Josh waved the piece of paper in front of Fernâs nose. âThe treasure hunt.â
Her heart seemed to have slowed to almost nothing and she could hear the rush of the river in her ears.
âYou want me to be your partner?â
He jumped off the wall and stepped in front of her. For a moment she thought he was going to take her hands, but then he fidgeted, and stuffed them in his pockets. âYes.â
âWhy me?â
He looked her straight in the eye. âBecause I think youâd be perfect.â
Inside her head she was screaming with frustration. How many times had she hoped to hear those words? But what he was asking her now wasnât what sheâd yearned for back then. He had no idea heâd ignited a painful and distant memory.
Four days with Josh. Once upon a time, sheâd have thought that was heaven.
But it was only an hour since theyâd met again, and she was getting all her signals crossed imagining thereâd be moments and bolts from the blue andâheaven help her poor confused heart rateâkisses.
Four days would be far too muchâ¦and never enough.
Would your perfect wedding be in the spring, when flowers are starting to blossom and itâs the perfect season for new beginnings?
Or perhaps a balmy garden wedding, set off by a riot of color, making the summer bride glow with the joys of a happy futureâ¦.
Do you dream of being a fall bride, walking down the aisle amid the dazzling reds and burnished golds of falling leaves?
Or of a winter wedding dusted with glistening white snowflakes, celebrated by the ringing of frosty church bells?
With Harlequin Romance>® you can have them all! And, best of all, you can experience the rush of falling in love with a gorgeous groomâ¦.
In April we celebrated spring with The Brideâs Baby by Liz Fielding
This month, enjoy the summer sun with Saying Yes to the Millionaire by Fiona Harper
Coming in September with crisp autumnal days: The Millionaireâs Proposal by Trish Wylie
Donât miss:
Marry-Me Christmas by Shirley Jump, out in December.
Fiona Harper
Saying Yes to the Millionaire
As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things havenât changed much since then, but at least in writing sheâs found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started elementary school Fiona found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten loveâwriting.
Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland and the Kent countryside on a summerâs afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavored. Of course she still canât keep away from a good book, or a good movieâespecially romancesâbut only if sheâs stocked up on tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.
For Kirsteen, my naughty little sister,
who has travelled the world and bungee-jumped while Iâve just sat home and day-dreamed about it.
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
âNO, I CANâT. I donât think I can do this!â
Solid ground was a distant memory. Fern glanced down past her feet and a tidal wave of nausea crashed in her stomach. The Thames glittered in the June sun and London politely carried on about its business one hundred and fifty feet below her. Someone behind her muttered, âIs she going to jump or not?â
Not. Definitely not. Surely, if God had meant us to do this weâd have been born with lengths of elastic attached to our feet.
She gulped. Every muscle in her body had tightened itself into a dozen knots. She closed her eyes, but that just made things worse. The darkness magnified the dull roar of the traffic and the flap of the bungee cord as it swung in the faint breeze. Her body swayed.
No. She was not going to do this.
Her eyes snapped open and she twisted her head, opening her mouth to tell them it had all been a horrible mistake. But, before the sounds emerged from the back of her throat, a warm pair of hands steadied her on either side of her waist.
âSheâs all right. Arenât you, Fern?â
Fern shook her head, but the squeak that finally made it out of her mouth sounded an awful lot like yes.
She caught a faint hint of aftershave as he moved closer, felt his breath as it tickled the fine tendrils of hair that had worked their way out of her ponytail and now curled in front of her ears.
âYou can do this.â The voice sounded so warm and reassuring. âYou know that, donât you?â
For a second, Fern almost forgot where she was, high on a crane on the banks of the Thames. Almost forgot the crowd of onlookers and charity event organisers looking up at her from the hard concrete below. She recognised that voice!