The Wedding Date: A Christmas Novella

by Connelly, Cara

  She held it together for as long as she could, tapping her foot, biting her tongue, but as the grandfather clock in the corner ticked into the fifth long minute of silent subservience, her patience ran out. She uncrossed her arms and reached for the doorknob. “I don’t have time for this shit.”

  Adrianna’s hand shot out and clamped her arm. “Suck it up, Madeline,” she gritted through her teeth.

  “Why should I? Why should you?” Under normal circumstances, Adrianna had zero tolerance for disrespect, so why was she putting up with this guy’s bullshit?

  Flinging a resentful look at the mystery man, she didn’t bother to lower her voice. “This guy doesn’t know me. Because seriously, if he did, he’d know I won’t stand here burning daylight while he talks dirty to his girlfriend.”

  “Oh yes you will,” Adrianna hissed. She released Maddie’s arm, but caught her eyes. “You’ll stand on your head if he says so. He could mean millions for this firm.”

  The man in question chose that moment to end his call. Casually, unhurriedly, he slipped the phone in his pocket. Then he turned to face them.

  Maddie’s heart stopped. Her lips went icy.

  Adrianna started to speak but he cut her off, his vaguely European accent smoothing the edge from his words. “Thank you, Adrianna. Now give us the room.”

  Without a word, Adrianna nodded once and left them alone, closing the door softly behind her.

  His complete attention came to rest on Maddie, a laser beam disguised as cool condescension. Her blood, which had gone cold, now boiled up in response, pounding her temples, hammering out a beat called Unresolved Fury, Frustrated Objectives, Justice Denied.

  “You son of a bitch,” she snarled. “How dare you claim an acquaintance with me?”

  He smiled, a deceptively charming curve of the lips meant to distract the unwary from eyes so intensely blue and so penetratingly sharp that they might otherwise reveal him as the diabolical felon he was.

  “Ms. St. Clair.” Her name sounded faintly exotic on his tongue. “Surely you don’t deny that we know each other.”

  “Oh, I know you, Adam LeCroix. I know you should be doing ten to fifteen in Leavenworth.”

  His lips curved another half inch, past charming, to amused. “And I know you. I know that if you’d taken me to trial, you’d have done an excellent job of it. But”—he shrugged slightly—“both of us know that no jury would have convicted me.”

  “Still so cocky,” she simmered. “And so fucking guilty.”

  ADAM HELD BACK a laugh. Madeline St. Clair might be tiny enough to fit in his pocket, but she had the grit of a two-hundred-pound cage fighter.

  When he’d last seen her five years ago, she was a bloodthirsty young prosecutor, spitting nails as her then-boss, the US Attorney for the Eastern District of New York—who had his eyes on higher office—shook Adam’s hand and apologized for letting the case against him go as far as it had.

  Playing magnanimous, Adam had nodded gravely, said all the right things about public servants simply doing their jobs, and with a wave for the news cameras, disappeared into his limousine.

  Where he’d cracked a six-thousand-dollar bottle of Dom Perignon and made a solitary toast to a narrow escape from the law.

  It had been his own damn fault that he’d come so close to being caught, because he had gotten cocky. He’d made a rare mistake, a minute one, but Madeline had used it like a crowbar to pry into his life until she’d damn near nailed him for stealing the Lady in Red.

  The newly discovered Renoir masterpiece had been sold at Sotheby’s to a Russian arms dealer, a glorified mobster who cynically expected a splashy show of good taste to purge the bloodstains from his billions. Adam couldn’t stomach it, so he’d lifted the painting. Not for gain; he had his own billions. But because great art was sacred, and using it as a dishrag to wipe blood off the hands of a man who sold death was sacrilege.

  Adam had simply saved the masterpiece from its unholy purpose.

