A Willful Marriage. Peggy Moreland
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Table of Contents
“You May Kiss Your Bride.”
Gayla lifted her gaze to Brett, unsure what to say or do. She was sure Brett would ignore the offer, even prayed he would, but instead he turned to her, gently taking her cheeks between his hands and lowering his head to hers.
Their lips touched briefly, and Gayla nearly cried at the warm taste of him. When he would have deepened the kiss, though, she pulled away, hiding the emotions she feared would give her heart away.
Dear Reader,
Established stars and exciting new names…that’s what’s in store for you this month from Silhouette Desire. Let’s begin with Cait London’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Tallchief s Bride—it’s also the latest in her wonderful series, THE TALLCHIEFS.
The fun continues with Babies by the Busload, the next book in Raye Morgan’s THE BABY SHOWER series, and Michael’s Baby, the first installment of Cathie Linz’s delightful series, THREE WEDDINGS AND A GIFT.
So many of you have indicated how much you love the work of Peggy Moreland, so I know you’ll all be excited about her latest sensuous romp, A Willful Marriage. And Anne Eames, who made her debut earlier in the year in Silhouette Desire’s Celebration 1000, gives us more pleasure with You’re What?! And if you enjoy a little melodrama with your romance, take a peek at Metsy Hingle’s enthralling new book, Backfire.
As always, each and every Silhouette Desire is sensuous, emotional and sure to leave you feeling good at the end of the day!
Happy Reading!
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
A Willful Marriage
Peggy Moreland
PEGGY MORELAND
published her first romance with Silhouette in 1989. She’s a natural storyteller with a sense of humor that will tickle your fancy, and Peggy’s goal is to write a story that readers will remember long after the last page is turned. Winner of the 1992 National Reader’s Choice Award and a 1994 RITA finalist, Peggy frequently appears on bestseller lists around the country. A native Texan, she and her family live in Round Rock, Texas.
In everyone’s life there is that special teacher they never forget. For me, there are several. To Cheryl Rahmlow, who ruled the hallowed halls of Terrell High School with both discipline and love and who taught me how to type. To Della Jo Burnes, who followed me from elementary school to high school and on to junior college, just to make sure I got it right. And to Eldora Birdsong, who made Shakespeare come alive with her “special effects.” Thanks, ladies, for all the years you devoted to teaching and the difference you made in so many of your students’ lives.
It was a miserable day for a funeral.
Gray skies heavy with the threat of rain loomed overhead while a bitterly cold wind blew from the north, rattling the stripped tree branches like the bones of a dancing skeleton.
Considering the man being buried, though, Brett Sinclair figured the weather was more than appropriate. Coldhearted, stingy, unforgiving. Yes, the more he thought about it, the more he was sure that the old man deserved just such a day.
He sat behind the wheel of his truck at the end of the line of cars forming the funeral procession, working up a strong defense in favor of staying inside the vehicle instead of joining the mourners graveside. No one knew him, he told himself, so his presence certainly wouldn’t be missed.
While he sat debating, the wind caught a corner of the funeral home’s canvas canopy, inflating its gently sloping roof and dumping sheets of icy rain onto the mourners who stood under its edge. A shiver chased down his spine. That was an even better reason to remain inside—it was colder than a well-digger’s butt out there. Besides, he told himself, he’d had his share of funerals. First his father’s, then his mother’s, and now this.
With a muffled growl, he shouldered open the door. He hadn’t traveled this far to sit in the warmth of his truck. He’d come to witness the old man’s burial. The wind caught his duster and billowed it open, sending icy needles of cold to stab at his chest. He quickly did up two buttons, scrunched his shoulders to his ears and headed for the tight cluster of black umbrellas near the fringe of the funeral home’s canopy. He stopped at the rear of the cemetery plot, close enough to hear, but far enough away to avoid being a part of the ceremony. He listened dispassionately as the minister spoke kindly of the man being laid to rest. The fact that every word coming out of the preacher’s mouth was a bald-faced lie didn’t really bother Brett. After all, how much truth was found in any eulogy?
He soon grew bored with the proceedings and let