Sugar and Sin Bundle

by Stacey Joy Netzel

  Her laugh pealed around the room.

  ‘You pervert. I’ve always liked that about you.’

  He rolled onto his back and took her with him.

  His hands cupped her head, made her look into his eyes.

  ‘Marry me, please, Rosie.’

  She read the plea, saw the anxiety and gave her heart freely into his keeping.

  ‘Okay.’

  And how he could have forgotten the most important part of this?

  He took her with him as he sat on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Stay there,’ he told her.

  His jeans lay in a heap and he found what he was looking for in the back pocket.

  Her eyes went wide as he dropped to his knees in front of her and held out the little black leather box.

  ‘If it’s not what you want then we’ll get something else.’

  Her hand shook as she took it from him, opened it.

  The way her eyes filled meant he wondered if she loved it or loathed it.

  Her hand went to her mouth and those huge eyes met his and what he saw there made him heave a big breath of relief.

  ‘Omigod. Isn’t this your mother’s ring?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I’ve had the principle diamond reset in platinum to bring it up to date. Do you like it?’

  Her hand cupped his face as her lips met his.

  ‘Yes, but it’s your mother’s ring!’

  Now he kissed her hard and long before he drew back.

  ‘And there would be no one happier to have you in our family. I love you, Rosemary Margaret Gordon.’

  Chapter Forty Six

  ‘They’re going to kill me,’ Rosie told him in the voice of doom.

  Walking through the rear entrance of The Dower House, Alexander held her hand, swung her arm back and forth.

  ‘No they won’t. I won’t let them.’

  The sound of voices, too many voices, put a hitch in her stride but Alexander pulled her into the vast living space of the Ferranti kitchen.

  Bronte’s gasp of shock had her whimper in a way that made her fiancé grin.

  And then she was in the arms of her best friend who was doing her level best to crack her ribs.

  ‘What on earth have you done?’

  Bronte pulled back but kept her hands on Rosie’s shoulders to study her.

  ‘Jeez, Bronte, I only cut my hair. Gimme a break.’

  Bronte took a shaky breath even as her eyes filled.

  ‘I like it! It makes you look terribly young so if you were hoping to appear older it’s a fail. And you’ve lost weight,’ she accused her in a voice overflowing with emotion.

  Janine stepped up behind Bronte, her blue eyes filled to the brim with anxiety and concern.

  ‘I’m so sorry, Rosie.’

  Rosie gave her big eyes.

  ‘No. I’m sorry. I let you down when you needed me.’

  ‘Bullshit!’ came the response. Janine grabbed her in a hug. ‘You were right there, in bare feet and everything. I’m sorry if the whispers in town upset you.’

  ‘You’re not responsible for gossips or my feelings, my behaviour. I am.’

  ‘Can I have a hug too?’ Josh said.

  He caught her in his arms and spun her around before holding her tight.

  When his hands slid down to her hips, Alexander cleared his throat and those hands swiftly rose to her shoulders.

  With a big grin he studied her features, flicked his fingers over her hair.

  ‘What’s this, penance? Where’s the hair-shirt?’

  Trust him to hit the nail on the head.

  ‘Shut up.’

  Then she turned to face Nico and the look on that harsh face made her flinch.

  His eyes narrowed into icy slits.

  ‘I am very unhappy with you, cara mia.’

  Her eyes never left his.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nico.’

  Then he shook his head, cast his eyes to heaven, held out his arms.

  ‘Come here.’

  She flew into his arms, buried her face in his shirt.

  ‘Okay. I think she’s suffered enough,’ Alexander told them in a gruff voice.

  He wound his arm around her waist and moved with her to the centre of the room.

  ‘I hope you have the good stuff chilling because Rosemary Margaret Gordon has agreed to marry me.’

  Bronte and Janine’s screams of joy might have shattered glass.

  By the time the champagne was flowing and happy tears were dried, talk naturally segued into The Wedding.

