Christmastime Courtship

by Marie Ferrarella

  “Shh, they’re starting to play the wedding march. You don’t want to miss any of this,” Maizie said.

  Those who could rose to their feet. The rest of the attendees remained seated, anxiously anticipating the entrance of the bride.

  Miranda was standing just outside the recreation room’s closed doors, holding on to her bouquet of pink and white carnations and willing the sudden burst of butterflies in her stomach to go away.

  “Nervous, darling?” Jeannine asked her daughter.

  “A little. Mostly just afraid of tripping before I reach the altar,” Miranda answered, a small smile curving her lips.

  “You won’t,” Jeannine said confidently. “You’re the steadiest person I ever knew.”

  Miranda took a breath, pressing one hand against her stomach as if that would get the butterflies to settle down.

  “I wish your father was here,” Jeannine said in a soft whisper. “He would have loved to see you in your bridal gown.”

  “He’s here, Mom. I can feel it.” The music swelled. Miranda took a breath. “That’s our cue.”

  “I love you, Miranda,” Jeannine told her.

  “And I love you.” She looked at her mother. The woman’s cheeks were wet. “Please don’t cry, Mom. You’ll get your contacts all foggy.”

  Jeannine laughed, brushing the tears away. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you there. I promise.”

  The doors parted, drawn open by two of the orderlies. Miranda saw a sea of faces turning in her direction, but they all blended together before her eyes. Looking out at them, she could make out only one face in that enormous crowd.

  The only face that mattered to her right at this moment.

  Colin’s face.

  He was standing at the altar, looking incredibly handsome in his black tuxedo and dark gray shirt. She had half expected him to come in his police uniform. She wouldn’t have cared what he wore, as long as he came.

  “Ready, darling?” Jeannine asked.

  Her eyes not leaving the man she had never expected to come into her life, Miranda answered, “More than ready, Mom.”

  They made their way up the makeshift aisle until they reached the minister, who was standing in front of the altar, waiting to say the words that would join her to Colin.

  “Who gives this woman?” the man asked when she came before him.

  “I do,” Jeannine replied, her voice trembling. And then she withdrew so that the ceremony could begin.

  “You look beautiful,” Colin whispered to Miranda.

  “You do, too,” she told him.

  He nearly laughed. It was a good feeling, he couldn’t help thinking. Miranda had brought laughter into his life and into his heart.

  More than a few of the children giggled as they watched Lola trot up the aisle next, the wedding rings tied around her neck with a navy blue bow.

  “We can begin,” the minister announced.

  Colin never thought he would ever be this lucky. When he looked at Miranda, just before they began to exchange their vows and their rings, he realized that she was thinking the same thing.

  He could see it in her eyes.

  They really were meant for one another, he thought. And he for one would always be eternally grateful for that.

  * * * * *

  For even more Christmas cheer from

  Marie Ferrarella, make sure to check out

  A BABY FOR CHRISTMAS

  Available now from Harlequin Western Romance!

  Don’t miss previous titles in the

  MATCHMAKING MAMAS miniseries:

  A SECOND CHANCE FOR THE SINGLE DAD

  MEANT TO BE MINE

  Available now from Harlequin Special Edition.

  And keep an eye out for

  AN ENGAGEMENT FOR TWO,

  the next book in this heartwarming miniseries,

  releasing in February 2018!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A FORTUNES OF TEXAS CHRISTMAS by Helen Lacey.

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  A Fortunes of Texas Christmas

  by Helen Lacey

  Chapter One

  Amersen Beaudin hated flying.

  Despite the fact that he’d racked up more frequent-flyer miles in the past five years than most people did in a lifetime, not even the luxurious private jet he was currently seated in was enough to change his opinion. Still, he thought as he stretched out his legs and sipped on a twenty-five-year-old scotch, this was definitely better than traveling coach. Not that he’d done that for several years. He closed his eyes and thought about what he was about to walk into once he landed in Austin.

  Fortunes.

  More than he’d ever wanted to meet. Or know.

  But ninetysomething matriarch and business icon Kate Fortune had requested his presence, and she wasn’t an easy woman to refuse. And plus, he was curious. Despite everything. Despite knowing he was opening the book on the past. And despite recently finding out he had Fortune blood coursing through his veins. But since he had no intention of ever accepting the notion that he was a Fortune, Amersen figured he’d meet with Kate, listen to what she had to say and then decide if he wanted any more involvement with Texas, with Austin or with anyone named Fortune.

  Kate’s call a couple of weeks earlier had come from left field. A business proposition, she’d said. Something that was worth discussing in person and not over the telephone. And no mention of anything personal. No mention of the fact that he was Jerome Fortune’s—aka Gerald Robinson’s—son. Illegitimate son. But not really his son, since Amersen did not consider Gerald Robinson to be his father. He had a father, and a damned good one, back in Paris. Nothing would change that. Not the notion that he was actually one of several children sired and abandoned by computer giant Gerald Robinson—a man who’d faked his own death years earlier and had been outed as the philandering Jerome Fortune less than two years ago. Blood didn’t make someone a parent. Love and commitment did. And Amersen had that back in Paris. With his mother, Suzette, his stepfather, Luc Beaudin, and his younger sister, Claire, he had all the family he needed.

