âI want to sleep with you,â Bridget murmured
Words were forming before Dermott thought them through. If the truth be told, heâd waited just as many years to speak them as heâd waited to have her beneath him in bed. âYouâre not going to play with my emotions, Bridge. Not now. Not at this stage of the game.â
She looked crushed, her face falling. âGame?â she managed to say. âIts just sexâ¦.â
He couldnât believe how hot she looked for it, either, as she offered the half lift of a bare shoulder that seemed so silky, smooth and delicious that his mouth watered. âArenât you even curious?â she asked.
That was the problem. He had been for years. Heâd dropped plenty of hints about them winding up between the sheets. Now he tried to look unaffected, even though he was painfully aroused. âYouâre the one who always said no.â
âThat was then.â
He leaned closer. Her breath was on his cheek, his lips and in his hair. âAnd this is now?â
Nodding, she whispered, âJust sex.â
But they both knew it was more than that.
Dear Reader,
Manhattan aside, the American rural South is my favorite place to write about. No one can ignore the pull of the environmentâthe slow, sexy drawls of Southern men, the mysterious woods thick with ancient, moss-hung cypress trees, the ambling quality of life, not to mention the lure of so much living history.
So welcome to the second installment of BIG APPLE BRIDES! I hope youâll have a blast with middle sister Bridget Benning as she joins her buddy Dermott and flies off to battle ghosts on a plantation, determined to end the wedding curse holding her back!
In May 2005 watch for I Thee Bedâ¦, the last book in the BIG APPLE BRIDES miniseries.
Writing romance for the past decade has been a great delight of my life, as has reading so many upbeat love stories designed to lift our spirits, feed our souls, make us laugh and nurture our faith in the lighter side of lifeâlove!
Happy reading!
Jule McBride
Big Swamp, Florida,
a dark stormy February night in the late 1860sâ¦
âHURRY, Miss Marissa! We must run!â
âDonât you tell me what to do, Lavinia,â returned Miss Marissa Jennings in a hushed, terrified drawl as thick as cold molasses. She cast the Creole housekeeper a furious look, her green eyes glistening with tears, then she glanced around the parlor of her fiancéâs plantation, her pale fingers clutching the skirt of the wedding dress sheâd waited so long to wear, her mind barely able to process that she might not marry Forrest tonight as planned. Surely, he and Reverend George were on their way, she thought, her fingers tightening around the gownâs white satin. Lifting the hem above her ankles, she exposed a pair of white slippers, preparing to do as Lavinia had saidârun! The gorgeous cluster of diamonds Forrest had given her sparkled when she glanced down. It seemed centuries ago that sheâd been given the ring, centuries since her slippers had been hand-beaded by her mama, long before the war drew near and theyâd all blissfully envisioned the Jenningses and Hartleys gathering at Hartley House for the wedding.
âHurry!â Lavinia urged as lightning flashed, her voice scarcely audible over cannonballs, rifle fire and the shouts of looting Yankees as they circled nearer, some on foot, some whipping neighing horses into a frenzy. âWeâve got to hide in the swamp!â
âWe canât go out there, Lavinia!â The gale-force wind would sweep them from their feet, killing them before any Yankees could. âWhat if Forrest comes?â
âHeâll find us.â
Another lie. A deafening boom sounded, and a flash of fire lit the sky in bright white light that threw the parlor into bas relief. For a second, Marissa could see Lavinia clearlyâa small-boned woman who wore her hair plaited in tidy rowsâbefore they were plunged into near-darkness again. Only a lit taper in the housekeeperâs hand illuminated the fear in her eyes, the flickering, wind-tossed flame tinting her skin with a red glow like that which burned beyond the windows.
Marissaâs eyes blurred with tears, her heart beating in terror for her groom. Surely he was on his way! Sheâd sooner die than leave this home they were to share! How could she abandon things her beloved Forrest had worked so hard to attain? How could she let all this beauty be pawed by crass, looting Yankees?
âWe should have gone weeks ago, Miss Marissa!â assured Lavinia, pushing Marissa toward a doorway. Tears splashed Marissaâs cheeks, falling as hard as the rain against the windowpanes as she cast a last glance around the parlorâtaking in a chandelier Forrest had brought from Paris, then a pedestal table and a fireplace hewn from unpolished jagged pieces of local quarry rock. Forrest had been so precise when decorating the room, especially regarding how she should pose for her portrait and where it should hang, the key to their secret hiding place. The portrait had been removed now, but she could still see marks indicating its position.