  ‘I’m not waiting for her a minute longer. It’s not as if we don’t know each other,’ Alexander said.

  Since the announcement Rosie was sitting on his knee.

  He refused to let her go and she wasn’t putting up much of a fight.

  But then he looked at her.

  ‘If that’s okay with you? Do you want a Big Day with all the chaos that surrounds it?’

  Nope. Rosie shook her head. She was going to have her dream wedding and that meant small and intimate.

  ‘We phoned my parents first and they said to do what we want. I’d like a small friends and family celebration held at the Chapel in Ludlow Hall.’

  Bronte’s eyes filled again.

  ‘How lovely. How perfect. When?’

  ‘Two weeks?’ Rosie suggested.

  Alexander’s face was rubbing against her neck as he whispered his approval and she turned to receive his kiss.

  ‘It’s doable,’ Janine said into the shocked silence. ‘Is the Chapel free?’

  By the tone of her voice she’d morphed into the Yoda of organisation that had made such a big impact on the smooth running of Sweet Sensations.

  ‘Si,’ Nico said in a stunned voice.

  ‘But, what about a dress, the cake, the invitations?’ Bronte asked in a faint voice.

  ‘All the people I want there are sitting right here along with my parents and a few others like your father, Bronte, and maybe close friends like Coco and Louise.’

  Rosie turned to Alexander. ‘We swore a promise at school that Bronte, Janine, Coco and Louise would come to my wedding.’

  He grinned, kissed her right on the mouth, with tongues.

  ‘A promise is a promise.’

  ‘And I want a traditional fruit cake. Four tier with fresh flowers, ivory rosebuds, with champagne ribbon. We’ve plenty of fruit cake in the freezers.’

  Then her eyes went all dreamy.

  ‘And I want an ivory silk dress I saw online. Nipped in waist, full skirt. No veil. Maybe a head dress.’

  Bronte clicked her fingers.

  ‘We’ll fly to Rome. I know just the woman who’ll sort you out. You might need Prozac to get you through it, but she’s awesome. We’ll get shoes too while we’re there.’

  ‘Alexander and I will go with you,’ Nico said. ‘We have business to attend to. If we leave early in the morning we can be back by late evening.’

  ‘Good idea,’ interrupted Janine. ‘Or you can stay the night and I’ll stay here with Boo at The Dower House with the nanny.’

  Now Bronte gave her friend a huge smile.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.’

  Rosie clapped her hands and bounced on Alexander’s knee in a way that made him wince.

  She flung her arms around his neck and beamed big happy eyes into his.

  ‘We’re going to Rome. Woo Hoo!’

  Then she gave him a wicked look that did something amazing to his system.

  ‘Can you make me a member of the mile high club?’

  Aaand she was back!

  THE END

  Many thanks for reading Run Rosie Run.

  Please consider leaving a review. Thank You!

  LETTER FROM C.C MACKENZIE

  Dear Reader,

  Most of us have a secret dream. Rosie’s was that Alexander S. Ludlow would fall madly in love with her. My dream was always to be
a writer. When I started writing the Ludlow Hall series four years ago, it was with the goal of entertaining myself, to hone my writing craft and hope others would enjoy my stories. My dream came true.

  Since 'Reckless Nights In Rome' and 'A Stormy Spring' were published earlier this year, 'Reckless' has reached the top twenty in over twenty countries and beyond with many distributors with hundreds of four and five star reader reviews. Sales of 'A Stormy Spring' have followed and reader feedback has been amazing. But what’s really blown me away has been the demand for Rosie’s story. And we haven’t seen the last of her or the Ferranti family either. We join them all in book four, 'The Taming of Coco Monroe'. I adore speaking to my readers. You guys have kept me going with your patience and encouragement. Everything I do, I do for you.

  Thank you so much for reading 'Run Rosie Run', and I hope you’ll join me again for the next instalment of The Ludlow Hall series.

