Maggie Still Believed In One Man, One Love, One Marriage For A Lifetime. Letter to Reader 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 Copyright
Maggie Still Believed In One Man, One Love, One Marriage For A Lifetime.
Part of that dream involved a glorious marriage proposal in which her husband-to-be declared his undying love and devotion.
Never once had she imagined “You’re going to have to marry me.”
Well, so much for romance, she thought, relegating her dreams to a shadowed corner of her heart Fantasy had no place in the reality of the moment, the reality of her situation.
But the truth was, she wanted to marry J.D.
Dear Reader,
I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting the next book from Mary Lynn Baxter—so wait no more. Here it is, the MAN OF THE MONTH Tight Fittin’ Jeans. Mary Lym’s books are known for their sexy heroes and sizzling sensuality...and this sure has both! Read and enjoy.
Every little girl dreams of marrying a handsome prince, but most women get to kiss a lot of toads before they find him. Read how three handsome princes find their very own princesses in Leanne Banks’s delightful new miniseries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS. The fun begins this month with The Five-Minute Bride.
The other books this month are all so wonderful...you won’t want to miss airy of them! If you like humor, don’t miss Maureen Child’s Have Bride, Need Groom. For blazing drama, there’s Sara Orwig’s A Baby for Mommy. Susan Crosby’s Wedding Fever provides a touch of dashing suspense. And Judith McWilliams’s Practice Husband is warmly emotional.
There is something for everyone here at Desire! I hope you enjoy each and every one of these love stories.
Senior Editor
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Wedding Fever
Susan Crosby
SUSAN CROSBY is fascinated by the special and complex communication of courtship, and so she burrows in her office to dream up warm, strong heroes and good-hearted, self-reliant heroines to satisfy her own love of happy endings.
She and her husband have two grown sons and live in the Central Valley of California. She spent a mere seven and a half years getting through college and finally earned a B.A. in English a few years ago. She has worked as a synchronized swimming instructor, a personnel interviewer at a toy factory and a trucking company manager. Involved for many years behind the scenes in a local community theater, she has made only one stage appearance—as the rear end of a camell Variety, she says, makes for more interesting novels. Readers are welcome to write to her at P.O. Box 1836, Lodi, CA 95241.
To Elana, Linda, Robin and Sharon—my friends and critique partners. Without you, the fairy tale would have stopped at “Once upon a time...”
One
J.D. Duran was late. Not by a few “Oh, that’s all right” minutes, but by forty-five “How nice of you to join us” minutes. He pressed a hand to his jacket pocket, assuring himself the package was there. The package that shouldn’t have been necessary. The package that had made him late.
On the surface, the contents of the gold-foil-wrapped box served as a gift for a beautiful woman celebrating her thirtieth birthday. The true purpose, however, went deeper—it could very well save her life, a fact he couldn’t share with her.
He left the chill of the San Francisco winter evening behind as he opened a door and entered another world, one of quiet elegance, wealth and status. For a year and a half he’d worked there with few problems, all of them easily managed. Until now.
Pausing at his maître d’s podium, J.D. ran a finger down the list of reservations for the night, hoping—No. There he was. Brendan Hastings, the man who lived in a dark, secret world the birthday girl was too innocent to imagine.
J.D. unclenched his fists, touched his pocket again, then headed to the kitchen, mentally inventing excuses for his tardiness. He paused outside the door and listened to the quiet within. Either his normally rowdy co-workers had been struck silent or he was later than he’d realized.
All the excuses he came up with fled his mind the moment he pushed open the door, but he didn’t enter. He gripped the door, not letting it close as he saw that the servers’ station in the front part of the kitchen was empty—except for her. She faced a stainless-steel barrier that divided the workstation from the cooking area, where the chefs worked in preparation for the dinner crowd, their white hats barely visible above the divider. He traced her rigid spine with his gaze, noted the anger, or irritation, or whatever she was feeling, in the stiffness of her movements. Her shiny coal black hair brushed tensed shoulders as she shuffled items on the worktable. He didn’t have to see her bright blue eyes to picture them flashing with emotions, emotions not likely to be either lukewarm or well hidden.
Her voice penetrated the subdued clatter of pots and pans. She was muttering to herself, something about skewering a certain inconsiderate, thinks-he’s-God’s-gift-to-women maitre d’.
He would have smiled if the situation weren’t so serious. Instead, he closed his eyes a moment. It wasn’t fair to her. Hell, it wasn’t fair to him. She could only get in the way, probably would get in the way. And then what? He didn’t need this—either the distraction or the attraction, and she would be suspicious of the changes in him. Then, when