Kathleen O'Reilly - Breakfast At Bethany's

Spencer James at his best wasn’t nice. When experiencing the throes of lust, he was a man possessed.

He yanked her against him and his mouth ripped into hers, showing her how madly he wanted to make love to her.

God save him, she was just as wild.

Some time in the next few hours, she would be running back to that putz of a date, but right now she was Spencer’s and he wasn’t about to let her walk.

His mouth fed on her, her neck, the sexy spot below her ear. Every inch needed to be touched, caressed.

By him.

And at that moment he could have shot to the moon with all the compressed power inside him. He had to have her, find the secret key that unlocked the pleasure within her. Tonight he’d discover it all.

Dear Reader,

I have to confess that Spencer holds a special place in my heart. I knew that I would have to write a unique hero for Beth. She was lonely, wanted to find love, and for all intents and purposes should have found a nice guy to settle down with in the burbs. But she didn’t. Leave it to Beth to do things the hard way. From the moment she met Spencer, she knew he was the one. He was arrogant, brusque, intelligent and clueless about women. And ladies, that’s one seriously sexy combination.

I hope you enjoy reading Beth’s story. Next month brings THE BACHELORETTE PACT to a close with Cassandra’s story. Write to me at P.O. Box 312, Nyack, NY 10960, and let me know what you think.

Kathleen O’Reilly

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

889—JUST KISS ME

927—ONCE UPON A MATTRESS

967—PILLOW TALK*

971—IT SHOULD HAPPEN TO YOU*

HARLEQUIN DUETS

66—A CHRISTMAS CAROL

Breakfast at Bethany’s

Kathleen O’Reilly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To that special group of loopy ladies who make me laugh and cry, and remind me on a daily basis about the joy of being a writer.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Epilogue

SWF looking to meet good man. Must like romantic walks, fine wine and old movies. Geeks need not apply.

BETH VON MEETER WAS THE last one to leave the chapel. Weddings did that to her. For some people it was sloppy puppies, for her it was the magic of the whole bridal extravaganza.

Wistfully, she trailed her fingers over the cute little nosegays that were tied to the pews. She would have chosen daisies rather than roses if it were her day.

But it wasn’t.

Beth would have opted for a storybook June wedding rather than a cold November day, but then Mickey had no patience for social obligations, and well, to be frank, she and Dominic were in a hurry.

Mickey’s wedding ceremony had been small—pitifully small. The reception at the church afterward had been almost nonexistent. Of course, that was the best you could do when the groom had to keep his name under wraps. Top secret, hush-hush. I Married a Mafia Don: My Love Affair with the Mob.

A gorgeous, sensitive, undercover cop wiseguy. It was enough to make a girl fall on her knees, rail and shake a fist at the sky. “As God is my witness, I’ll never be single again.” Unfortunately, imaginary drama wouldn’t do diddly to conjure up the perfect life.

Carefully she smoothed out the pale pink material of her bridesmaid dress. That made two bridesmaid dresses that were flying in her closet at half-mast. Oh, yeah, the Bachelorette Pact. Single forever! Long live the infinite torture of the dating ritual! Beth blew a raspberry, which she hoped wasn’t sacrilegious, but she figured God would understand. God wasn’t married, either.

Now Mickey was. And Jessica was. Beth wasn’t.

“Forget something?” asked Cassandra, gliding into the chapel. Amazing. The woman oozed sexuality even on holy ground.

Beth took in one last sniff of the roses. “Not a thing.” Then she bundled up in her coat and slung her bag over her shoulder in what she thought was a sassy move. “Are Jessica and Adam still here? We could get a drink,” she suggested, hoping no one would actually take her up on it. She felt like the worst sort of party squasher. Possibly it was her sinuses. She was grasping at straws, but tonight she just wasn’t feeling perky.

Cassandra picked up one of the nosegays and lightly traced a rose petal with her forefinger. “We could if you want. I thought you had a date.”

“I have one scheduled for 9:45 p.m.” Beth checked her watch. Two hours to liftoff. So far, she’d been on eleven dates with her Internet dating service. Yes, you heard that right folks, eleven. It was demoralizing, dehumanizing and downright depressing.

“Have you met your match?” asked Cassandra, sitting down on an old oak bench and looking as if she were actually interested.

That made Beth sit down, too. “I’ve been on eleven dates and I think I’ve found the dregs of the dating pool.”

“That bad?”

“I’ve met Viktor the eccentric—read ‘mad’—Russian. Kyle, who’s exploring his more feminine side. That man is going to need luck with cross-gender dating, because his feminine side is pretty pronounced.”

“Poor baby,” murmured Cassandra.

Beth waved her hand. “Oh, that’s not all. We have Bob, who likes to eat—a lot, not that there’s anything wrong with that. The painfully, and I do mean painfully, shy Ted. Bob II, whose favorite topic of conversation is himself. Blah, blah, blah, Bob this. Blah, blah, blah, Bob that.” She wrapped her head in her hands. “It’s a nightmare.”

“Maybe you’ll find more promising candidates.”

“Those are the most promising candidates.”

She was spared further depression when an elderly janitor opened the creaky door into the chapel, the cold wind cutting through the last of the heat. “I’m locking up for the night. You girls need to clear out of here.”

Beth stood and looked at the remaining flowers, then shot a what-the-hell? glance at Cassandra. “Are you going to throw these out?”

The janitor winked at Beth and stuffed his hands into his coat pockets. For a moment she wished he were about fifty years younger, or even forty. “You’re welcome to take some home. I used to bring the leftovers to my wife when she was alive.”

Quickly Beth tucked a nosegay inside her purse. “Thank you. I’ll give them a good home.”

Cassandra was already walking out the door ahead of her, but just before the janitor shut them out, she whisked back in, wrinkling her nose. “Maybe just one.”

Beth just smiled. For all her big talk, Cassandra looked to be just as jealous as the rest of single America. Even a great sex life didn’t remove the lonely truth when you went home alone. Vindication was sweet.

SPENCER JAMES WASN’T USED to being kept waiting. He liked punctuality, he liked schedules, he liked organization. His ex-wife had called him anal. Thoughts of his ex sent his fingers tapping impatiently on the linen tablecloth. He preferred the term “driven,” which was more precise. A reporter lived and died by his adjectives.