achieved the designation of “office” because it had actual walls and a door he could shut. “What?” she demanded.
Giles tossed his head as he looked up. His sleek blond hair flew back out of his eyes. “God. I thought you must have died.” People assumed that Giles had to be gay, he was so pretty. He let them assume it. Women adored him. They felt safe with him, even though they weren’t. He loved to gossip and he cared about fashion. His last name was CynSyr, pronounced sincere—which he actually was, on occasion. Giles spotted her shoes. “Darling. I love those. All you need is a whip.”
“Is there a problem or not?”
“Unfortunately, there is.” He peered at her more closely. “Are you…all right?”
She stood straighter and lied—aggressively. “Fabulous.”
“Did you, ah, see the new issue of TopMale, by any chance?”
She scowled. “What is it with that? Melanie was reading it just now, when I came in.”
“You haven’t seen it.”
“No. Why?”
“Ah—first, the good news.” He grabbed the Starbucks cup at his elbow and held it out to her. “Decaf mocha almond. Venti. One packet of Splenda. Just the way you like it.” His golden brows drew together and he wrinkled his aquiline nose. “Sorry, but it’s lukewarm by now.”
She stepped into the room and took the latte from him. “Thanks. You do have your uses.”