  It wasn’t the first time, or the last, that he’d liberated great art from unclean hands. He told himself that it was his calling, but he couldn’t deny that it was also a hell of a lot of fun. Outsmarting the best security systems money could buy taxed his brain in ways that managing his companies simply couldn’t. Training for the physical demands kept him in Navy SEAL condition. And the adrenaline rush, well, that couldn’t be duplicated. Not even by sex. No woman had ever thrilled him that intensely or challenged him so completely on every level.

  But now the shoe was on the other foot. One of his own paintings—his favorite Monet—had been heisted clean off the wall of his Portofino villa.

  Just the thought made his teeth grind.

  Oh, he’d find it eventually; he had no doubt of that. He had the resources, both money and manpower. He was patient. He was relentless. And when he got his hands on the bastard who’d infiltrated his home—his sanctuary—he’d make him pay for his hubris.

  But in the meantime, he had a more immediate concern. The insurance company, Hawthorne Mutual, was dragging its feet, balking at paying him the forty-four million dollars the Monet was insured for.

  Forty-four million was a lot of money, even to a man like him. But it was the company’s excuse for holding it up that really pissed him off. They needed to investigate the theft, they claimed, because Adam had once been a “person of interest” in the theft of the Renoir.

  In short, Hawthorne’s foot-dragging could be laid at Madeline’s door. She’d damaged Adam’s reputation, impugned his integrity. Cast a shadow of doubt over one of the richest men in the world.

  Never mind that she’d been right about him.

  Because she was visibly chomping at the bit, he moved as if he had all day, strolling to the far end of the room, where a leather sofa and club chairs clustered around a coordinating coffee table. This would be where clients chummied up with the partners after meetings, rubbing elbows over scotch and cigars while the lowly associates—like Madeline—scuttled back to their offices to do the actual work.

  He poured himself an inch of scotch from the Waterford decanter on the table, then relaxed into the sofa, stretching one arm along the back, letting the other drape carelessly over the side, whiskey glass dangling from his fingers.

  Her steel-gray eyes narrowed to slits. “What do you want, LeCroix? Why are you here?”

  Lazily, he sipped his scotch, enjoying the angry flush that burned her cheeks. In the prosecutor’s office, they’d called her the Pitbull. He was glad to see she’d lost none of her fire.

  Watching her simmer, he remembered how her intensity had appealed to him. How much she’d appealed to him. Which was surprising, really. As a rule, he liked a solid armful of woman, and Madeline was barely there.

  At the time, he’d told himself it was because she’d damn near taken him down. Naturally, he had to admire that.

  But now he felt it again, that tug of attraction. Something about those suspicious eyes, that spring-loaded body, went straight to his groin. An image of her astride him, nails gouging his chest, eyes blazing with passion, flashed through his mind. Was she as hot-blooded in bed as she was in the courtroom?

  Regrettably, he’d never find out. Because he was about to piss her off for life.

  Are you hooked on Cara Connelly yet?

  Don’t miss the third book in the Save the Date series,

  THE WEDDING BAND

  coming from Avon Books in 2015!

  CHRISTINA CASE IS the kind of Serious Reporter who still works in print and believes that news is meant to inform, not entertain. So how did her latest front-page story end up wrongly embarrassing a sitting senator? Her editor screwed up, that’s how, and now Chris is out of a job unless she agrees to do the one thing she’s sworn never to do—infiltrate a celebrity wedding.

  Dakota Rain doesn’t chase women; they chase him. As an A-list actor, a bona fide Movie Star, he’s usually beating them off with a stick. He expected to do the same thing at his celebrity brother’s
wedding. So what’s the deal with Crystie Case, the singer in the wedding band? Has he finally come up against a woman immune to his charms?

  Chris goes along hoping for a story, but the weekend ends up being as enjoyable as it is revealing. The sweetly romantic newlyweds are open and friendly, and sexy Dakota entices her into his bed and wants to keep her there for good. But all too soon the honeymoon’s over, and now Chris has to choose between losing her job or betraying Dakota. Will she sacrifice the career that defines her to take a chance on love?

