The Sinner's Marriage Redemption. Annie West
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‘Will you marry me, Ava?’
She goggled. ‘We’ve only known each other a week!’
Flynn’s brows rose. ‘We’ve known each other for years.’
But how well? Seven years older than her, he’d usually been helping his father on the estate grounds. ‘I’m still stunned. We don’t even know if we’re physically compatible,’ she said.
His expression altered. Focused. Igniting wildfire in her veins. ‘I think last night proves we’ve got no problems there. We’re combustible together.’
‘But marriage is more than physical attraction. It’s only been a week,’ she protested again.
‘How long do you need to be sure? A month? A year? I knew the moment I saw you again in Paris,’ he said.
Ava’s breath caught. ‘You care for me that much?’
‘You’re perfect in every way.’
Seven Sexy Sins
The true taste of temptation!
From greed to gluttony, lust to envy, these fabulous stories explore what seven sexy sins mean in the twenty-first century!
Whether pride goes before a fall, or wrath leads to a passion that consumes entirely, one thing is certain: the road to true love has never been more enticing!
So you decide:
How can it be a sin when it feels so good?
Sloth—Cathy Williams
Lust—Dani Collins
Pride—Kim Lawrence
Gluttony—Maggie Cox
Greed—Sara Craven
Wrath—Maya Blake
Envy—Annie West
Seven titles by some of Mills & Boon® Modern™ Romance’s most treasured and exciting authors!
The Sinner’s
Marriage
Redemption
Annie West
Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at [email protected] or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
For Liz.
Amica carissima et doctissima, and an admirable woman!
Contents
THE CAR’S ACCELERATION was loud in the still night, breaking the silence Flynn had so enjoyed after the bustle of London.
As he stretched his legs on a midnight walk across Michael Cavendish’s country estate, the only sound should have been the swoop of an owl or the rustle of small creatures foraging. Flynn was too far from the big house for the sounds of the Cavendishes’ annual winter bash to intrude.
The car roared closer, towards the tight bend in the long drive. Flynn quickened his pace, suddenly alert. It wasn’t braking soon enough to make the turn.
By the time the sickening screech and thud of a collision shattered the night, Flynn was sprinting.
The drift of cloud across the moon parted as he scudded around the thicket on a surge of frantic adrenaline. There it was: an open convertible at an ungainly angle, nose deep in the dark foliage. Moonlight sparkled on shattered glass that crunched under his feet.
But Flynn’s eyes were on the driver’s seat. On the figure struggling with the door. Moon-silvered hair spilled over pale, bare shoulders and arms flecked with what he suspected was blood. His heart hammered even as relief kicked