Renee Roszel - Just Friends To . . . Just Married

“I never told you to get lost?”

Kim smiled. “Never. I would remember because I’d have been crushed.”

Jax shifted his gaze to the fire. “Apparently I have a high tolerance for awful annoyances.”

“ So you’re okay with me being here?”

He watched the fire without speaking.

“ Jax?” she coaxed. “Did you hear me? Are you okay with me being here?”

“ Sure,” he said quietly. He glanced at her and nodded, his smile brief but as welcome as the fire’s warmth. “Of course.”

“ I’m glad.” She laid her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

Jax sat motionless, almost not breathing. Kim’s scent coiled around him. Her breasts, pressed against his arm, burned seductively. Steeling himself, he glared unseeing into the fire. She stirred and sighed, the slight, throaty sound piercing his heart. Gritting his teeth on a curse, he distanced himself from her before he did something unforgivably stupid.

Renee Roszel has been writing romance novels since 1983 and simply loves her job. She likes to keep her stories humorous and light, with her heroes gorgeous, sexy and larger-than-life. She says, “Why not spend your days and nights with the very best!” Luckily for Renee, her husband is gorgeous and sexy, too!

Renee Roszel loves to hear from her readers.

Send your letter and SAE to: P.O. Box 700154, Tulsa, Oklahoma 74170, U.S.A. Or visit her Web site at www.ReneeRoszel.com

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE ®

3682—HER HIRED HUSBAND

3705—THE TYCOON’S TEMPTATION

3725—BRIDEGROOM ON HER DOORSTEP

3752—SURRENDER TO A PLAYBOY

3778—A BRIDE FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Just Friends to…Just Married

Renee Roszel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To my mother, Lenore Roszel,

My friend, confidante, sounding board and biggest fan.

I love you and miss you.

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

IN A state of shock, Kimberly sank to her knees in the middle of her empty condo. “This can’t be happening. He can’t be gone. I thought…” Her words faded into nothingness. Clearly she thought wrong. Her boyfriend of two years, the man she’d believed to be “the one,” had moved out, taken everything.

From her vantage point on the cold wood floor, in the middle of what once was their living room, she amended the “everything” part. He hadn’t taken quite everything. The gifts she gave him over the past two years lay in a neat pile nearby. The sports shirts, the half-used bottles of cologne, even the silk boxers covered in red hearts she bought one Valentine’s Day when she felt a little wicked.

She noticed absently that he had left the two landscape prints on the wall that she had bought when a local furniture store had closed down. Numb, she scanned the pile of rejected gifts and noticed a folded sheet of paper sticking out from beneath one of the cologne bottles. The handwriting was Perry’s. “If it says you’ve moved out, sweetheart, it was a waste of paper. I get the message.” She swallowed around the lump in her throat, praying there was a good explanation in that note. Foolish, fleeting hope swelled in her heart with the fantasy that it would read, Honey, I’ve been transferred to Paris. Couldn’t reach you. Follow me soonest! Love, Perry. “And I bet there’s a P.S. that says, Didn’t have room in my suitcase for these treasures. Please bring them.” With great reluctance, she unfolded the sheet of notebook paper, muttering to herself, “Dream on, Kimberly.”

She sat on her feet, terribly uncomfortable. But when a person drops to the floor in shock, comfort isn’t the first consideration. Now, with pain shooting through her arches, she shifted her legs out in front of her, her slim skirt not giving her many options. With trembling hands, she smoothed the paper on a thigh. Hesitant to read the words she knew were there, she smoothed it several more times.

She’d come home from her trip so pumped up, so full of good news, with big plans to celebrate. Her fledgling career as a professional meeting planner took a big step forward today. After the unblemished success of the chiropractor’s conference in Las Vegas she’d organized, she’d landed a big client, the owner of a chain of hardware stores. He’d hired her to plan his company’s next corporate confab for January. That left plenty of time for a well-deserved vacation.

So, tonight she’d envisioned a quiet dinner, just the two of them, romantic candlelight, a little wine, and for dessert, making love on the rug in front of a crackling fire.

She glanced at the brick hearth, empty and cold and gray with soot, and blinked back tears. The only thing that would lie naked in front of it tonight would be the bare floor. She forced herself to look at Perry’s note, to focus, read.

“You’ll probably hate me for doing it this way,” it began, “but you shouldn’t be surprised. We’ve had the debate often enough. Face it, Kim, you’re commitment phobic. I wanted marriage, but for two years you put me off. Well, I’ve had it. I’ve found somebody who isn’t afraid to commit. Good luck with your life.” It was signed, simply, “Perry.” He added what looked like a hastily scrawled postscript which read, “Besides, I’ll never measure up.”

Miserable and baffled, Kim murmured, “Never measure up? What do you mean?” Her voice quavered with tears. “Measure up to what—to whom?”

She stared at the cryptic sentence, wiping away tears. After a long, silent struggle to get her mind around the ragged hole that had been shot through her life, she lifted her gaze to take in the gaping void that so suddenly shrouded everything. Perry’s abandonment was a painful lesson of how little she’d given to their life together, at least materially.

“But…but I did care for you!” She picked up her favorite of his colognes and spritzed the air, inhaling. All at once, there Perry stood. Tall, blond, athletic, grinning that smirky grin that made her go gooey inside. Amazing about scents, the way they could conjure up a human being with only a few molecules of biochemical extracts. Suddenly disturbed by the smirking image, she waved her hand through the mist, trying to disperse the scent and erase him from the room. She succeeded only in perfuming her fingers. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stand that smell again,” she muttered, wiping her hand on her linen skirt. “You reek, Perry,” she said. “You lousy coward.”

She didn’t want to believe anything in his note had the slightest ring of truth. Commitment phobic? Not a bit. True, they did discuss marriage several times. She’d patiently explained she wasn’t ready. She didn’t like fighting, and never let one of their marriage discussions escalate to an argument. But even so, each time they “discussed” it, she pulled away a little more. Couldn’t they simply be the compatible couple they were, enjoying the same movies, the same music, the same Chinese restaurant? Why did he have to rock the boat? He knew disagreements upset her.