  About the Author

  * * *

  CARA CONNELLY is an award-winning author of contemporary romances. Her smart and sexy stories have won high praise, earning Cara several awards including the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Heart, the Valley Forge Romance Writers’ Sheila, and the Music City Romance Writers’ Melody of Love. Cara, who lives in rural upstate New York, works as appellate court attorney when she’s not crafting steamy novels of love and romance.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  By Cara Connelly

  The Wedding Date

  Coming Soon

  The Wedding Favor

  Give in to your impulses . . .

  Read on for a sneak peek at four brand-new

  e-book original tales of romance from Avon Books.

  Available now wherever e-books are sold.

  RESCUED BY A STRANGER

  By Lizbeth Selvig

  CHASING MORGAN

  BOOK FOUR: THE HUNTED SERIES

  By Jennifer Ryan

  THROWING HEAT

  A DIAMONDS AND DUGOUTS NOVEL

  By Jennifer Seasons

  PRIVATE RESEARCH

  AN EROTIC NOVELLA

  By Sabrina Darby

  An Excerpt from

  RESCUED BY A STRANGER

  by Lizbeth Selvig

  When a stranger arrives in town on a vintage motorcycle, Jill Carpenter has no idea her life is about to change forever. She never expected that her own personal knight in shining armor would be an incredibly charming and handsome southern man—but one with a deep secret. When Jill’s dreams of becoming an Olympic equestrian start coming true, Chase’s past finally returns to haunt him. Can they get beyond dreams to find the love that will rescue their two hearts? Find out in the follow-up to The Rancher and the Rock Star.

  “Angel?” Jill called. “C’mon, girl. Let’s go get you something to eat.” She’d responded to her new name all evening. Jill frowned.

  Chase gave a soft, staccato, dog-calling whistle. Angel stuck her head out from a stall a third of the way down the aisle. “There she is. C’mon, girl.”

  Angel disappeared into the stall.

  “Weird,” Jill said, heading down the aisle.

  At the door to a freshly bedded empty stall, they found Angel curled beside a mound of sweet, fragrant hay, staring up as if expecting them.

  “Silly girl,” Jill said. “You don’t have to stay here. We’re taking you home. Come.”

  Angel didn’t budge. She rested her head between her paws and gazed through raised doggy brows. Chase led the way into the stall. “Everything all right, pup?” He stroked her head.

  Jill reached for the dog, too, and her hand landed on Chase’s. They both froze. Slowly he rotated his palm and wove his fingers through hers. The few minor fireworks she’d felt in the car earlier were nothing compared to the explosion now detonating up her arm and down her back.

  “I’ve been trying to avoid this since I got off that dang horse.” His voice cracked into a low whisper.

  “Why?”

  He stood and pulled her to her feet. “Because I am not a guy someone as young and good as you are should let do this.”

  “You’ve saved my life and rescued a dog. Are you trying to tell me I should be worried about you?”

  She touched his face, bold enough in the dark to do what light had made her too shy to try.

  “Maybe.”

  The hard, smooth fingertips of his free hand slid inexorably up her forearm and covered the hand on his cheek. Drawing it down to his side, he pulled her whole body close, and the little twister of excitement in her stomach burst into a thousand quicksilver thrills. Her eyelids slipped closed, and his next question touched them in warm puffs of breath.

  “If I were to kiss you right now, would it be too soon?”

  Her eyes flew open, and she searched his shadowy gaze, incredulous. “You’re asking permission? Who does that?”

  “Seemed like the right thing.”

  “Well, permission granted. Now hush.”

  She freed her hands, placed them on his cheeks, roughened with beard stubble, and rose on tiptoe to meet his mouth while he gripped the back of her head.

  The soft kiss nearly knocked her breathless. Chase dropped more hot kisses on each corner of her mouth and down her chin, feathered her nose and her cheeks, and finally returned to her mouth. Again and again he plied her bottom lip with his teeth, stunning her with his insistent exploration. The pressure of his lips and the clean, masculine scent of his skin took away her equilibrium. She could only follow the motions of his head and revel in the heat stoking the fire in her belly.

