Neesa Hart - Want Ad Wedding

She shivered. “Much,” she answered. “It’s too much.” She pushed him slightly away from her. “I didn’t think…” Her words trailed off and she dropped her head to his shoulder. “I can’t think.”

Sam understood. He’d had weeks to consider his attraction to Molly, what he wanted and how he wanted to pursue her. Unless he missed his guess, she hadn’t even realized what she was feeling until earlier today. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close so she could feel the warmth and hardness of his body.

Molly shivered again and leaned against him. Her lips met his, kissing and probing, tasting and experimenting.

“It’s okay,” he assured her. “I’m not trying to rush you into anything. I just want you to know how much I want you.”

“Whatever I’m feeling,” she whispered, “it’s not rushed.”

Want Ad Wedding

Neesa Hart

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

Neesa Hart is the multipublished, award-winning author of more than twenty books. Her other titles for Harlequin American Romance include Who Gets To Marry Max and Her Passionate Pirate. She lives in central Virginia, where she is hard at work writing her next novel and her second children’s choir musical. You can reach Neesa at neesa@infoline.net.

Dear Reader,

People are always asking writers, “Where do you get your ideas?” and to be perfectly honest, I don’t always have an answer. Usually the real answer is something like, “Oh, well, I was at the beauty shop reading a magazine when I saw an article that reminded me of a person I knew in high school who now works for a major corporation and I remembered that she had the same color hair as the woman in the picture, which made me wonder if that particular color would look good as paint on someone’s wall, and if so, what kind of decorator would apply it and how would her client react?” Um, yeah.

But in the case of Want Ad Wedding, I actually have an answer I can share with you! I have a very good friend who got me hooked on the intrigue and pleasure of reading personal ads. The tiny little biographies are fascinating. I was reading the ads in our local paper one day and saw an odd one that essentially said, “I hope I never see you again,” which naturally made me wonder what had inspired a person to pay money to print something like that. Was it a rash act, like an e-mail fired off without forethought? Did the advertiser now regret putting the words in print? And if he or she did, could the situation be salvaged?

So Want Ad Wedding was born. And what kind of hero could I pair with a headstrong, impulsive, act-without-thinking heroine? A master of self-control and decorum, of course—just to keep things interesting. Throw in some hometown fun, a few ducks and a host of eccentric family members and Bam! Fireworks.

Enjoy!

Neesa Hart

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

WANTED: self-assured, confident woman to mend ways of arrogant confirmed bachelor. Sam Reed, Operating Partner and CFO of Reed Enterprises, seeks a candidate of marriageable age who is looking for a serious commitment. The ideal woman must be able to tolerate arbitrary decisions, poor communication skills, lack of responsiveness, ice-cold glares, periodic tantrums and smugness. Mr. Reed also possesses a vengeful nature that makes indefatigable patience a necessity. Candidates must be willing to accept years of frustration and irritation in exchange for sharing Reed family fortune and domiciles. Due to Mr. Reed’s lengthy business trips and frequent travel, benefits of this position include long periods of solitude, separation, and down-time. Interested candidates may apply directly to Mr. Reed, c/o the Payne Sentinel, Payne Massachusetts.

Aunt Ida always said, “Wear your best on your worst day. Because days come and go—but looking good is what counts.”

Molly Flynn always made a point of taking her aunt Ida’s advice. So on Monday morning, she’d ironed her best pair of jeans, pulled on a new University of Delaware sweatshirt, and put new laces in her sneakers before heading off to work. Today, she figured, was quite possibly going to be the worst day of her life. After berating herself for the carelessness, impulsivity and outright idiocy that had gotten her into this mess, she’d managed to pull herself together after a stern lecture to her reflection in the mirror. As Aunt Ida always said, Flynns were not quitters. Flynns did not hide from their mistakes. Flynns had pluck.

Actually, Aunt Ida had referred to Flynn tenacity as an unmentionable part of the male anatomy. But ever since her mother had washed Molly’s mouth out with soap for repeating the phrase at dinner one night, Molly had called it pluck.

But that morning, she’d given her reflection a knowing look that said she meant exactly what Aunt Ida had said.

Then she’d splashed enough cold water on her face to diminish the bluish circles under eyes, whipped through her usual ten-minute routine of light makeup and strong coffee; wrestled with her lamentably curly red hair until it became apparent that even her hair was going to get the better of her today; and made her way to the Payne Sentinel offices in historic downtown Payne, Massachusetts, where she was going to get fired as soon as Sam Reed got to the office.

She’d felt vaguely like a condemned prisoner making her way to the guillotine. Her fate was inevitable. The only thing she could control was how she reacted to it.

And Flynns never cowered.

So Molly leaned back in her battered chair in the Payne Sentinel copy office and stole a glance at the clock. 8:58. Two minutes and counting.

“All right, Molly—” Cindy Freesdon entered the copy office, dropped her purse to the floor and pulled a chair up to the edge of Molly’s desk. She pinned her with an avidly curious look. “Give, babe. When were you planning to tell us you and Reed were, you know, friendly?”

Molly stifled a groan. Humiliation was bad enough, but public humiliation was far worse. She wished Sam Reed would hurry up and drag his predictable, irascible, temperamental, bullheaded self to work and be done with this so she could clean out her desk and go home.

She gritted her teeth and met the probing look in Cindy’s blue eyes. “It’s not like that,” she assured her friend. “You don’t understand.”

Cindy dangled the Personals section between her thumb and forefinger. “I read the morning edition while I was getting dressed.” She indicated the copy room where the activity level had already reached light speed. “You’re the one who placed this ad for Reed. It’s got your sense of humor all over it.”

Molly forced herself not to flinch. “Not on purpose.”

That sent Cindy’s eyebrows into her bleached blond bangs. “Oh, this is too wicked.”