Words of praise for Mills & Boon>® from New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling authors
âWhen I started writing for Mills & Boon, I was
delighted by the length of the books, which allowed the freedom to create, and develop more within each character and their romance. I have always been a fan of Mills & Boon! I hope to write for it for many years to come. Long live Mills & Boon!â âDiana Palmer
âMy career began in Mills & Boon. I remember my
excitement when they were introduced, because the stories were so rich and different, and every month when the books came out I beat a path to the bookstore to get every one of them. Hereâs to you, Mills & Boon; live long, and prosper!â âLinda Howard
âI owe a great deal to Mills & Boon for allowing me to
grow as a writer. Mills & Boon did that, not only for me but for countless other authors. It continues to offer compelling stories, with heroes and heroines readers loveâand authors theyâve come to trust.â âDebbie Macomber
âMills & Boon books always touch my heart. They are
wonderful stories with the perfect happy ending.â âSusan Mallery
âStop here,â Rule Bravo-Calabretti said to the driver.
The limousine rolled to a silent stop at the head of the row of parking spaces in the shadowed parking garage. The Mercedes-Benz sedan Rule had been following turned into the single empty space at the other end of the row, not far from the elevators and the stairs that led into the mall. From where he sat behind tinted windows, Rule could also see the breezeway outside the parking structure. It led directly into Macyâs department store.
The brake lights of the Mercedes went dark. A woman emerged from the sedan, her head and shoulders appearing above the tops of the row of cars. She had thick brown hair that fell in well-behaved waves. Settling the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she shut the car door and emerged into the open aisle, where she turned back and aimed her key at the car. The Benz gave an obedient beep.
She put the key away in her bag. She looked, Rule decided, just as sheâd looked in the pictures his investigators had taken of herâonly more attractive, somehow. She wasnât a pretty woman. But there was something about her that he found much more interesting than mere prettiness. She was tall and slim and wore a blue silk jacket, which was perfectly and conservatively tailored. Her matching blue skirt kissed the tops of her slender knees. Her shoes were darker than her suit, with medium heels and closed toes.
He watched as she settled her bag in place again, straightened her jacket and turned for the door to the breezeway. He thought she looked very determined and somehow he found that determination utterly charming.
She hadnât glanced in the limousineâs direction. He was almost certain she had no idea that heâd been following her.
And his mind was made up, just like that, in the sixty seconds it took to watch her emerge from her car, put her key in her purse and turn to go. He had to meet her.
Yes, heâd always told himself he never would. That as long as she was running her life successfully, taking good care of the child, it would be wrong of him to interfere. Heâd relinquished all rights by law. And he had to live with the choices he had made.
But this wasnât about rights. This wasnât about challenging her for what was hers.
He had no intention of interfering. He simply had to ⦠speak with her, had to know if his first reaction to seeing her in the flesh was just a fluke, a moment of starry-eyed idiocy brought on by the fact that she had what mattered most to him.
All right, it was playing with fire. And he shouldnât even be here. He should be finishing his business in Dallas and rushing back to Montedoro. He should be spending time with Lili, learning to accept that they could be a good match, have a good life.
And he would return to Montedoro. Soon.
But right now, today, he was going to do the thing heâd wanted to do for far too long now. He was going meet Sydney OâShea face-to-face.