Michele Dunaway - The Wedding Secret

Luke frowned. “Define what you mean.”

“The feeling that there’s something in the air at weddings. Something that makes people do things they shouldn’t.”

He nodded. “I know what you’re talking about. From the first moment I saw you, I wasn’t settling for anything less. Why else would I leave when you did?” He’d moved toward her, almost as close as he’d been during their first slow dance.

She’d been seduced before, but never like this. Luke was out of her league. Her body hummed. “You don’t make anything easy, do you?”

“Never.” He ran a finger down her bare arm. “I get what I want, Cecile. Always have, always will.”

“And what do you want?” she said, her breath lodging in her throat as she waited for his reply.

“You.” His tone was forceful and determined. A thrill shot through her. “And I definitely want this.”

With that, he lowered his mouth and kissed her.

Dear Reader,

I love weddings and wedding magic. This past April and July, I had a chance to attend two weddings, each for one of my work colleagues. Watching them say their vows and seeing how much love existed between them gave me such a happy feeling. Weddings are that one moment in time when everything is magic, when the future is unlimited. I have no doubt that each of my colleagues will live happily ever after.

For Cecile, though, weddings are a reminder that her future hasn’t quite turned out as she envisioned it. When her best friend announces her own impending nuptials, Cecile worries that life might be passing her by. Determined to at least have a grand passion, Cecile lets the magic sweep her into the arms of Luke Shaw. There’s just one little problem. When she begins her new dream job, Cecile learns that Luke is her boss—and her company has a “no fraternization” policy. So what’s a girl going to do to win her man? Turn the pages and find out!

I hope you enjoy The Wedding Secret, the second book in my AMERICAN BEAUTIES miniseries. Please join me when Tori’s story, Nine Months' Notice, concludes the series in April 2007.

Until then, enjoy the romance and feel free to drop me an e-mail at michele@micheledunaway.com. Happy reading.

All the best,

The Wedding Secret

Michele Dunaway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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In first grade, Michele Dunaway wanted to be a teacher when she grew up, and by second grade she wanted to be an author. By third grade, she was determined to be both, and before her high school class reunion, she’d succeeded. In addition to writing romance, Michele is a nationally recognized high school English and journalism educator. Born and raised in a west county suburb of St. Louis, Michele has traveled extensively, with the cities and places she’s visited often becoming settings for her stories. Described as a woman who does too much but doesn’t know how to stop, Michele gardens five acres in her spare time and shares her life with two young daughters, six lazy house cats, one dwarf rabbit and two tankfuls of fish.

Michele loves to hear from readers. You can reach her via her Web site, www.micheledunaway.com.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

988—THE PLAYBOY’S PROTÉGÉE

1008—ABOUT LAST NIGHT…

1044—UNWRAPPING MR. WRIGHT

1056—EMERGENCY ENGAGEMENT

1100—LEGALLY TENDER

1116—CAPTURING THE COP

1127—THE MARRIAGE CAMPAIGN*

For Oprah Winfrey, thanks for being a voice of the people. You have made a positive difference in the lives of so many. And to Jennifer Green, thanks for being such a terrific editor who’s willing to push me where I need it.

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

He was the man she was fated to walk down the aisle with, a man she barely knew. As Cecile Duletsky took a steadying breath, she told herself she would not kill her sister.

At least not today, her wedding day.

Okay, if Cecile were honest, it wasn’t exactly her younger sister’s fault that in less than one hour Cecile would march down the long, white-runner-covered aisle of St. Donovan’s Church on the arm of Luke Shaw, a man hotter than a summer day. A man who, when Cecile had first spoken to him last night during the rehearsal dinner, had made her feel undressed with just the twinkle of his blue eyes.

The way Cecile figured it, she should have been allowed to walk down the aisle by herself, as she had at any other wedding she’d been in. But no, someone higher up on her sister’s wedding party chain of command had overruled Cecile in the interest of making the exceedingly long July ceremony all of two tiny minutes shorter.

Cecile figured the same higher-up had to have picked out the horrifying purple bridesmaid dress she was wearing. Her sister, Elizabeth, couldn’t have become this tasteless in the eleven years the two sisters had been apart. Even the most uneducated fashionista would have known better.

But the hideously oversize bow settling directly over Cecile’s bosom proved otherwise, especially as it smashed all of her assets into oblivion instead of enhancing them. The dress added ten pounds to Cecile’s figure—the same ten that a daily workout regime assured never touched her slim hips.

The reality was that Elizabeth Duletsky’s bridal party looked like grapes gone sour.

At least Cecile’s long strawberry-blond hair was up, lifted and twisted just this morning into a high chignon that gave her the appearance of a long swanlike neck.

She’d refused to let the makeup artist hired for the occasion touch her face, opting instead to do her own makeup. Considering the blatant amount of kohl eyeliner on some of the bridesmaids, Cecile knew she’d made a wise choice. Her skin was pale and creamy, a blessing of Irish genetics somewhere in her very mixed lineage. She had green eyes—toss a green costume on her and she could pass for a cute leprechaun. She often had, twice a year—once for St. Patrick’s Day and the other for Halloween.

“So are you nervous?” some silly bridesmaid tittered at Cecile’s sister. The dark-headed one in the family, Elizabeth sipped her mimosa before shaking her head and replying, “No.”

Cecile stood and stepped back from the scene unfolding in the church’s anteroom. Unlike the rest of the bridesmaids, who were also all married, Cecile wasn’t partaking in the champagne-and-orange-juice concoction the wedding coordinator had provided to settle any last-minute bridal party jitters. Besides, Cecile had always thought it wiser to drink after the event. Speaking of said event…