Diamond In The Ruff

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to take advantage of you like that,” he told her, still cupping her cheek with the palm of his hand.

Her voice felt as if it was going to crack at any second as she told him, “You didn’t. And there’s nothing to be sorry about, except …”

“Except?” he prodded.

Lily shook her head, not wanting to continue. She was only going to embarrass herself—and him—if she said anything further. “I’ve said too much.”

“No,” he contradicted, “you’ve said too little. “‘Except’ what?” he coaxed.

Lily wavered. Maybe he did deserve to know. So she told him.

“Except maybe it didn’t last long enough,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper, her cheeks burning and threatening to turn a deep pink.

“Maybe it didn’t,” he agreed. “Let’s see if I get it right this time,” he murmured just before his mouth came down on hers for a second time.

* * *

Matchmaking Mamas: Playing Cupid. Arranging dates. What are mothers for?

www.millsandboon.co.uk

A USA TODAY bestselling and RITA® Award-winning author, MARIE FERRARELLA has written more than two hundred books for Mills & Boon, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide. Visit her website, www.marieferrarella.com.

To

Rocky and Audrey who made my life so much richer in their own unique way.

Contents

Cover

Excerpt

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Prologue

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

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Prologue

“You don’t remember me, do you?”

Maizie Connors, youthful grandmother, successful Realtor and matchmaker par excellence, looked at the tall, handsome, blond-haired young man standing in the doorway of her real estate office. Mentally, she whizzed through the many faces she had encountered in the past handful of years, both professionally and privately. Try as she might to recall the young man, Maizie came up empty. His smile was familiar, but the rest of him was not.

Ever truthful, Maizie made no attempt to bluff her way through this encounter until she either remembered him or, more to the point, the young man said something that would set off flares in her somewhat overtaxed brain, reminding her who he was.

Instead, Maizie shook her head and admitted, “I’m afraid I don’t.”

“I was a lot younger back then and I guess I looked more like a blond swizzle stick than anything else,” he told her.

She didn’t remember the face, but the smile and now the voice nudged at something distant within her mind. Recognition was still frustratingly out of reach. The young man’s voice was lower, but the cadence was very familiar. She’d heard it before.

“Your voice is familiar and that smile, I know I’ve seen it before, but...” Maizie’s voice trailed off as she continued to study his face. “I know I didn’t sell you a house,” she told him with certainty. She would have remembered that.

She remembered all of her clients as well as all the couples she, Theresa and Cecilia had brought together over the past few years. As far as Maizie was concerned, she and her lifelong best friends had all found their true calling in life a few years ago when desperation to see their single children married and on their way to creating their own families had the women using their connections in the three separate businesses they owned to find suitable matches for their offspring.

Enormously successful in their undertaking, they found they couldn’t stop just because they had run out of their own children to work with. So friends and clients were taken on.

They did their best work covertly, not allowing the two principals in the undertaking know that they were being paired up. The payment the three exacted was not monetary. It was the deep satisfaction that came from knowing they had successfully brought two soul mates together.

But the young man before her was neither a professional client nor a private one. Yet he was familiar.

Shrugging her shoulders in a gesture of complete surrender, Maizie said, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to take pity on me and tell me why your smile and your voice are so familiar but the rest of you isn’t.” Even as she said the words aloud, a partial answer suddenly occurred to her. “You’re someone’s son, aren’t you?”

But whose? she wondered. She hadn’t been at either of her “careers”—neither the one involving real estate nor the one aimed at finding soul mates—long enough for this young man to have been the result of her work.

So who are you?

“I was,” he told her, his blue eyes on hers.

Was.

The moment he said that, it suddenly came to her. “You’re Frances Whitman’s boy, aren’t you?”

He grinned. “Mom always said you were exceedingly sharp. Yes, I’m Frances’s son.” He said the words with pride.

The name instantly conjured up an image in Maizie’s mind, the image of a woman with laughing blue eyes and an easy smile on her lips—always, no matter what adversity she was valiantly facing.