“And now we’ll join and become one big happy family.” His soft voice urged her.
Contentedly she rested against the warmth of his body. “Oh yes, that would be wonderful.”
His scent clean and profoundly masculine. Little prickles of fire, as his fingers traced lazy patterns on her arm.
His touch was reassuring. “Oh, Edoardo, you were such a mystery to me.”
“Even when I didn’t like you, I loved you.” His grin was infectious. “You called me God-awful names. Thought the worst of me.”
“Maybe that was true yesterday,” she said, “but it’s not true today.”
He kissed her eager mouth. With one quick movement Edoardo pulled her to him. His voice was husky, his breath warm and sweet on her cheek.
“You unlocked something in my heart.” His deep voice simmered with barely checked passion. “Made me feel something I thought I’d never feel again.”
He held her against him, holding her as if she were more precious than gold. His mouth covered hers hungrily, and his kiss sent new spirals of ecstasy through her.
She arched into the curve of his body as his tongue playfully traced the outline of her lashes.
His tongue trailed across her cheek, then traced small circles of fire in her ear, her neck, her hair. “You’re all I’ll ever need.”
“Yes, I am.”
“We’ve wasted so much time,” he said.
“What’s time to us? We have forever.” Her fingertip trailed down his cheek.
“Forever,” he agreed.
His lips were now slightly touching hers. It sent her crazy with longing.
She flung her arms around his neck, and claimed him with an intensity that startled them both.
His hands moved with new urgency down the curves of her body, and she arched sensually following the movement of his hands. “I can never love you enough,” he whispered. “Never.”
And as he kissed her so tenderly, Glory knew she had, even though his princely crown was slightly crooked, found her Prince Charming.
About the Author
Iris Leach lives with her husband Michael in Wandin in the Yarra Valley, a small community around 50 kilometeres from Melbourne, where they grow grapes and make delicious wines. She likes talking with her friends, movies, knitting, and reading romance.
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Naked Truth by Tami Lund
Urgent: One Nanny Required
Olivia Logan
Avon, Massachusetts
This edition published by
Crimson Romance
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, Ohio 45242
www.crimsonromance.com
Copyright © 2013 by Olivia Logan
ISBN 10: 1-4405-6668-2
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6668-4
eISBN 10: 1-4405-6669-0
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6669-1
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Cover art © dian
My family for their unfailing love and support
My husband for providing food during my writing frenzies
And last, but far from least, to the best critique partners a girl could have and without whom this book would not have seen the light of day. For their continued patience and words of wisdom —
Sara and Sasha aka @HarlequinJunkie and @CarribeanAccent
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
About the Author
A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance
Chapter 1
She wasn’t sure if it was the unexpected “Excuse me” from the other side of the door or the worn surface of the “Welcome to Belle’s Sweets” mat that made her slip, but within seconds Rania George went one way as the mat went the other and she fell with a hard thud on her butt. Dazed, she found herself looking up into a pair of worried brown eyes. If the boy thought it odd she was now on the floor with her legs askew, he was too polite to mention it.
“Are you closed?” His voice was barely audible over the icy British February wind.
Pushing herself up, she pointed to the faded “Closed” sign at the front, “I’m afraid we shut early today.” The oddest feeling of déjà vu settled over her as she saw his shoulders slump and the ash blond hair fall forward as he nodded slowly before turning to walk away. A small winged eagle badge on the oversized black blazer came into view. She recognized him. He was the same kid who hovered outside the shop window every day after school with a harassed woman in tow. She swung the door wide as the rusty bolt gave way without a fuss. He paused, turning around, eyes downcast.
“Hey. Aren’t you a bit young to be out when it’s this late? And where is the lady that is normally with you?” she asked, her eyes combing up and down the street.
“She is my babysitter. And I don’t like that one,” came the sorrowful reply, lower lip coming forward and beginning to tremble. “Besides, I’m old enough. I’m eight.”
Her stomach flip-flopped at the words “that one.” Memories she had thought long buried came back in waves. Images of countless babysitters for those times her mother went out chasing her dream flashed before her. Angry tears burned behind her eyes and she blinked them away rapidly. “You shouldn’t be out on your own when it is so dark. Come in and we’ll give your house a call to let them know where you are,” she said, moving aside as he practically ran in, wandering from sweet jar to sweet jar, eyes agog at the variety.
Bolting the door, she gently moved him aside as she squeezed through the narrow aisle.
“Right, little man, what’s your home number?” She picked up the banana handset ready to give whoever answered a piece of her mind on child safety.
He shrugged as he stared at a large jar of fizzy cola bottles. “Can’t remember. But my dad said I can get my own phone when I’m ten.” Rania rolled her eyes heavenward. This seriously couldn’t be happening. “Well, how about … ”
She jumped as a sharp bang on the glass brought her planning to an end as a dark shadow loomed large and ominous outside; the shop’s dim light ineffective against the wintery darkness.
