Aka: Marriage

www.millsandboon.co.uk

When native West Virginian Jule McBride was a preschooler, she kept her books inside her grandmother’s carved oak cabinet, to which only she had the key. Every day at reading time she’d unlock the cabinet—and the magical worlds contained in the books inside. Only later did she realize the characters she’d come to love weren’t real, and that’s when she knew she’d one day be a writer herself.

Jule graduated from West Virginia State College with honors, then from the University of Pittsburgh, where she also taught English. She’s worked in libraries and as a book editor in New York City, but in 1993 her own dream to write finally came true with the publication of Wild Card Wedding. It received an RT Book Reviews Reviewers’ Choice Award for Best First Series Romance, and ever since, the author has continued to pen heartwarming love stories that have repeatedly won awards and made appearances on romance bestseller lists.

Today, Jule writes full-time, and often finds the inspiration for her stories while on the road, traveling between Pennsylvania, where she makes her home, and her family’s farm in West Virginia.

For Maribeth Jameson—

there’s always someone watching over you.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

EPILOGUE

SHE’S SURE GOT some body. And those legs…

Seen through high-powered binoculars, Delilah Fontenont, a.k.a. Lillian Smith, had a stocking-clad pair to die for. They were like everything else about her—her neck, her arms, her enticing feet. Long and slender, with tapering swanlike curves, they looked as soft as feathers, as long as miles, and as smooth as whipped cream. Yeah, Shane Holiday could almost hear those legs when she walked, whispering together like lovers. Whispering softly, only for Shane.

That’s right. Talk to me, baby.

He wiggled his black Stetson farther down, flattening his sleek blue-black hair but keeping his favorite hat safe from the tidewater breeze. Then he wedged a muscular thigh against the starboard rail of the FBI boat anchored in the Hudson. Inching the binoculars upward, while keeping them trained on Lillian’s penthouse window, Shane felt a slow burn in his gut, and he vaguely wondered if it was from the subject’s creamy legs, his vengeful anger, or the heat wave baking the city. He felt around blindly with a lean tanned hand for his coffee cup.

“Damn—” He winced as he sipped. “Cappuccino with no sugar?”

“Oh, Shane, don’t tell me you’re still missing the doughnut shop and that creek water they call coffee in East Texas.” Agent Finley Huff, otherwise known as Fin, turned his broad back to the breeze, moving with surprising ease given that he was fifty years old and fifty pounds overweight. His navy-and-red tie caught the wind, flapping over the shoulder of a white button-down shirt, and his wavy red hair blew wildly.

Shane shrugged. “How you Yankees survive stakeouts wearing suits instead of jeans, and on nothing more than steamed milk and juice-sweetened muffins is a mystery to me.”

“Kind of like the mystery of how you Southern boys manage to drink coffee at all in this criminal heat?”

“All I know is real men need some sweets in the a.m.”

Fin chuckled. “Lillian’s legs might qualify. Besides, all the sugar in the world couldn’t make you sweet, Shane.”

Shane merely nodded, keeping his unwavering gaze fixed on Lillian. “The pictures of her on file sure never do the woman any justice,” he murmured.

“Her legs belong on a Madison Avenue runway.” Fin jokingly swished his hips to demonstrate.

“Or in irons,” Shane returned dryly. “Her curves flow like the mighty Mississippi, but any man who’s swept up in the current’s going to drown.”

“Too bad. It sure is a waste of a good woman.” Fin sighed. “How’s it feel to be this close to getting your justice?”

Shane took in the plush Southern-style decor of Lillian’s apartment—a far cry from his empty log cabin back in Texas—then he lowered the binoculars just long enough to send Fin a slight smile. “Fine. At least if you can believe I’m about to propose marriage to the woman.”

“I’m beginning to think that no crime’s so bad she deserves you for a husband.” Fin sobered. “Look, Shane, you’re awfully close to this case. Are you sure you can handle it? Sure you want to go undercover? I mean, with her what man wouldn’t? But…”

Shane shot Fin a glance of censure. “I bet her picture’s on your office bulletin board, prominently pinned among the other most-wanteds.”

Fin rolled his eyes. “Right. If I pinned up a fugitive with legs like hers, Mary Ann would have my hide.” Mary Ann was Fin’s wife. “And anyway, since we’re trapping Lillian this way, the case isn’t really official yet. I can bring in a few agents to back you up without getting into trouble. Otherwise, you’re on your own.”