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Weddings Collection
His Runaway Bride
Liz Fielding
The Bride Wore Blue Jeans
Marie Ferrarella
How to Marry a Billionaire
Ally Blake
The Bridal Chase
Debra D’Arcy
His Bid for a Bride
Carole Mortimer
The Tycoon’s Virgin Bride
Sandra Field
The English Aristocrat’s Bride
Sandra Field
Bride of Desire
Sara Craven
www.millsandboon.co.uk
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
His Runaway Bride
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
The Bride Wore Blue Jeans
DEDICATION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LETTER TO READER
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 FIFTEEN
EPILOGUE
How to Marry a Billionaire
DEDICATION
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Bridal Chase
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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 FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
His Bid for a Bride
PROLOGUE
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
EPILOGUE
The Tycoon’s Virgin Bride
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 FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The English Aristocrat’s Bride
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bride of Desire
All about the author… Sara Craven
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
Copyright
His Runaway Bride
Liz Fielding
“I’m so sorry, Mike—”
“I’m so sorry, Willow—”
They both spoke at the same time.
Willow frowned. “What are you apologizing for, Mike? I’m the one who left you standing at the altar. Was it awful?” she asked. “Did my mother have hysterics?”
“I don’t know, because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there,” Mike repeated.
“What?” Her breath was coming in tiny little gasps as what he was saying finally sank in. “You did it too, didn’t you?” She felt almost dizzy with relief. “We both ran out on our wedding!”
PROLOGUE
‘DON’T go.’ Mike kept his arm around her, holding her close. ‘I love it when I wake up and you’re the first thing I see.’
Willow loved that, too. Loved waking with her cheek pressed against his chest, his arm around her, his corn-coloured hair flopping over his forehead. Loved him. And nestling against him in the dark, his kisses tempting her to stay put and damn the consequences made it hard to be strong.
Getting out of a warm bed to drive home late on a Sunday evening was not top of her ‘fun-to-do’ list, any more than it was Mike’s. Which was why she always found some pressing reason to drive to his place, rather than have him pick her up. With her own car parked outside, she didn’t have to make a big deal of it.
‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ She stirred, kissed him and then forced herself to get out of bed. ‘If I stay, I’ll have to get up at dawn and dash across town to change for work. Mondays are stressful enough, without that.’
‘You should bring a change of clothes with you.’ He propped himself up on an elbow and watched her. ‘Keep some stuff here. That’d beat the stress.’
It wasn’t the first time Mike had suggested this, but Willow was having none of it. She’d handled the toothbrush issue by buying a little travelling set, with a folding toothbrush and a mini tube of toothpaste, easily stored in her capacious shoulder bag, along with a clean pair of knickers and a spare pair of tights. She was a journalist, she reasoned, and had to be prepared for any eventuality. Even on a regional rag like the Chronicle.
Leaving clothes at his place was much more serious. The edges of their relationship would become blurred. She’d become too accessible. Before she knew it she’d be there more often than she was at home and he’d be taking her for granted. Expecting her to take on the routine domestic duties because she was there. Because she was female. She’d seen it happen a dozen times.
‘It wouldn’t help. I have to feed Rasputin and Fang.’ She grabbed his bathrobe and headed for the shower. Her two needy goldfish, won by Mike at a visiting fair, were worth their weight in fish food.
‘Bring the fish, too,’ he called after her. ‘I’ll build an extension and you can bring your entire collection of cuddly toys, if you like.’
‘When I’m here, sweetheart, I prefer to cuddle you.’ She turned on the shower and then peered around the bathroom door. ‘And an extension would look very peculiar on a second-floor flat.’
He swung himself out of bed, followed her into the bathroom, putting his hand into the water to check the temperature. ‘It’s the thought that counts.’
‘Is that right?’
‘You can even bring those horrible wind chimes with the tubes like a church organ.’ Then he said, ‘Move over. Or had you forgotten about the water-saving campaign you’re running in the paper?’ This was no way to get home before dawn, Willow thought. But she moved over, hoping to avoid too much tempting physical contact. ‘What more can I say?’ Mike asked, squeezing some gel into his palm, smoothing it over her back. A whole lot more, she thought, as his hands sapped her will to the point that she had to bite back a groan of pure pleasure. ‘Bring everything. Move in here with me.’ She held her breath, waiting, but he’d apparently finished. That was it.
She took a slightly shaky breath, turned to face him. ‘Why would I want to do that?’
He grinned. ‘Because I’m irresistible? Because you hate driving home in the middle of the night, and you’re too kind, too tender-hearted to get me out of bed to drive you myself?’
The water was slicking his skin, heating her up. ‘You’ve got that right.’