“Hello. Can I help you?” she called out, simultaneously replacing the receiver while handing a paper bag to the boy whose small hands had started to make their way into an open box of chewy caramels.
“I believe you have my son,” growled an angry masculine voice from the other side.
“Dad!” came the high-pitched exclamation, a paper bag hitting the floor as the boy rushed toward the door.
“Hang on a sec, kid.” She reached past him to pop the lock, sidestepping quickly as a tall, blond man strode through, tie askew, top button undone. The fading smell of his aftershave engulfed her senses as he moved past.
“Theo! Thank God! There you are!” he exclaimed, swooping his son up into a bear hug and whirling him around. Interestingly, despite the February chill he wasn’t wearing a jacket, giving Rania a full view of muscular forearms under the rolled up gray shirt.
“I’ve been worried sick about you! What were you thinking, running away from Lena again?”
“I wanted to go the sweet shop. This is Belle. It’s her sweet shop,” came the grinning unrepentant reply accompanied by a small grubby finger b
eing pointed in her direction.
The initial feeling of annoyance at being ignored when he first arrived gave way to slight panic as ice blue eyes glued her to the spot. Nope, not just ice blue. They were glacial blue. A striking addition to the chiseled jaw and straight Roman nose.
“How did you know where I was?” asked the young Houdini, smile still firmly in place.
“Newton’s not the biggest village and Lena told me you liked coming here every day after school. Where else would I look?” The patient response was a clear sign this wasn’t the first time this had happened. “Why don’t you go and have a look around the shop. I would like to talk to Belle for a minute,” he said, gently setting his son down and ruffling the floppy hair.
“Theo, there is another paper bag on the counter. You can help yourself to some sweets. That is, if your dad doesn’t mind?” she called after him.
Solemn brown eyes looked up into blue ones and Rania could swear the kid could have given Bambi a run for his money when it came to the eye thing. Within seconds, a slow smile broke out on Theo Senior’s face, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle and the glacial blue to melt to the color of a stream on a summer’s day.
Damn he was handsome, Rania thought, while she tried to focus more on the fact that he was probably going to cross-examine her on how his son came to be in her shop at this time of night.
Watching the blond hair scamper away, she turned slowly, disconcerted to find that at only five feet three she came up to the middle of his chest. Having to look up at people was nothing new, but talking to one that resembled an Adonis was a first.
“Ms. Belle … … ” the smooth voice began, goose bumps already beginning to shimmer their way up and down her arms.
Shaking herself out of her revere, she held a hand up, “It’s not Ms … ”
“My mistake. Mrs. Belle, then.”
She narrowed her eyes at the cool correction and straightened up to her full height. Not that made much difference as her gaze collided with the patterns of his tie laying crumpled against his chest. He might be Adonis material but he was still just a man.
“Actually, Mr. Theo’s dad, it’s neither Mrs. nor Belle. It’s Miss. Miss Rania George,” she said, her voice sharp, and her chin raised in defiance.
She was not prepared for the snort of derisive laughter that followed nor the way she was thrown off balance by said snort.
Damn the man. Stay focused. This was how it always started, and reminding herself of how many times she had seen the result of acting on such feelings from her mother, she was determined to stop them.
“Apologies, Miss George. No insult meant. I just wanted to thank you for looking after my son during his hiatus from his nanny,” he said gravely. “Unfortunately, the nature of my work keeps me … ”
“From being an observant parent?”
“I beg your pardon?” The softly whispered question belied the dangerous narrowing of his eyes.
“Look, it may not be my place to say, Mr. Theo’s dad … ”
“Nick. Nicholas Trenton. That’s my name. Since you are so hot on having the correct name, maybe it would be a good idea for you to start using mine,” the hard voice interrupted her.
“Right, sure. Anyway, the fact is, letting your child wander around when it is pitch black outside on the streets at the age of eight is not appropriate.” Her hands spread wide to emphasize the absurdity of the situation.
“Firstly, Miss George, I did not let my son wander around at night and secondly, neither did I lose him. He ran away from the nanny that I hired to look after him.” His clipped tone did nothing to distract her from staring at the small dimple that appeared in his right cheek when he talked. “Furthermore, I clearly did know where my child was, as I am here now to pick him up.”
They looked around at the blond Houdini who had begun prodding at a heart-shaped chocolate. Her Valentine’s Day best seller.
Whipping her head back around to face him, she found his penetrating gaze fixed on her. She really should remember the staring technique next time she had problems with contractors. It was certainly making her legs feel funny.
“I thought his nanny told you where he was?” she reminded him, pleased to see him visibly stiffen at the connotation of that statement.
“She did, but he talks about this place all the time. I may have a job that keeps me away from home for long stretches, Miss George, but that doesn’t stop me from talking to my son.”
