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Kate Hewitt
KATE HEWITT discovered her first Harlequin romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and sheâs continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it, too. That story was one sentence longâfortunately, theyâve become a bit more detailed as sheâs grown older.
She studied drama in college and shortly after graduation moved to New York City to pursue a career in theater. This was derailed by something far betterâmeeting the man of her dreams, who happened also to be her older brotherâs childhood friend. Ten days after their wedding they moved to England, where Kate worked a variety of different jobsâdrama teacher, editorial assistant, youth worker, secretary and finally mother.
When her oldest daughter was a year old, Kate sold her first short story to a British magazine. Since then she has sold many stories and serials, but writing romance remains her first loveâof course!
Besides writing, she enjoys reading, traveling and learning to knitâitâs an ongoing process and sheâs made a lot of scarves. After living in England for six years, she now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children and, perhaps someday, a dog.
Kate loves to hear from readers, You can contact her through her Web site, www.kate-hewitt.com.
HE WATCHED her from the shadows.
Lukas Petrakides stood behind the camouflaging fronds of a palm tree, his eyes tracking the young woman as she slipped from her hotel room onto the silky sand of the beach.
Dark, wild curls blew around her face and her slender arms crept around herself in a hug that was pitiably vulnerable.
He hadnât meant to stumble upon herâor anyoneâhere. Heâd been consumed with a restless energy, his mind full of plans for the new resort that had just opened here in the Languedoc, minutes from a sleepy village, stretching out to a pristine beach.
Heâd needed to escape the confines of his own suite, his own mind, even if just for a moment.
The wind and the waves shimmering beneath a diamond sky had soothed him, and heâd slipped off his shoes, rolled up the cuffs of his trousers, and strode down the smooth, white sand.
And had found her.
He didnât know what had drawn him to her, why that slender form seemed to hold so much grace, beauty, desire.
Sorrow.
Her head was bowed, her shoulders slightly slumped. The look of someone in grief or pain.
Still he felt a blaze of feeling deep within. A need. A connection.
He took one step towards her, an impulse, an instinct, before checking himself. He knew his presence here would cause questions, complications he couldnât afford.
He had to keep his reputation above the faintest reproach. He always had. So he stood in the shadows, watched her walk towards the waves, and wondered.
She stood on the shore, the waves lapping her bare feet, and gazed out at the calm waters of the Mediterranean. She threw one worried glance over her shoulder towards the sliding glass door of her hotel room, as if someone were there, waiting, watching, as he was.
Who waited for her in there? A boyfriend? Husband?
A lover?
Whoever it was, it was none of his business.
If he were a different manâwith a different life, different responsibilitiesâhe might not check that impulse. He might walk up to her, say hello, make conversation.
Nothing sleazy or sordid; he didnât want that. Just honest conversation, a shared moment. Something real and warm and alive.
The desire for it shook him, vibrated deep in his being. He shook his head. It was never going to happen.