LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      To my editor, Jennifer Walsh,

       for her wonderful insight and thoughtful guidance.

      To my agent, Pattie Steele-Perkins,

       for her unwavering patience and welcome support.

      And to Kristen, whose wisdom and talent

       belie her youth—

      “Una mujer que conoce bien los conejos.”

      KRISTI GOLD

      began her romance writing career at the tender age of twelve when she and her sister spun romantic yarns involving a childhood friend and a popular talk-show host. Since that time, she’s given up celebrity heroes for her favorite types of men, doctors and cowboys, since her husband is both. An avid sports fan, she attends football and baseball games in her spare time. She resides on a small ranch in central Texas with her three children and retired neurosurgeon husband, along with various livestock ranging from Texas longhorn cattle to spoiled yet talented equines. At one time, she competed in regional and national Appaloosa horse shows as a non-pro, but gave up riding for writing and turned the “reins” over to her youngest daughter. She attributes much of her success to her sister, Kim, who encouraged her in her writing, even during the tough times. When she’s not in her office writing her current book, she’s dreaming about it.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Epilogue

      One

      The soothing sound of a saxophone caressed Miranda Brooks like a lover’s touch as she lay beneath a diamond-studded sky. The sweet scent of freshly mown grass rode in on the warm night breeze, teasing her senses and filling her with euphoria.

      Sinking farther into the cushioned poolside chaise, she closed her eyes and let the music lull her into an erotic fantasy. A place where she could conjure up the perfect lover, in the perfect setting, at the perfect time….

      “Knock that racket off!” someone yelled from an upper-level apartment.

      With a grating squeak, the music stopped. Miranda’s eyes shot open, and she braced herself upright on bent elbows. She surveyed the apartment pool deck but found it as deserted as before, exactly why she’d come here. It seemed she hadn’t been alone after all, and the music hadn’t been electronically reproduced, as she’d first believed. Which meant someone had been serenading her, either unaware or intentionally.

      She looked through the wide metal bars surrounding the pool, scanning the area for signs of the mystery musician.

      Then she saw him.

      Silhouetted in an open apartment door only a few feet away, he was more shadow than real, more mystical than man. He seemed to be staring at her, although she couldn’t quite see his eyes. But she could feel his gaze linger over her as his music had only moments before.

      He moved beneath the faint yellow glow of a porch light, the saxophone poised in one hand, causing Miranda’s pulse to stutter. He appeared to be not much over six feet tall, yet his overwhelming presence commanded attention. Still, she couldn’t make out his features unless he came closer. Not likely that would happen, no matter how hard she wished for it.

      Miranda sank back into the chair thinking she should probably leave. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she caught another glimpse, just one more glimpse. Then she would go.

      The steady sound of footsteps and the creak of the wrought-iron gate pierced the silence. Miranda squeezed her eyes shut again. The sheer thrill of seeing him kept her immobilized, and she waited.

      “Are you okay?” he asked in a voice deep as the deadliest sin.

      Miranda slowly opened her eyes to a gaze so dark it walked hand in hand with midnight and a face so striking it shamed the stars. His raven hair was sensually mussed, an unruly lock resting against his forehead, as if moments before he’d left his bed, or a woman’s arms. The single gold loop dangling from the lobe of his left ear twinkled like the stars above him. He wore loose black dress slacks and a tailored white shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the first two buttons undone.

      A fantasy come to life.

      He looked altogether dangerous. Seductively dangerous.

      Miranda inched up, tugging her short floral skirt down as she went. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

      Much to Miranda’s surprise, he pulled a nearby deck chair alongside the chaise, as if he’d been invited to sit, and rested his sax against one leg. “You were so still, and

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