She could sense she’d touched a nerve. A nerve that he seemed to have previously berated himself for without her help and she suddenly felt herself softening toward him.
She gave herself a mental shake. Job or no job, the fact remained his son still appeared in front of her shop on a cold dark night sans adult. Why was she even getting involved; this was not her problem. A picture of his son came back to her, lower lip pouting and trembling, gradually beginning to merge with a mental image of herself at that age waiting yet again for her mother to come back from one of her trips.
“Yes, of course, your busy job. And your wife. Theo’s mum. Also in a busy job, I assume?” She couldn’t have stopped the sarcastic tone even if she’d tried. Clearly, she hadn’t outgrown her childhood flaw of sticking her nose in where it didn’t belong.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you to not to assume anything, Miss George? It makes an ass-of-u-and-me,” he mocked. His patrician features were as set and hard as the glacial blue of his eyes. “Theo’s mother is dead. She died when he was a baby; hence the nannies.”
Her mouth formed a silent “O” at the revelation.
“Cat got your tongue, Miss George? You didn’t strike me as the sort of person who is usually lost for words.” His cold tone shook her senses back to life. He was right, she had to admit. She wasn’t usually lost for words, but she was stumped for something to say after that.
Snaking her tongue out to moisten her suddenly dry lips, she paused as she saw his eyes flicker down and follow the movement. She felt herself grow hot under the stare, thankful that her olive skin tone meant she wasn’t an easy blusher.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Trenton.” Rania couldn’t help feeling annoyed at herself as she heard the stammer in her voice. “That would explain why Theo referred to his nanny as ‘that one.’ One of many, I as … guess,” she finished lamely, peeved at him for clearly biting back a smile at her almost-blunder.
“Yes, my son has had a lot of nannies. Not because they weren’t any good, but he has a tendency to either run them off or run off from them.” At her raised eyebrow, he shifted from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable with what he was going to have to say next. “Ever seen Mary Poppins or The Sound of Music?” At her slow nod, he carried on, “The children in those films, the ones that always run away or put frogs in their nannies’ beds?” He stopped, drawing in a deep breath, “Well, that is my son.” His eyes softened as he stared past her shoulder at said offspring who was now sitting down on the floor, paper bag in hand, comic book in the other.
Remembering the compliant boy she had met earlier, Rania found it hard to merge that image with some hell-raiser who terrorized nannies, and then ran away for good measure. “I must admit, I’m surprised. That wasn’t the little boy I met earlier,” she mused to herself. Talking to herself; yet another bad habit she should stop, especially when she saw him nod in agreement.
“He really isn’t. Well, not usually.” His voice was gruff with emotion he couldn’t hide as he continued to stare at his son.
She squeaked in surprise as the cuckoo clock darted out of its hole to announce it was six P.M. So much for going home early. The unladylike noise brought his gaze back round to her, eyebrow arched at the odd sound.
Clearing her throat to belie how wrapped up she was in watching him, so much so she didn’t notice the clock till too late, she smoothed her h
ands down her flowery apron. “Just putting it out there. Do you remember the fathers in those films? They were too busy to spend time with their children, so the children misbehaved to get their attention.”
“Is that what you are saying Theo is doing, Miss George? He is misbehaving because I am neglecting him?” He shot back, the hard mask back in place once again.
“Well, if the cap fits and all that, Mr. Trenton,” she replied as she placed her hands on her hips, refusing to cower before the angry stare. A stare which she was sure usually got him his own way. Well, not in her shop.
• • •
Unbelievable! First she had the nerve to accuse him of losing his own son and now she was suggesting Theo behaved like this because he was neglecting him.
Running a hand through his hair, he stared down at the petite Attila-cum-lawyer-cum-sweet shop owner. The faded flowery apron did nothing to hide the curves beneath, as the caramel-brown eyes flashed angrily up at him. Even the plain braided dark brown hair didn’t detract from her unusual beauty, his eyes dropping to the Cupid’s bow mouth beneath a small upturned nose.
Jeez, what was he thinking … ? He needed to get out more. Not that he hadn’t been on dates since Lila’s death, but nothing serious. At least not with the fickle women in his line of work and since those were the only ones he met, he was pretty much out of luck. More importantly, he had Theo to think about. Not to mention he never had the time. Time … the reason he was here. He had meant to be home earlier until he was called into a last-minute meeting with the Studio, maneuvering through the rush hour traffic to be met with a hysterical nanny and a missing son. The latter now happy as ever huddled on the floor, flicking through his favorite comic and sucking on a licorice stick. He frowned as a thought hit him. He never remembered seeing Theo this relaxed in any other adults’ company, not even his grandparents.
“And, furthermore, Mr. Trenton, I never used the word neglect. Ignored may be a better choice.”
Sexy in the City Page 111