Bridegroom On Her Doorstep. Renee RoszelЧитать онлайн книгу.
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“Tell me again why you’re interviewing for husbands?” Cole prodded.
Her cutting glare could have drawn blood from a lesser man. Even Cole felt its jab. She turned away. “Oh, right,” he drawled. “It’s that career move. What job could be so all-fired important that you’d make this mad dash to snag a husband?”
“You have some nerve!” She kneaded her temples as though trying to ward off a headache. “You don’t know me! You don’t have any right to presume anything about me!”
“I know plenty of women like you. Only a guy with nothing going on between the ears would agree to some half-baked marriage scheme.”
“Then you’d be perfect for the job!” she cried, her eyes a blink away from tears.
“So where do I get in line?” That crazy question came out of nowhere. The shock on her face was no more staggering than the shock Cole felt from hearing the inquiry in his own voice.
It’s the countdown to the Big Day: the guests are invited, the flowers are arranged, the dress is ready and the sparks between the lucky couple are sizzling hot.…Only, our blushing bride and groom-to-be have yet to become “engaged” in the bedroom!
Is it choice or circumstance keeping their passions in check? Read our thrilling miniseries WHITE WEDDINGS to find out why a very modern bride wears white on her wedding day!
Bridegroom on Her Doorstep
Renee Roszel
MILLS & BOON
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To:
Doug and Randy
How about a hug?
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
WHAT caught Jennifer Sancroft’s eye—and her breath—wasn’t the majestic view of the Gulf of Mexico. It was the powerful flex of muscle in the stranger’s back and shoulders, even two hundred feet away impressively conspicuous. She noticed him immediately. Tall, tanned and shirtless, he slathered white paint on a picket fence separating a manicured lawn from a pristine beach.
Her engine coughed and the car shuddered. Forcing her gaze away from the hunky vision, Jen turned off the engine of her mid-size rental car. Now that she no longer looked at the man, her brain let her in on the complication he could present. “How am I supposed to hold discreet interviews for a husband with some blue-collar hunk lurking around?”
Ruthie Tuttle, Jen’s assistant, had pushed open her car door and leaned halfway out. With Jen’s muttered comment she hunched back inside and turned around. “Did you say something, boss?”
Jen shook her head. “No, I was thinking out loud.” She indicated the bare-chested man in the distance. “I hope he was only hired for the weekend. I don’t need anybody scaring away my applicants.”
Ruthie glanced in the direction of her boss’s wave, her serious expression changing to curiosity, then fascination. Her lips parted in a silent “Oh” that spoke volumes.
“Well, well…” Ruthie finally said, with a lewd grin. Jen had never seen such a lustful expression on her assistant’s freckled face. Annoyed with herself for feeling exactly the way Ruthie looked, she lightly elbowed the woman in the ribs, prodding her out of fantasyland.
“Tuttle! You have a perfectly nice husband. Close your mouth!”
Ruthie cleared her throat, her violet gaze sliding to her boss. “Just ’cause I’m tied to the porch, doesn’t mean I can’t bark!” She looked at the painter, her gaze lingering. “Didn’t I mention the leasing agent said there might be a maintenance guy on the property?”
“No,” Jen said, experiencing a rush of aggravation. “You did not.”
“Oops.” Ruthie’s grin refused to dim as she surveyed the stranger. “Just between you and me, he is a great example of prime guy maintenance!”
Jen glowered at her assistant. So what if he was prime? That didn’t make him any less of an impediment to her plans. She shifted her gaze away to stare, unseeing, at her hands, clutching the steering wheel. Why couldn’t things ever run smoothly? The corporation-owned property she’d rented for the next three weeks was somewhat isolated for her peace of mind, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and this was the only property available. The accounting firm’s presidency had opened up so abruptly, she’d been forced to make some quick—possibly even rash—decisions.
She didn’t dare hold husband interviews in Dallas. The word would surely get back to the firm that she wasn’t actually on her honeymoon. Exposed as a liar, she would lose her chance at the top job of the conservative firm—not to mention she would be so disgraced she’d have to leave the state to find a job!
No! She wouldn’t let that happen! She’d worked too long and hard for Dallas Accounting Associates, given the company her body and her soul for a decade. She deserved the presidency. To get it, she planned to