LITMIR.BIZ

       Churches and weddings? Not for Mark. Not anymore.

      He’d become adept at drifting from relationship to relationship, never allowing things to become too serious.

       Why was he here?

      A question that had nothing to do with witnessing his best friend’s wedding and everything to do with moving back to his hometown.

      He glanced over at Sammi, this time finding her brown eyes staring at him, brows drawn together in worry.

      Her customary braid was gone today, her long dark hair left free to spill over her bare shoulders and halfway down her back, thick and glossy. He knew firsthand how decadent those silky strands felt as they flowed across his hands… his body.

      He shifted in his spot to keep from remembering too deeply, knowing this was not the time or place. Later, when he slugged back his first shot of whiskey and tried to push away the horrors of the last eight years, he could afford to nurse his regrets.

      Soft clapping around him made him realize the bride and groom were now in each other’s arms, their lips locked together.

      How soon could he get out of here?

      Love conquers all.

      Wrong.

       Dear Reader

      I was raised in a military family, surrounded by men whose love and bravery often led them into dangerous and difficult situations. My grandfather served in the Army, while my father was a career Navy man. Squadron numbers, ranks and the names of aircraft carriers might sound like Greek to most of the world, but to me they were a part of everyday life.

      Both my dad and my grandfather relayed stories of triumph and heartache from their years in the service. But I suspect other tales remained buried, known only to them and those who served with them. My book’s hero arose from this idea. What happens when someone tries to lock away a terrible memory, only to have it resurface in unexpected ways? What must that be like for those who love him and want to help?

      Thank you for joining Mark and Sammi as they reunite after years apart. As they struggle to overcome the things which drove them apart in the first place. Best of all, this special couple rekindles a love they thought was long dead. I hope you enjoy reading about their journey as much as I enjoyed writing about it!

      Sincerely

       Tina Beckett

      About the Author

      Born to a family that was always on the move, TINA BECKETT learned to pack a suitcase almost before she knew how to tie her shoes. Fortunately she met a man who also loved to travel, and she snapped him right up. Married for over twenty years, Tina has three wonderful children and has lived in gorgeous places such as Portugal and Brazil.

      Living where English reading material was difficult to find had its drawbacks, however. Tina had to come up with creative ways to satisfy her love for romance novels, so she picked up her pen and tried writing one. After her tenth book she realised she was hooked. She was officially a writer.

      A three-time ‘Golden Heart’ finalist, and fluent in Portuguese, Tina now divides her time between the United States and Brazil. She loves to use exotic locales as the backdrop for many of her stories. When she’s not writing you can find her either on horseback or soldering stained-glass panels for her home.

      Tina loves to hear from readers. You can contact her through her website, or ‘friend’ her on Facebook.

       Recent titles by Tina Beckett:

      DOCTOR’S MILE-HIGH FLING

      DOCTOR’S GUIDE TO DATING IN THE JUNGLE

       These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

      The Man

      Who Wouldn’t

      Marry

      Tina Beckett

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

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      CHAPTER ONE

      WHY was he here?

      Mark Branson’s eyes slid for the hundredth time to the small child standing beside him at the altar, the boy’s dark suit and red tie a miniature version of his own. They could almost be father and son.

      But they weren’t.

      His gaze automatically swept to the left, coming to rest on the bridesmaid across the aisle. The woman he’d once planned to marry in this very church, before life had intervened, and she’d married someone else.

      And having her child propped against him as they waited for the wedding to begin was pure torture.

      ‘Do you have the rings?’

      Mark blinked and switched his attention back to the priest, the man’s gold-embroidered robes and matching cape seeming as ancient as the ornate carvings inside the small Russian Orthodox Church. Candles of all shapes and sizes adorned the altar, placed on glittering stands by the people in attendance. The flickering glow added a sense of awe and mystery to the room, and also provided the only source of illumination. The absence of electric lights in the church had always seemed strange to Mark but, then again, he could count on his fingers the number of services he’d attended here.

      The last time had been for his father’s memorial service. He could still remember his mother’s tears. Her grief so misplaced. Mark had never visited the man’s grave. Not once.

      A throat cleared. ‘The rings?’ The concern in the priest’s tone echoed off the high ceilings. The groom shot him a look, his best friend’s brows lifting in question.

      Mark cleared his own throat to make sure it came out normal. ‘I have them.’

      Okay, good. The steady throbbing behind his temples hadn’t crept down to his voice box. Digging in his pocket, he located the pair of rings and handed them to the boy, who in turn trudged up the two steps to the top of the platform, giving one to the groom and the other to the bride.

      The bride, a relative newcomer to the Aleutians, bent down to hug the child and watched as he skipped back down the steps. She then wrinkled her nose and smiled at her soon-to-be-husband, who gazed back at her with besotted eyes.

      Mark barely restrained himself from rolling his own. His buddy had it bad.

      Willing the child to go and stand beside his mother, who hadn’t met Mark’s gaze once since they’d taken their places on the steps at the front of the church, he gave an almost audible sigh of frustration. Because the boy wound up back at his side, leaning against him. The turmoil already raging within his gut turned into a firestorm

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