‘Come on. It’ll be fun. We can do this all the time.’ And he gathered her close, the water cascading over them as he kissed her in a prelude to showing her exactly how much fun it would be.
He was right. He was irresistible. But on this subject she was unshakeable. When he lifted his head, waggled his eyebrows at her, apparently in no doubt as to her answer, she simply sighed and reached for a towel. He wasn’t going to allow her to change the subject, not without some explanation. It was time to explain her philosophy on the ‘living together’ issue.
‘Hey,’ he complained as she stepped out of the shower stall. ‘When I said we should save water, I wasn’t thinking drought conditions…’
‘Mike, listen to me.’ The tone of her voice finally got through and the grin slipped from his face. He turned off the water, listening. It would help if he wrapped a towel round his waist… ‘Darling, you’ve met my cousin—’
‘Crysse? Nice girl. Not a patch on you, but—’
‘And you know that Crysse lives with her boyfriend, Sean.’
‘People do that these days,’ he said, his hands on her shoulders, serious now. Concentration was getting harder by the minute. ‘Move in with me. I promise you, no one is going to throw stones at you in the street…’ And he kissed her again, moving her gently, but inexorably back towards the bed. It would be so easy to say yes. She wanted to say yes…
Mike’s grin was firmly back in place, his grey eyes gleaming with the prospect of success. He clearly thought his case unanswerable.
‘No! Listen!’ She dug in her heels. Literally and metaphorically. ‘Before they lived together, Sean used to take Crysse out all the time. Make a real fuss of her. Every Friday night they went to the cinema, or the theatre. On Saturday they’d go out for the day, or have a meal out at a nice restaurant. On Sunday, he cooked her breakfast and brought it to her in bed. They stayed there most of the day and talked about what they’d do when they were married. How many kids they’d have. Dreaming, you know?’
‘Isn’t that what we do?’ He shrugged. ‘Maybe we haven’t got around to discussing the number of off-spring, but breakfast in bed is a good start. I’ll bring you breakfast tomorrow—’
‘Then he suggested they move in together.’
‘Do it tomorrow. I’ll make you breakfast in bed for the rest of your life.’
‘That’s what Sean said. Crysse was so excited. She sold her flat, redecorated his…’
‘I’m beginning to get the uneasy feeling that this story doesn’t have a happy ending.’
‘That depends on your point of view,’ she said. ‘Sean’s happy. He goes out with his mates on Friday while Crysse, after a hard week attempting to drill the rudiments of mathematics into thirty twelve-year olds, cleans the flat they “share”.’ She made little quote marks to indicate her doubts about the sharing part. ‘These days the highlight of Saturday is a trip to the supermarket while he plays football, or cricket, or whatever other macho pursuit happens to be in season. And on Sunday she takes him breakfast in bed, where he stays until lunch-time to recover from his exertions on the sports field.’
‘And Crysse?’
‘Crysse gets on with the ironing. His as well as hers.’
‘She should take a break for a while. Let him see what he’s missing. She could move into your flat—’
‘It doesn’t work like that, Mike. What happens is that, while Crysse is proving that she’s indispensable to Sean’s well-being, some other girl comes along and sees this poor suffering man with no one to iron his shirts for him. It’s practically irresistible and she’ll come over all motherly. She’ll cook and iron and this time, having learned his lesson, Sean will fall over himself to make it permanent.’
He looked at her for a moment, and there was no trace of a smile as he absorbed the message. ‘I take it that’s a definite no, then?’
‘It’s nothing personal. If I was the moving-in kind of girl, there’s no one I’d rather move in with than you. But I like my life—’
‘And if I make it personal?’
‘Please, Mike.’ She made a move to collect her clothes, but he blocked her way. ‘It’s late.’
He remained very still. ‘And if I make it personal?’ he repeated.
The mood in the flat had changed. Suddenly it was far too intense and Willow felt as if she was balancing on the edge of a precipice that five minutes ago hadn’t existed. Her heart flared in panic, she didn’t want to lose Mike. She loved him. But before she surrendered the life she had, a life she enjoyed, she had to know he loved her, too. Loved her enough to make a total commitment. No compromise.
‘Move in or we break up?’ she asked. ‘Is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, angel.’ He reached out, cradled her cheek for a moment, then raked his fingers through her short dark curls, holding them back from her forehead so that her face was entirely revealed. ‘What I’m saying… What I’m asking…’ He seemed to hesitate, consider his words carefully. ‘I want you to live with me, Willow Blake. To have you beside me every morning when I wake. To hold you every night as I fall asleep. I guess what I’m saying is, I’m not prepared to risk making Sean’s mistake with you. So, how soon can we get married?’
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