  He pulled away at last and pressed parted lips to her forehead.

  An Excerpt from

  CHASING MORGAN

  Book Four: The Hunted Series

  by Jennifer Ryan

  Morgan Standish can see things other people can’t. She can see the past and future. These hidden gifts have prevented her from getting close to anyone—except FBI agent Tyler Reed. Morgan is connected to him in a way even she can’t explain. She’s solved several cases for him in the past, but will her gifts be enough to bring down a serial killer whose ultimate goal is to kill her? Find out in Book Four of The Hunted Series.

  Morgan’s fingers flew across the laptop keyboard propped on her knees. She took a deep breath, cleared her mind, and looked out past her pink-painted toes resting on the railing and across her yard to the densely wooded area at the edge of her property. Her mind’s eye found her guest winding his way through the trees. She still had time before Jack stepped out of the woods separating her land from his. She couldn’t wait to meet him.

  Images, knowings, they just came to her. She’d accepted that part of herself a long time ago. As she got older, she’d learned to use her gift to seek out answers.

  She finished her buy-and-sell orders and switched from her day trading page to check her psychic website and read the questions submitted by customers. She answered several quickly, letting the others settle in her mind until the answers came to her.

  One stood out. The innocuous question about getting a job held an eerie vibe.

  The familiar strange pulsation came over her. The world disappeared, as though a door had slammed on reality. The images came to her like hammer blows, one right after the other, and she took the onslaught, knowing something important needed to be seen and understood.

  An older woman lying in a bed, hooked up to a machine feeding her medication. Frail and ill, she had translucent skin and dark circles marring her tortured eyes. Her pain washed over Morgan like a tsunami.

  The woman yelled at someone, her face contorted into something mean and hateful. An unhappy woman—one who’d spent her whole life blaming others and trying to make them as miserable as she was.

  A pristine white pillow floating down, inciting panic, amplified to terror when it covered the woman’s face, her frail body swallowed by the sheets.

  Morgan had an overwhelming feeling of suffocation.

  The woman tried desperately to suck in a breath, but couldn’t. Unable to move her lethargic limbs, she lay petrified and helpless under his unyielding hands. Lights flashed on her closed eyelids.

  Death came calling.

  A man stood next to the bed, holding the pillow like a shield. His mouth opened on a contorted, evil, hysterical laugh that rang in her ears and made her skin crawl. She squ
eezed her eyes closed to blot out his malevolent image and thoughts.

  Murderer!

  The word rang in her head as the terrifying emotions overtook her.

  Morgan threw up a wall in her mind, blocking the cascade of disturbing pictures and feelings. She took several deep breaths and concentrated on the white roses growing in profusion just below the porch railing. Their sweet fragrance filled the air. With every breath, she centered herself and found her inner calm, pushing out the anger and rage left over from the vision. Her body felt like a lead weight, lightening as her energy came back. The drowsiness faded with each new breath. She’d be fine in a few minutes.

  The man on horseback emerged from the trees, coming toward her home. Her guest had arrived.

  Focused on the computer screen, she slowly and meticulously typed her answer to the man who had asked about a job and inadvertently opened himself up to telling her who he really was at heart.

  She replied simply:

  You’ll get the job, but you can’t hide from what you did.

  You need help. Turn yourself in to the police.

  An Excerpt from

  THROWING HEAT

  A Diamonds and Dugouts Novel

  by Jennifer Seasons

  Nightclub manager Leslie Cutter has never been one to back down from a bet. So when Peter Kowalskin, pitcher for the Denver Rush baseball team, bets her that she can’t keep her hands off of him, she’s not about to let the arrogant, gorgeous playboy win. But as things heat up, this combustible pair will have to decide just how much they’re willing to wager on one another . . . and on a future that just might last forever.