Love Me Forever. Muriel JensenЧитать онлайн книгу.
“You just wanted an excuse to touch me.”
Something changed in her eyes. “What if I did? Could you take more of it?”
“Try it and let’s see.”
It took her forever to make the move. Then she finally put her hand to the side of his face.
He had to steel himself against a reaction.
Tonight, he was seeing another side to her. Even that resolve in her eyes seemed not about control, but about simple response. Her thumb ran lightly over his jawline, over his chin. The air left his lungs. Then she moved her hand so her index finger could explore his bottom lip. She leaned forward to plant a kiss there. Her lips were a millimeter from his, his parted and waiting for her… .
Dear Reader,
When I wrote Always Florence, my first Mills & Boon® Heartwarming™ book, I hadn’t intended a connected book. I became invested in Sandy’s and Hunter’s futures, however, and hope you did, too. There had to be a way to unite a woman who is single-minded in pursuit of the life she wants for her daughters and herself, and a man who has enormous personal and financial problems to solve and just wants to be left alone.
I think I found it.
Happy Spring!
Muriel
Love Me Forever
Muriel Jensen
MURIEL JENSEN lives with her husband, Ron, in an old foursquare Victorian looking down on the Columbia River in Astoria, Oregon. They share their home with Cheyenne, a neurotic husky mix, and a tabby horde (there are only two, but they come in screaming, and she imagines them wearing armor and wielding swords as they eat everything in sight and take hostages for evening TV watching).
They have three children, eight grandchildren, four great-grandchildren, and a collection of the most interesting and generous friends and neighbors. They feel truly blessed!
MILLS & BOON
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To Adalyn Saysong Deth,
Tommy and Zoey Erickson,
and to Ashley
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
SANDY EVANS FELT DESERTED. The man she loved stood with his broad back to her, his rejection undeniable. Her mother thought she was insane, and her best friend had told her it was just wrong to offer Hunter Bristol thirty thousand dollars to marry her. “He’ll throw it back at you,” Bobbie Raleigh had warned.
Marriage wasn’t the point of the money offer, but—to be honest—she’d have loved it to be the ultimate outcome. So she’d ignored her mother and her best friend, and handed Hunter Bristol a check in that amount. His initial reaction was not promising. White shirt stretched across shoulders that were square and muscular, he’d been silent for about a minute, one hand jammed in the pocket of his gray slacks, the other holding the check between his thumb and forefinger as though it had been smeared with Ebola.
He turned around finally, and she knew Bobbie had been right. Sandy was about to have the check thrown back in her face.
Hunter Bristol was tall and athletic, a man built for action despite having the methodical, meticulous brain of a Certified Public Accountant. His light blue eyes radiated fury and his blond hair, a little too long and roughly styled, almost bristled with his effort to maintain some sort of control. Beyond the glass walls of his office, coworkers glanced their way, obviously wondering what was going on, though they pretended to look busy.
He waved the check at her and demanded, his voice just above a whisper, “Where did you get this kind of money?”
Suddenly tired of everyone’s displeasure when all she’d meant to do was ease Hunter’s financial problems, she folded her arms and stared boldly into his thunderous face. “I rolled an old lady for it,” she said.
He took a step toward her, then apparently thought better of whatever he’d intended and stopped. He glimpsed the outer office and saw that his employer, Nate Raleigh, her friend Bobbie’s husband, had come out of his office to talk to Jonni, his office manager, who sat at the front desk. But Hunter appeared to have more of Nate’s attention than Jonni did.
“You’re lucky,” Hunter said, leaning back against a dark wood work table, “that you’ve got so many witnesses. You want to try that again?”
She closed her eyes with a sigh and perched on his desk, a patch of carpet separating them. “I refinanced the house,” she admitted, attempting to sound reasonable. “You’re my friend. I’d like to help you get out of debt so we