A Bride For The Holidays. Renee RoszelЧитать онлайн книгу.
This marriage ploy was purely a business arrangement.
So why this sudden, wild desire to make their pact anything but pure?
“Money can’t buy happiness, Mr. Dragan!”
“But money lets you look for happiness in a lot of nice places.”
A chill dashed down Trisha’s spine. Suddenly the idea of spending two weeks with the luscious Lassiter Dragan became a disgraceful travesty. From the first instant she’d met him she’d been drawn to the man. But the fairy tale had dissolved, disappeared, and she mentally hauled out all her defenses.
She wouldn’t walk out on their deal. But any crazy illusions Trisha might have had about The Gentleman Dragon being a modern-day Prince Charming had to be stomped to dust.
Renee Roszel has been writing romance novels since 1983 and simply loves her job. She likes to keep her stories humorous and light, with her heroes gorgeous, sexy and larger than life. She says, “Why not spend your days and nights with the very best!” Luckily for Renee, her husband is gorgeous and sexy, too!
Renee Roszel loves to hear from her readers. Send your letter and SASE to P.O. Box 700154, Tulsa, Oklahoma 74170 U.S.A. Or visit her Web site at www.ReneeRoszel.com.
Books by Renee Roszel
HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®
3682—HER HIRED HUSBAND
3705—THE TYCOON’S TEMPTATION
3725—BRIDEGROOM ON HER DOORSTEP
3752—SURRENDER TO A PLAYBOY
A Bride for the Holidays
Renee Roszel
MILLS & BOON
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To animal rescue societies that take in the broken, abused and abandoned four-legged angels among us.
Adopt a dog or cat.
Give yourself the gift of unconditional love.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
THE ringing phone blasted through the stillness of the empty coffee shop like a tornado siren. Trisha’s breath caught and froze in her chest. She instinctively knew this was the call she’d been waiting for.
Her last chance.
The polished aluminum and white-tiled surroundings evaporated from her consciousness as she vaulted over the mop bucket part-time employee, Amber Grace, had dragged out to clean up a spilled latte.
Trisha grabbed the wall phone’s receiver, fumbling, almost dropping it before she managed a firm enough grasp to lift it to her ear. “Ed’s Gourmet Java Joint.” She swallowed, forcing the nervous quiver from her voice. “Trisha August, Day Manager, speaking.”
She recognized the caller’s voice—the bank loan officer, telephoning with his verdict. Her heart pounded so furiously she could hardly hear over its deafening beat. This was her moment of truth—whether she would get her small business loan, or not.
Caught between wrenching anxiety and frothy optimism, she listened, nodded, hardly able to squeeze in more than a brief “yes” or “no” as the loan officer talked in a tone that was mincingly polite but distant.
Her heart sank. She’d heard that same thumbs-down speech so many times she couldn’t stand hearing it again. “But, I’m very responsible and I’m a hard worker. I’ll do anything for a loan!” she blurted, interrupting the lecture she knew was about to end in “Thank you for your interest in Kansas City Unified Bank.” “I’ll do anything you ask!” she cried. “Please, just give me a chance!”
Without even the courtesy of a pause to pretend he gave her plea some thought, the loan officer delivered his “Thank you for your interest” line and hung up.
Trisha stood there with the receiver clenched in a fist. Raw anger at the unfairness of the world overwhelmed her. She could do this! She could make a success of herself, if somebody would only give her a chance! Her throat aching with fury, she slammed the receiver on its hook. “You can’t borrow money if you don’t have money!” Frustration and resentment coloring her words, she twisted away from the phone. “How does anybody ever open a business?”
“That’s a good question,” came a male voice. The comment had been spoken softly, the tone rich and deep and stirringly masculine.
Startled that a customer had entered without her notice, Trisha’s gaze shot to the serving counter. A man stood there. A tall man, clad in a camel overcoat that Trisha guessed was made of the finest cashmere. His broad, expensively garbed shoulders twinkled with melting snow. Dark hair glittered, too. As fetching as all that sparkling and twinkling was in a fluorescent glare