Married for Their Miracle Baby
Cara Colter
A wedding in paradise!
Tycoon Drew Jordan has been responsible for his family since the death of his parents. Now Drew craves freedom, not commitment—he’ll help arrange his brother’s tropical wedding, but he’ll never walk down the aisle himself!
Wedding planner Becky English has given up on her own fairy tale, throwing herself into making it come true for others. She refuses to let the groom’s cynical—though irresistible!—brother get in her way. But when clashes turn to moonlit kisses, can they begin to believe that happy endings could exist—for them both?
To all those readers who have made the last 30 years
such an incredible journey.
“NO.”
A paper fluttered down on her temporary desk, slowly floating past Becky English’s sunburned nose. She looked up, and tried not to let her reaction to what she saw—or rather, whom she saw—show on her face.
The rich and utterly sexy timbre of the voice should have prepared her, but it hadn’t. The man was gorgeous. Bristling with bad humor, but gorgeous, nonetheless.
He stood at least six feet tall, and his casual dress, a dark green sports shirt and pressed sand-colored shorts, showed off a beautifully made male body. He had the rugged look of a man who spent a great deal of time out of doors. There was no sunburn on his perfectly shaped nose!
He had a deep chest, a flat stomach and the narrow hips of a gunslinger. His limbs, relaxed, were sleekly muscled and hinted at easy strength.
The stranger’s face was mesmerizing. His hair, dark brown and curling, touched the collar of his shirt. His eyes were as blue as the Caribbean Sea that Becky could just glimpse out the open patio door over the incredible broadness of his shoulder.
Unlike that sea, his eyes did not look warm and inviting. In fact, there was that hint of a gunslinger, again, something cool and formidable in his uncompromising gaze. The look in his eyes did not detract, not in the least, from the fact that his features were astoundingly perfect.
“And no,” he said.
Another piece of paper drifted down onto her desk, this one landing on the keyboard of her laptop.
“And to this one?” he said. “Especially no.”
And then a final sheet glided down, hit the lip of the desk, forcing her to grab it before it slid to the floor.
Becky stared at him, rather than the paper in her hand. A bead of sweat trickled down from his temple and