  This trip was merely out of curiosity and respect. Kate Fortune was a highly successful woman, and even though she was no longer the CEO, she was still considered the powerhouse behind Fortune Cosmetics and many other business ventures. And since Kat
e hadn’t mentioned anything about him being Gerald’s son, Amersen suspected her request for a meeting was about something else altogether.

  At least, that was what he hoped. It had been hard enough ignoring emails and shutting down telephone calls from two of his half brothers over the past few months. Keaton Fortune Whitfield and Ben Fortune Robinson had made it clear they wanted to meet him, but Amersen had held back. Finding out he was Gerald Robinson/Jerome Fortune’s unwanted son was one thing. Embracing the knowledge he had enough siblings to form a soccer team was something else. Gerald had eight children from his long marriage to Charlotte Prendergast Robinson, plus several out of wedlock with other women, including his mother, who had been the au pair to the Fortune children twenty-six years ago. Which made Gerald a womanizing, cheating, no-good bastard.

  And definitely not someone Amersen wanted in his life.

  That decided, he’d meet with Kate Fortune, listen to her proposition and then head straight back to Paris, where he belonged. With any luck, Keaton Fortune Whitfield and Ben Fortune Robinson wouldn’t even know he’d touched down on their turf. Maybe he’d meet them one day. But not now. He didn’t want anything derailing his life.

  The last few years had been good ones, during which he’d worked tirelessly to achieve all that he had. The blog he’d started in college, called The Real Paris, had earned him something of a celebrity status, along with some notoriety and labels such as opinionated, ruthless and arrogant. But he could live with the labels. He was grateful for the trajectory it had taken him on and the opportunities it offered in its wake. Like Noir, the nightclub he’d built from the ground up in an abandoned warehouse in the heart of the city over five years earlier, when he was twenty. The place had taken on a life force of its own and was now frequented by the Parisian elite and countless international celebrities. Noir was upscale, high-end and definitely the place to see and be seen in Paris. It became a money machine, and he’d quickly invested the first million he’d made in a winery and was now exporting product around the globe.

  Yes, life was good for Amersen Beaudin. And he wasn’t about to do anything to change that.

  And that included getting too involved with the Fortune family.

  By the time the jet landed at Austin-Bergstrom International Airport and he was through customs, it was nearly three o’clock in the afternoon. There was a limo and driver waiting for him, compliments of Kate Fortune, and then he was on the freeway and heading to her ranch. The driver took a left off the main road, headed toward a set of gates that had a sign saying Sterling’s Fortune, then turned down a long driveway. As Amersen looked out toward the pastures dotted with horses and cattle, he couldn’t help but be impressed. As far as homes went, this one looked as though it belonged on the front page of a lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous magazine. And probably had, he figured, considering who Kate Fortune was.

  The limo pulled up outside the large house, and he got out before the driver had a chance to come around to the back of the vehicle. He was used to limos and flagrant displays of wealth but still liked to do things his own way. Sure, he was rich. And in his own country he had established a reputation and racked up a considerable bank balance and real estate portfolio. But he drove his own car and tied his own shoes.

  He shrugged off all thoughts of Paris for the moment and told the driver to wait for him so he could take the car back to his hotel downtown when his meeting with Kate Fortune was over. The driver agreed, and Amersen quickly headed up the pathway toward the front door.

  And then he saw her.

  A vision.

  A dream.

  A woman so enchanting he actually blinked a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. She was walking across the garden, wearing a long white dress that seemed to float over her curves, with long sleeves that exposed her shoulders, the kind of dress that made him foolishly think of hand holding, or lounging on the grass at a picnic. He couldn’t see her face as she wore a wide-brimmed, floppy white hat. But he saw her hair. It cascaded down her back in a beautiful honey-blond wave. His palms suddenly itched with the longing to feel her hair between his fingers, to wrap a fistful of her lustrous waves around his hand and draw her close. He tried to shake the idea off and failed. He tried to drag his gaze away and failed there, too.

  Être toujours mon cœur...

  There was something about the way she walked that rooted him to the spot, something about the tilt of her head and the sway of her hips that was impossible to ignore, and the image was suddenly imprinted in his brain like a stamp. It was illogical and foolish. He didn’t get shuttled into la-la land by a pair of great hips and blond hair. Not ever. He had beautiful women in his life and in his bed whenever he wanted them. But he kept it casual. Amersen didn’t have time to get bogged down in a serious relationship. He was twenty-five years old, way too young to think of commitment to any one woman.

