Itâs the wrong bride for a white wedding!
The venue is perfect, the dress is divine, but Elana Marshallâs feet are looking mighty chilly. And sheâs not the only Marshall with doubts. Rachel may be perfect on paper, but the heart wants what it wants, and Luc canât decide if his wants her. Decisions, decisions. With guests arriving and the Marshallsâ reputation on the line, will the happy couple get hitched without a hitch? Or does the Fixer have another last-minute crisis to deal with?
Super Rich. Super Sexy. Super Addictive.
Secrets of the A-Listâread all 12 episodes!
About the Author
CAT SCHIELD has been reading and writing romance since high school. Although she graduated from college with a BA in business, her idea of a perfect career was writing books for Harlequin. And now, after winning the Romance Writers of America 2010 Golden Heart® Award for Best Contemporary Series Romance, that dream has come true. Cat lives in Minnesota with her daughter, Emily, and their Burmese cat. When sheâs not writing sexy, romantic stories for Harlequin Desire, she can be found sailing with friends on the St. Croix River, or in more exotic locales, like the Caribbean and Europe. She loves to hear from readers. Find her at catschield.net and follow her on Twitter, @catschield.
Chapter One
Elana awakened in slow increments, aware of her bodyâs lethargy and the stiffness of muscles well used. She lay curled on her side, hands tucked against her neck. Sunshine waited on the other side of her eyelids. She burrowed her face into the lavender-scented pillow and gave a soft groan.
She was getting married today.
If she opened her eyes, sheâd have to meet reality head-on. Right now, she longed to retreat into the darkness and hold on to last night for as long as possible.
Straining her ears for any sound, she decided she was alone. No sexy snores erupted from the bed beside her. Jarrod was gone. Bastard. The word rolled around in her mind like a caress. He truly was a wicked devil. The way heâd made her beg and plead last night. Sheâd nearly sobbed with desperation before heâd slid inside her and let her come. She burned at the memory, need flaring between her legs once again. Lust fogged her mind. She never felt anything close to that urgent wildness with Thom. Maybe that wasnât bad. An orgasm was an orgasm. No need to be driven into frantic, unrelenting madness each time she made love.
The room smelled of musk and Jarrodâs cologne. When sheâd flung open the bathroom door and found him standing there, gorgeous, ripped, charismatic and fully aroused, heâd been impossible to resist. Sheâd called herself every sort of fool even as she dropped to her knees and laid claim to him with her mouth, taking him in the way she knew he loved.
Before her mother had knocked on the door last night, Elana had planned to send Jarrod packing. But when that noise had come from the bathroom and her adrenaline spiked, so had her libido. If it truly was all about the excitement of the forbidden, wouldnât she be even less able to resist him? Even though she was determined to be faithful to Thom, her addiction to Jarrod was impossible to stop.
Yet sheâd managed to say no to Jarrod when heâd demanded she call off the wedding. And when sheâd refused, heâd spent the rest of the night showing her why she should.
Elana punched her pillow. Oh, what had she been thinking to let Jarrod stay last night? If only she had been thinking. Instead, sheâd let longing and passion overcome her better judgment. But oh, Jarrodâs hands on her. And his mouth. Driving her mad. The aching desire filled her again. She rolled onto her back, fingers sliding through the damp heat between her thighs.
No.
Last night had been goodbye. If he wasnât going to change, she had to. Today she would speak vows, and she intended to keep them. She intended to be a good wife to Thom. Dear, blessedly unsuspecting Thom. He was a good man. They would have a good marriage. He would be a wonderful father to their children and a doting husband to her.
Abruptly, an image popped into her head. The expression on Rafeâs face last night as he and Thom were talking at the bar flashed in her memory. Did her brother really have feelings for Thom? Could he be in love with her fiancé? It wasnât possible. Sheâd misinterpreted the longing look. Perhaps Rafe merely regretted that he had yet to find someone he loved. He hadnât met anyone right. Besides, Thom wasnât gay and Rafe had never been attracted to straight men. It was her imagination brought on by prewedding jitters. But the turmoil in her gut didnât subside. Nor the fact that she was filled with more questions than answers.