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His Mother's Wedding. Judy Duarte
Читать онлайн.Название His Mother's Wedding
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Автор произведения Judy Duarte
Жанр Современные любовные романы
Издательство HarperCollins
“I don’t want you lying to my mom.”
“What are you talking about?”
Rico brushed his lips across hers, once, twice.
Molly sucked in her breath but didn’t move. Didn’t speak, didn’t stop him. Instead, she placed a tentative hand on his chest, then slowly gripped the lapel of his jacket—to steady herself, no doubt. Or maybe to draw him closer?
Her lips parted before she came to her senses and pulled away. “What in the world was that all about?”
“Tell my mother that I’m rude or a cynical jerk. Tell her I’m a die-hard bachelor, that I’m stubborn and cocky and too set in my ways. But don’t tell her there’s no chemistry between us,” he added, flashing her a rebel grin. “Because that, sweet Molly, would be a bold-faced lie.”
Dear Reader,
So—it’s the new year. Time for new beginnings. And we at Special Edition take that very seriously, so this month we offer the first of six books in our new FAMILY BUSINESS continuity. In it, a family shattered by tragedy finds a way to rebuild. USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Mallery opens the series with Prodigal Son, in which the son who thought he’d rid himself of the family business is called back to save it—with the help of his old (figuratively speaking) and beautiful business school nemesis. Don’t miss it!
It’s time for new beginnings for reader favorite Patricia Kay also, who this month opens CALLIE’S CORNER CAFÉ, a three-book miniseries centered around a small-town restaurant that serves as home base for a group of female friends. January’s kickoff book in the series is A Perfect Life, which features a woman who thought she had the whole life-plan thing down pat—until fate told her otherwise. Talk about reinventing yourself! Next up, Judy Duarte tells the story of a marriage-phobic man, his much-married mother…and the wedding planner who gets involved with them both, in His Mother’s Wedding. Jessica Bird continues THE MOOREHOUSE LEGACY with His Comfort and Joy. For years, sweet, small-town Joy Moorehouse has fantasized about arrogant, big-city Grayson Bennett…. Are those fantasies about to become reality? In The Three-Way Miracle by Karen Sandler, three people—a woman, a man and a child—greatly in need of healing, find all they need in each other. And in Kate Welsh’s The Doctor’s Secret Child, what starts out as a custody battle for a little boy turns into a love story. You won’t be able to put it down….
Enjoy them all—and don’t forget next month! It’s February, and you know what that means….
Here’s to new beginnings….
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
His Mother’s Wedding
Judy Duarte
To Virginia Collis, the very first reader to take
pen in hand and tell me she liked my books. Virginia, this story is for you. I hope you give it a thumbs-up, too!
JUDY DUARTE
An avid reader who enjoys a happy ending, Judy Duarte loves to create stories of her own. When she’s not cooped up in her writing cave, she’s spending time with her somewhat enormous, but delightfully close family.
Judy makes her home in California with her personal hero, their youngest son and a cat named Mom. “Sharing a name with the family pet gets a bit confusing,” she admits. “Especially when the cat decides to curl up in a secluded cubbyhole and hide. I’m not sure what the neighbors think when my son walks up and down the street calling for Mom.”
You can write to Judy c/o Silhouette Books, 233 Broadway, Suite 1001, New York, NY 10237. Or you can contact her through her Web site at: www.judyduarte.com.
Mr. Rico Garcia
requests the honor of your presence at the marriage of his mother Colette Marie Garcia to Dr. Daniel Osterhout Saturday, the third of June at two o’clock in the afternoon Westlake Community Church Westlake, New York Reception to follow
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter One
“Hi, baby. It’s me. Where’ve you been lately? Are we still on for this weekend?”
As he listened to his voice mail, Rico Garcia leaned back in his tufted leather desk chair and blew out a sigh.
Damn. He and Suzette had a date on Saturday, and he’d completely forgotten. Talk about a subconscious desire to cut bait and run.
Not that he’d been stringing her along.
On the day they’d met, he’d made it clear he didn’t commit, and she’d eagerly agreed to his terms. Now, two months later, she was having second thoughts.
And so was he.
Not about committing, though. About their relationship.
He opened the file drawer on the lower right side of his desk where he kept it full of candy and reached into an open bag of Reese’s Pieces. He had a stash of goodies in the glove box of his car, too.
As a kid, he spent the bulk of his allowance on sweets. But after his step-dad was shot, and the proceeds of the life insurance policy dwindled, any money Rico could scavenge went toward rent and utility bills.
He grabbed a handful of the autumn-colored candies, popped them into his mouth and savored the peanut butter taste. The first time he’d eaten them was back in the early eighties, after watching E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial at the Sunday matinee. And they’d been one of his favorites ever since.
After listening to the rest of his messages and making the appropriate return calls, he pulled the Rolodex across his mahogany desk.
He needed to break things off with Suzette. But he wouldn’t do it on a night she was expecting dinner and a sleepover. He’d just have to cancel their date. Then, at the beginning of the week, he’d stop by her house and tell her she ought to look for someone who wanted the same things out of life that she did.
As he flipped through the tabs, he found V and looked for Vio…Vya…
What the hell was the name of the company Suzette worked for?
As a private investigator, details like that never slipped his mind. But sometimes, when it came to relationships with women, his brain didn’t work the same way. The selective-memory thing bothered him a bit, though. Probably because he prided himself on the ability to recall trivial details about a case.
There was a real rush when an investigation struck pay dirt, as most of his did.
Most—but not all of them.
He glanced at the only photograph that sat on his desk, a dark-metal-framed picture of Frank Stafford standing beside his 1963 Corvette Stingray—tuxedo-black, with a split back window and a three-twenty-seven-cubic-inch fuel-injection engine.
The photo had been taken right after Frank bought