  What he didn’t want, what he would never allow of himself, was to be derailed by the image of a beautiful woman in a white dress, no matter how enchanting she was. Still, he couldn’t help the way his body took notice of her as she made her way across the garden and toward the small rotunda. She looked as though she belonged in a painting in the Musée d’Orsay. Or by his side, drinking champagne on a balcony overlooking the Seine.

  He cursed himself for being so stupidly sentimental. But he couldn’t help how his palms itched. Or how his blood heated and seemed to unexpectedly surge to one part of his anatomy. He could usually control attraction. But this...this was like a lightning strike, as though every breath he inhaled was somehow being sucked out through his skin, and suddenly he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. A familiar dread crept into his limbs as his throat tightened. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck when he realized what was coming.

  Damn. The last thing he wanted to do was have an asthma attack on Kate Fortune’s lawn. Amersen cursed his weak lungs for the trillionth time and straightened his back, rounding out his shoulders, slowing down his breathing as much as he could. He hadn’t had a full-blown attack for months and couldn’t believe he was suddenly at risk because he’d spotted a goddess in white walking across the garden. His attention wasn’t usually so easily distracted. He needed to get himself under control...and fast.

  Amersen took a breath, and then another, forcing air into his body, trying to relax his constricting lungs the old-fashioned way, reluctant to use the inhaler in his pocket. He took another breath, and then another, until finally he felt his lungs relax and the air began to flow through his nose and down his throat, and he began to feel normal again. He glanced toward the house and then diverted his gaze back to the woman still walking across the garden.

  He willed his legs to turn, to move, to make for the house so he could get himself back under control. But he stayed where he was, watching as she walked around the rotunda, her face hidden, her hips swaying. And then, almost as though she had been an apparition, she was gone.

  Before he could stop himself, Amersen was hiking toward the rotunda and darting up the steps two at a time, looking for her, suddenly desperate to talk to her. But, nothing. There was a small set of stairs opposite the ones he’d climbed, and he stood on the top step and looked around. Still nothing. Amersen rubbed his eyes wearily. Maybe jet lag had settled in and he’d imagined her. Maybe he was losing his mind.

  “Can I help you?”

  He stilled, rooted to the spot for a moment before he slowly turned on his heels. She was behind him, and he stared at her, wishing he could see all of her face beneath the brim of that hat. He got a glimpse of her chin and her luscious pink mouth and the slant of her cheeks, but it was her eyes he was suddenly desperate for. He wanted the visual connection, that first look that was a prelude to everything else. And her soft Texas drawl was unexpectedly a complete turn-on.

  “I don’t know,” he said quietly, his pulse quickening. “Can you?”


  * * *

  Robin Harbin stared at the man in front of her, her belly dipping wildly, like she was on a theme park roller coaster going way too fast. But, boy, the man was gorgeous. Maybe the most perfectly handsome male specimen she’d ever seen. Black hair, riveting blue eyes, a strong jaw just touched with a shadow of whiskers...and a body that quickly sent her libido—and her traitorous ovaries—into serious overdrive.

  Of course she knew who he was.

  Amersen Beaudin.

  Her employer, Kate Fortune, had mentioned him several times over the past week. A Frenchman. Someone Kate wanted to work with. And Robin’s interest had been piqued enough that she had done an internet search to find out what all the fuss was about. A couple of clicks of the mouse and she had all the intel she needed. Rich, successful and a well-documented heartless playboy. Known simply as Amersen to his trillions of followers on social media. Okay, so maybe trillions was an exaggeration...but he certainly had a lot of people wanting to hear his opinion on pretty much everything. Robin had read a few of his blog posts and had quickly formed the view that he was an overopinionated, egotistical know-it-all who, based on what she’d seen in a few videos he’d posted, clearly loved to hear the sound of his own voice. And of course, he was totally and categorically out of her league. Not that she had any thoughts about the man in that way. She didn’t know him.

  But he was gorgeous.

  And obviously knew it, from the way he was looking at her. As though he knew exactly what she was thinking. Irritation suddenly chugged through her veins and she dropped her chin a fraction, realizing he probably had women falling at his feet across the globe and that was why he was regarding her as though she should be looking at him like he was some kind of great prize. Which, she supposed, he was, but she certainly wasn’t going to let him think she believed that.

  “Nice...dress,” he said, his lovely accent winding up her spine like liquid silk.

  Robin glanced down at the white frock she’d donned half an hour earlier at Kate’s request. The gown and hat were a trial look for a new brand campaign, which found Robin being photographed in the rotunda when the usual model had called in sick earlier that afternoon. Not that she considered herself model material. She was a touch too full in the bust and too curvy in the hips for that. But Kate wanted some shots to send the marketing department at Fortune Cosmetics, and Robin was the only option at the time. The truth be told, she felt a little ridiculous in the ultrafeminine dress—jeans and cowboy boots were more her style. But Kate was her employer and friend, and she had no intention of disappointing the older woman.