Letter to Reader “Are You Still Willing To Be My Surrogate?” Colt Asked. Title Page About the Author Dedication 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 Epilogue Copyright
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Silhouette Desire—where you’re guaranteed powerful, passionate and provocative love stones that feature rugged heroes and spirited heroines who experience the full emotional intensity of falling in love!
This October you’ll love our new MAN OF THE MONTH title by Barbara Boswell, Forever Flint. Opposites attract when a city girl becomes the pregnant bride of a millionaire outdoorsman.
Be sure to “rope in” the next installment of the exciting Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB with Billionaire Bridegroom by Peggy Moreland When cattle baron Forrest Cunningham wants to wed childhood friend Becky Sullivan, she puts his love to an unexpected test.
The always-wonderful Jennifer Greene returns to Desire with her magical series HAPPILY EVER AFTER. Kiss Your Prince Charming is a modern fairy tale starring an unforgettable “frog prince.” In a sexy battle-of-the-sexes tale, Lass Small offers you The Catch of Texas. Anne Eames continues her popular miniseries MONTANA MALONES with The Unknown Malone. And Shen WhiteFeather makes her explosive Desire debut with Warrior’s Baby, a story of surrogate motherhood with a twist.
Next month, you’ll really feel the power of the passion when you see our new provocative cover design. Underneath our new covers, you will still find six exhilarating journeys into the seductive world of romance, with a guaranteed happy ending!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
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“Are You Still Willing To Be My Surrogate?” Colt Asked.
He reached for her hair again. The fire-lit strands slipped through his fingers like ribbons of silk.
“Yes.” Melanie’s breathless voice sent a surge of sensual heat coursing through his veins.
Colt shuddered. He wouldn’t permit this to happen. He wouldn’t confuse his need for a child with desire for the woman willing to carry it. That’s what was happening, he told himself. He was vulnerable and so was she. Their physical compulsion to produce a baby was creating false intimacy. His urge to taste her citrus-scented skin and run his hands through her thick, autumn hair would go away once his seed was planted.
Wouldn’t it?
Warrior’s Baby
Sheri WhiteFeather
SHERI WHITEFEATHER lives in Southern California and enjoys ethnic dining, summer powwows and visiting art galleries and vintage clothing stores near the beach. Since her one true passion is writing, she is thrilled to be a part of the Silhouette Desire line. When she isn’t writing, she often reads until the wee hours of the morning.
Sheri also works as a leather artisan with her Native American husband, Dru. They have one son and a menagerie of pets, including a pampered English bulldog and four equally spoiled Bengal cats. She would love to hear from her readers. You may write to her at: P.O. Box 5130, Orange, California 92863-5130.
To Dru and Nikki WhiteFeather for the beauty in my life,
to my mom and two dads for always believing in me, my sister Elaine for heartfelt prayers and my in-laws for sharing their heritage. A very special thanks to Judy Duarte and Chris Green for being the most dedicated critique partners in the world, and to Maureen Child for her honesty and advice. Another sincere thanks to Irene Goodman, Melissa Jeglinski and Joan Marlow Golan, the hardworking professionals who made this book happen. All of you have contributed to the dream.
One
Melanie Richards had to do it.
Now.
As she strode onto the balcony, the sea breeze lifted her fire-tinted locks and billowed her loose cotton skirt. She slid onto a rattan chair, tucked her legs beneath her and stared at the cordless telephone.
How many times today had she chickened out? Five? Six? She’d lost count.
She gazed at the glass tabletop where the torn scrap of paper beside her coffee cup rippled in the wind, seven digits and an area code in danger of being whisked away.
She swiped the phone and began punching buttons. She didn’t need the number. She had memorized it.
The long-distance rings sounded in her ear. One...two... three...
A man answered. “Hello?”
Oh, God. The husky drawl was rich and smooth.
“Is this Colt Raintree?” She knew it was. Tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired Colt, a man as fast and dangerous as the single-action revolver he had been named after.
“Yes.”
“Hi, this is—” Gertrude. Geeky Gertie. The other teenagers used to call me that. Remember? You never did, though. You were sympathetic and kind. “Melanie Richards.”
“Do I know you?”
Yes, but it’s been thirteen years. I use my middle name now and look different. You wouldn’t recognize me. “No. Gloria Carnegie told me you were hiring a surrogate, and I—”
He interrupted, his tone edged with suspicion. “Fred’s wife?”
“Yes.