  Christine

  Sexy In Stilettos

  The In Stilettos Series

  Book One

  by

  Nana Malone

  Copyright 2012 Nana Malone

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  Sexy in Stilettos

  COPYRIGHT © 2012 by Nana Malone

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Kimberly Killion

  Edited by Rhonda Helms

  Published in the United States of America

  Dedication

  For Manteh “Mantesco ‘That’s me.” Darfoor” You will be missed. Thank you for teaching me to speak my mind.

  Erik and Siaki, I love you always. Thank you for loving my lists.

  Misty, the words, “Thank You” will never be enough.

  Marcie, this will be our year, I promise you.

  Megs, Ten, Naad & Cyn, thank you for keeping me sane.

  Chapter One

  He looks ready to kill me.

  Jaya Trudeaux searched her father’s usually impassive, though now clearly angry, features. Furrowed brows, check. Tight lips, check. Throbbing vein above his left brow accompanied by a slight twitch in the left eye, courtesy of a long ago tango with a door jamb, check and check. Yep, Pierre was pissed.

  Jaya dragged her eyes from her father’s glare and focused on the All-Tech Conference selection committee, giving them her best, sweet-girl-next-door meets competent-business woman, meets fellow-nerd smile. This she knew how to do. She understood the client’s needs, what it would take to pull off a conference of their magnitude, and that these guys were more SyFy channel than MTV. They wouldn’t be swayed with a flashy marketing presentation. They wanted someone who understood their world. Too bad it wasn’t the presentation her father wanted her to give.

  As Jaya closed, she looked each of the selection committee members in the eye to make the connection. “Trudeaux Events might not have the flash of Starbuck like some of our competitors—” she indicated the placard with their list of competition. They’d all made pitches and most had gone the more flash than substance route. Suckers. “But we understand your needs. And we can meet them.”

  Her fellow nerds beamed at her. Maybe it was the Battlestar Galactica reference. Maybe they recognized a kindred soul. Maybe they liked her legs. Either way, Trudeaux Events would certainly make the top two candidates for the conference. As the conference would bring well over twenty thousand attendees to San Diego, it would be a huge boon for the event company to land the business. If they were selected, maybe her father would finally make her an event lead.

  As soon as the last handshakes were dealt and Brett James, the president of All-Tech thanked them for their time, Pierre Trudeaux indicated the door. Jaya’s stomach dropped. Well damn. Worst thing was, he had Derrick Cooley, Trudeaux’s VP of Corporate Events, trailing right behind him as they exited the boardroom. This couldn’t be good.

  They were probably pissed she hadn’t gone through with their approved presentation. Derrick had pushed for something flashier, wanting to capture the client’s attention, and had refused to listen to her ideas for the presentation. Not to mention he hated her. How the hell she’d ever thought she wanted to marry that asshole was beyond her. She must have been high.

  Back stiff, she exited out the closest door and started her explanations before they could get a word in edgewise. “I know that’s not the original presentation you talked about, but I’m uniquely attuned to this market and I feel like—” She didn’t finish. Both of them shot her looks so cold she could feel the icicles forming in her gut.

  “In my office, Jaya,” her father said.

  This. Was. Not. Good. Okay. Plan B time. She wasn’t above begging. Jaya wanted this client. Needed this client. She’d gone out and recruited this business. It was hers. If they gave the account to Derrick, or worse, to her sister, Tamara, she’d have a fit.

  Once in Pierre’s austere office, Jaya settled in one of the guest chairs she knew her father selected deliberately to make people uncomfortable in his presence. Her father took his post behind his desk, looking every bit the authoritarian dictator he wished he were. Derrick remained standing, which gave him that additional position of power. Instead of looking at her, he stared out the window. Prick.

  She sucked in a deep breath and marshaled her nerves. Come on gang. Once more with feeling. “Look. I’m sorry. But you saw the client—they don’t care about being the cool kids. They care about authenticity. No offense intended, Derrick, but your presentation would have lost them.” She drew in a breath. “Next time I’ll follow your direction, but clients like this need a plan they can get behind. They’re slow and steady comic-book readers. They don’t care about the latest cool-kid party.”

