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       Last–Minute Proposal

      JESSICA HART

      Dear Reader,

      I once spent five months on expedition in West Africa, living in close quarters with four ex-Army men. That’s when I learnt how to radio (Papa Bravo Tango, roger, over and out) and the importance of getting rank right (never my strong suit). I also learnt that soldiers are neat, practical, and resourceful—although not great cooks in my experience! And they are usually very, very fit.

      Above all, the servicemen and women I’ve met have all been wonderfully, reassuringly competent. You always feel safe with a soldier, whether you’re hanging off a cliff like Tilly, at the beginning of Last-Minute Proposal, or broken down in the middle of the rainforest, miles away from the nearest garage. That’s why men with military backgrounds, like Campbell Sanderson, make such great romantic heroes.

      But they don’t just make fictional heroes. Every day, soldiers put their lives on the line for us all. In their courage, their dedication, their steadfastness and their ability to get the job done, they are the real heroes.

       Jessica

      About the Author

      JESSICA HART was born in West Africa, and has suffered from itchy feet ever since, travelling and working around the world in a wide variety of interesting but very lowly jobs, all of which have provided inspiration on which to draw when it comes to the settings and plots of her stories. Now she lives a rather more settled existence in York, where she has been able to pursue her interest in history, although she still yearns sometimes for wider horizons. If you’d like to know more about Jessica, visit her website, www.jessicahart.co.uk

      “RITA^® award-winning author Jessica Hart never disappoints her readers with her spellbinding and sophisticated stories, brimming with warmth, wit, drama and romance.” —CataRomance

      “Jessica Hart is a marvel.”

      —RT Book Reviews

      “Jessica Hart is ‘smart, sassy and sophisticated’.”

      —CataRomance

      For all those readers whose support over the last

      fifty books has meant so much.

      This one is for you, with thanks.

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘DON’T let me go!’

      Tilly’s voice rose to a shrill whisper as she grabbed Campbell Sanderson’s neck and hung on for dear life. He was rock-solid and smelt reassuringly clean and masculine. And he was the only thing standing between her and the bottom of a cliff.

      Typical. The closest she had been to a bloke for ages and she was too terrified to enjoy it.

      Campbell reached up to prise her hands away. ‘I’ve no intention of letting you go,’ he said irritably. ‘I’m going to hold the rope while you lower yourself down. It’s perfectly simple. All you have to do is lean back and trust me.’

      ‘And how many women over the centuries have heard that line?’ snapped Tilly, clamping her arms determinedly back in place the moment he released them. ‘It’s all very well for you to talk about trust, but you’re not the one being asked to dangle over an abyss with only a thin rope between you and certain death!’

      One thing was sure—certain death was awaiting her twin brothers, who were responsible for getting her into this mess. She was going to kill them the moment she got off this sodding hillside.

      If she ever got off this hillside.

      Tilly risked a glance at Campbell. It was odd to be so close to a perfect stranger at all, let alone clasping him quite so fervently, and she examined him with a strange, detached part of her mind that was prepared to do anything other than think about abseiling down the sheer cliff face.

      He had glacier-green eyes that were the coldest and most implacable she had ever seen, close-cropped hair and an expression of profound impatience. Of course, that might just be inspired by her, Tilly had to acknowledge, but she had a feeling it was habitual. He seemed the impatient type. Tilly was the last person to deny that appearances could be deceptive, but there was something about the austere angles of his face and the ruthless set of his mouth that made her think that here was a prime example of ‘what you see is what you get’.

      And what you got in the case of Campbell Sanderson was a very tough customer indeed.

      ‘How can I trust you?’ she demanded, without releasing her limpet-like grip. ‘I don’t know anything about you.’

      Campbell sucked in an exasperated breath. ‘I don’t know you either,’ he pointed out crisply. ‘So why would I want to drop you down a cliff, especially with a television camera trained on me? Or hadn’t you noticed they’re filming you right now?’

      ‘Of course I’ve noticed! Why do you think I’m whispering?’

      Tilly’s arms were aching with the effort of holding on to him. Her feet were braced just over the lip of the cliff, but she could feel gravity pulling her weight backwards.

      And, let’s face it, it was a substantial weight to be pulled. Why, oh, why hadn’t she stuck to any of her diets? Tilly wondered wildly. This was a punishment to her for not subsisting on lettuce leaves for the past thirty years.

      Campbell glanced at the distant cameras in disbelief. ‘They’re miles away! Of course they can’t hear you, but they can see you. They’ve got a socking great zoom on that camera and it’s pointed straight at you so, for God’s sake, pull yourself together!’ he told her sharply. ‘You’re making yourself look ridiculous.’

      And him by association.

      ‘Better to be ridiculous than splattered all over the bottom of this cliff!’

      A muscle was jumping in his cheek and his jaw looked suspiciously set. ‘For a start, this is not a cliff,’ he said with the kind of restraint that suggested that he was only hanging on to his temper with extreme difficulty. ‘It’s barely twenty feet to the bottom there and, as I keep telling you, you’re not going to fall. You’re on a secure rope, and you can let yourself down slowly. Even if you did lose control, I’ve got hold of the rope and I’d stop you dropping.’

      ‘You might not be able to,’ said Tilly, not at all convinced. ‘That rope’s awfully fine. I can’t believe it’ll hold my weight.’

      ‘Of course it will,’ he