As tired as she was, Brianna spent long minutes staring at the ceiling and picturing Hunterâs tall, muscular body squeezing into the small antique bed in the guest room.
She imagined his long legs hanging off the end of the mattress, his wide shoulders filling the width of the bed and his chiseled face nestled on the pillow. Did he snore? Did he sleep in the buff? What would it be like to curl against his strength and sleep wrapped in his arms? To kiss him goodnight, feel his skin against hers, have his hands
Brianna scrubbed both hands over her face and stopped the daydream in its erotic tracks. Her skin tingled from her scalp to her toes, and a pleasant heat had curled in her belly. Dream all you want, but donât get any ideas about acting on the fantasy. Hunter wasnât hers to claim.
BETH CORNELISON started writing stories as a child when she penned a tale about the adventures of her cat, Ajax. A Georgia native, she received her bachelorâs degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for a little more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.
Since that first time, Beth has written many more stories of adventure and romantic suspense and has won numerous honors for her work, including a coveted Golden Heart Award in romantic suspense from Romance Writers of America. She is active on the board of directors for the North Louisiana Storytellers and Authors of Romance (NOLA STARS) and loves reading, traveling, Peanutsâ Snoopy and spending downtime with her family.
She writes from her home in Louisiana, where she lives with her husband, one son and two cats who think they are people. Beth loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 5418, Bossier City, LA 71171, USA, or visit her website, www.bethcornelison.com.
To my princeâI love you, Paul!
Thank you to Mackenzie Walton for sharing her beautiful cat Sorsha for this story, and to Julie Sieger for sharing Cinderella and Sebastian. Look for all three of these kitties to appear again in Grantâs book! Julie and Mackenzie won the bid to have their kitties featured through Brenda Novakâs Auction for the Cure of Diabetes.
Thank you to Robyn Elyse Rosenberg for allowing me to use her name for Briannaâs aunt. Robyn, also, won the bid for this opportunity through Brenda Novakâs Auction for the Cure of Diabetes.
Chapter 1
She stared in stunned silence at the man standing in her living room, a man sheâd once trusted. Working to shake herself from the numb shock that locked her throat, she blinked hard and scrubbed her hands over her face. âWhy didnât you tell me any of this last winter? Donât you think I had a right to know what...who I was involved with?â
He had the decency to look guilty. âIâm sorry. I didnât tell you for this very reason. I knew this was how youâd react.â
She exhaled harshly. âWell, it is rather...startling news, wouldnât you say?â
âI know. But weâd agreed what we had was a vacation fling. I didnât think Iâd ever see you again. I didnât think Iâd...develop feelings for you. And I never thought youâdââ
âGet pregnant?â She rubbed her hand over her nine-months-swollen belly and grunted. âWell, neither did I. But hereâs the proof that condoms arenât one hundred percent fail-safe.â
âIndeed.â He gave her a worried grimace. âThe question now is, how do we hide the baby? How do we protect him?â
âProtect him?â
He took a step toward her, his hands spread. âIf anyone finds out heâs my child, my bloodline, theyâll want to kill him like theyâve tried to kill me.â
A thread of fear tugged inside her. âBut if I donât tell anyone who his father isââ
A shattering of glass at her back door cut her off. He cursed in a foreign language she didnât recognize.
âItâs too late,â he said, his voice tight, panicked. His eyes were round with alarm and apology. âTheyâre here. They know.â He shook his head. âIâm so sorry. I didnât think anyone had followed me.â
Adrenaline spiked inside her, and she sidled closer to him as crashing sounds filtered from the back of her house. âI donât understand. Whoââ
âThereâs no time! You have to go! Run!â
âBut youââ
âYou canât worry about me. You have to save our child!â He pushed her toward the front door. âHurry! Theyâll try to kill you, try to kill him.â
A dark-clad figure appeared from her kitchen and raised a long-muzzled gun. Fired.
The father of her baby pushed her to the floor as the bullets whizzed over them. The jolt as she hit the floor sent a sharp pain through her belly, and a warm gush of fluid trickled down her leg. She clutched her middle, worried for her baby.