Heir to Scandal. Andrea Laurence
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“How do you know how I feel, Rose?”
“I don’t know, Xander. I’m just not sure where this is going.”
“We don’t have to know right away. I’ve regretted losing you all these years. When I saw you at the diner, I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to see if the magic was still there.”
“Is it?”
“Oh, yeah.”
He craved Rose’s touch. The more he had of her, the more he wanted. But if things went wrong they wouldn’t have the luxury of walking away from one another again. They had a son to consider.
“Joey’s important, but these past weeks haven’t just been about our son. They’ve been about us, too. I want to see where this can go, Rose.”
“So do I. But I don’t want to be your dirty little secret …”
***
Heir to Scandal is a Secrets of Eden story: Keeping their past buried isn’t so easy when love is on the line.
Heir to Scandal
Andrea Laurence
ANDREA LAURENCE is an award-winning contemporary romance author who has loved books and has been writing stories since she learned to read and write. She always dreamed of seeing her work in print and is thrilled to be able to share her books with the world. A dedicated West Coast girl transplanted into the Deep South, she’s working on her own “happily ever after” with her boyfriend and five fur-babies. You can contact Andrea at her website, www.andrealaurence.com.
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To My Sisters at Heart of Dixie Romance Writers—
When I first joined RWA, I knew virtually nothing about the business and craft of being a professional romance writer. I also had no idea how lucky I was to have a local chapter like Heart of Dixie to support my writing journey. With these lovely ladies I found not only a wealth of knowledge and experience but mentors and friends (and a love of amazing shoes) I’ll cherish for a lifetime. HOD rocks!
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Epilogue
Strawberries. The leading story on the news was about strawberries. No murders, no robberies, no political scandals. “Xander,” he said to himself with a wry chuckle, “you’re not in D.C. anymore.”
Xander Langston had been glued to the local news tonight, as he had been for the past two nights, waiting for things to hit the fan. He’d come home to Cornwall to handle the fallout, but so far the local broadcasts had focused on the unseasonably mild weather, the local youth baseball team’s successes and the upcoming strawberry festival. He flipped off the old fuzzy television in the living room and tossed the remote onto the coffee table. He was ordering a flat-screen television for the bunkhouse and the main house the next time he got on his laptop. He wouldn’t have time to drive into Canton and buy them in person.
If the biggest buzz around town was the Strawberry Days Festival, life was good. No news was good news—especially with his first book hitting shelves next week and an election year coming up. His critics liked to point out that he’d been elected the first time only because his predecessor and mentor, beloved longtime congressman Walt Kimball, had hand-selected him to follow in his footsteps. Whatever the reason, Xander had succeeded in a landslide victory over his opponent. At the time, he was one of the youngest congressmen ever elected to the U.S. House of Representatives, just making the age requirement of twenty-five.
This fall he would be kicking off yet another reelection campaign and Xander would prefer to remain gainfully employed. That meant a solid voting record, no sound bites that could be taken out of context and absolutely no scandals of any kind. Typically, it was easy for Xander to avoid scandals. He wasn’t married, so he couldn’t have affairs. He didn’t have an interest in prostitutes. He’d never been offered any bribes, and even if he had, he would have turned them down.
But everyone had a skeleton in their closet, so to speak. And that was why he was back in Connecticut at the Garden of Eden Christmas Tree Farm watching this crappy television instead of burning the midnight oil in his Capitol Hill office.
With a sigh, Xander got up from the couch and walked over to the window. The sun had already disappeared behind the rolling green hills, but it was still light enough to illuminate the farm. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but balsam and Fraser fir trees.
It was a startling view after being away for so long. Looking out the window of his office in the Longworth House Building earned him an excellent view of the Capitol Building and the sea of tourists and buses traveling up and down Independence Avenue. Those people traveled thousands of miles for the sights he ignored on a daily basis. He was too busy to appreciate the classic architecture and historic significance