  Derrick didn’t even wait for her father to speak, nor did he face her. “There won’t be a next time, Jaya.”

  “What?” Her eyes burrowed on her father’s face. Impassive. But was that really a surprise? “Okay, look, bench me for the next few months if you want, but I’m the best presenter you have. I—”

  Derrick turned from his position at the enormous floor to ceiling windows overlooking San Diego’s skyline. “No. Not for a few months. Forever.”

  Jaya's anger simmered to life. But instead of its low-grade burn, it roared to five-alarm status. She turned her gaze on her father. “Dad?” Derrick didn’t have the authority to fire her. She still had more shares in the company than he did. Until, of course, he married Tamara.

  Her father said nothing for a long moment, the barest hint of exhaustion in his features. “There’s a position in accounting if you would prefer. It would be a better fit. I think—”

  Jaya blinked. “Did you just say ‘accounting’? Dad. I’m not an accountant. I’m an event planner. This is who I am.”

  He sighed and slid a glance to Derrick. “Then I’m sorry. You leave me no choice. You’re fired.”

  A hazy buzzing sound filled her ears as her father’s mouth moved. Disbelief weakened her knees and shock numbed her. So. Not. Happening. Her inner fixer took over from her brain because clearly her grey matter was on vacation.

  Sure, she’d deviated a little from the original presentation, but not enough to warrant his firing her. Derrick’s fast and loose presentation would have had their eyes glazing over.

  Her father’s voice was tight and low and sounded like gravel being put through a grinder. “We’re trying to move Trudeaux forward. The kinds of clients and presentations we want to do will bring us to the next level. Derrick is right. Since you refuse to keep up, you no longer belong at Trudeaux.”

  She would not cry. “I gave a good presentation.” Even as the weak words spilled out, she won
dered why she’d bothered. That was it? That was her big flare of rebellion? No wonder her father treated her like Carrot Top’s ugly twin sister. She couldn’t even rebel properly.

  Papa Dearest’s eye did the twitch-and-jive routine again. “Good presentation? It would have been great if Derrick or Tamara had done it. They both have the vision. We’ve been preparing for months.” His voice rose by increments.

  Tears stung her eyes. This wasn’t real. It was a dream. Absolutely. Was. Not. Happening. “I just gave you the presentation of my life. You can’t just fire me.”

  When her father spoke again, only the barest hint of his New Orleans accent tinted his baritone. “Jaya, it’s done. You’re too invested. Too stuck in your ways. Like Derrick was saying, we need to move forward.” He cleared his throat, looking momentarily uncomfortable. “This is business, Jaya. I expect you not to be so childish as to skip your sister’s wedding in two weeks. We are still a family.”

  Fuck. Family her ass. This was real? Like they were really telling her to pack up her Weitzman’s and bounce? Then expected her at the bloody wedding? Waves of failure and dread braided themselves into a nausea cocktail. She could feel the tension in her neck as if someone was squeezing it tight.

  Throat burning from lack of oxygen, she stared at her father. Without a word, he got up from his desk, thin frame moving with a fluidity and grace that belied his age. He left the office with a soft click of his door, Jaya felt more alone than she’d ever felt in her life. Her father had abandoned her.

  Derrick spoke and at first Jaya couldn’t hear him for the muffled silencer of dread cocooning her. Through the hazy fog of bitter anger and hazy fear, she noticed his mouth moving. The sound coming in slow and lazy increments, as if it didn’t matter what else he had to say to her.

  “Jaya? Jaya, are you listening?”

  She blinked up at him, the urge to strike him so strong she could feel her hand twitch of its own volition. Oh, God. She could see the headlines in the Union Tribune. “Angry Black Woman Shoves Ex-Fiancé Through Thirty Story Window.” She forced a breath.