Christine Flynn - The Baby Quilt

She was looking down at the child, her finger slowly stroking a rounded little cheek, the alabaster slope of her breast visible between the sides of her pink shirt. One tiny fist rested against that fullness and the baby’s eyes were closed.

Emily’s expression looked utterly peaceful.

Justin wasn’t sure what caused the odd tug in his chest just then. He wasn’t a man easily impressed, much less easily moved. Yet, he couldn’t seem to look away. Had he been standing before a painting, he supposed the eroticism was what would have caught his attention, the pure sensuality of soft light on skin, the gentle part of Emily’s mouth, the suckling of the baby’s. But there was an element far beyond that, a Madonna-like quality that made him feel as if he were witnessing something infinitely…precious.

The thought had his conscience kicking hard as it told him to look away. He was intruding here. But it was already too late.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to a spectacular month of great romances as we continue to celebrate Silhouette’s 20th Anniversary all year long!

Beloved bestselling author Nora Roberts returns with Irish Rebel, a passionate sequel to her very first book, Irish Thoroughbred. Revisit the spirited Grant family as tempers flare, sparks fly and love ignites between the newest generation of Irish rebels!

Also featured this month is Christine Flynn’s poignant THAT’S MY BABY! story, The Baby Quilt, in which a disillusioned, high-powered attorney finds love and meaning in the arms of an innocent young mother.

Silhouette reader favorite Joan Elliott Pickart delights us with her secret baby story, To a MacAllister Born, adding to her heartwarming cross-line miniseries, THE BABY BET. And acclaimed author Ginna Gray delivers the first compelling story in her series, A FAMILY BOND, with A Man Apart, in which a wounded loner lawman is healed heart, body and soul by the nurturing touch of a beautiful, compassionate woman.

Rounding off the month are two more exciting ongoing miniseries. From longtime author Susan Mallery, we have a sizzling marriage-of-convenience story, The Sheik’s Secret Bride, the third book in her DESERT ROGUES series. And Janis Reams Hudson once again shows her flair for Western themes and Native American heroes with The Price of Honor, a part of her miniseries, WILDERS OF WYATT COUNTY.

It’s a terrific month of page-turning reading from Special Edition. Enjoy!

All the best,

Karen Taylor Richman

Senior Editor

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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with thanks for your help.

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36 Hours

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admits to being interested in just about everything, which is why she considers herself fortunate to have turned her interest in writing into a career. She feels that a writer gets to explore it all and, to her, exploring relationships—especially the intense, bittersweet or even lighthearted relationships between men and women—is fascinating.

Dear Reader,

One of my sisters called while I was cleaning a closet the other night. While we were talking, and I kept sorting, I came across the worn-out old quilts I keep there, all neatly tucked in tissue and plastic cases. One had been made by an aunt, the other had been the patient work of my husband’s grandmother. My sister mentioned the old quilts she, too, treasures, and remarked that their only value was the time and love that had gone into creating them for their families.

That would be how Emily, the heroine in my story, feels about her baby’s quilt. Knowing how much love her mom put into each stitch would make her cherish it. It’s nothing fancy. And it’s not the sort of thing the worldly, sophisticated Justin Sloan would value. At least not until she shows him how. After all, as we know from every THAT’S MY BABY! title, it’s the little things that count.

Best wishes,

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Justin Sloan’s mood was as black as the storm clouds churning in the Western Illinois sky. His car had a dead battery. In a fit of rebellion, which he was rapidly coming to regret, he’d left his cell phone recharging in his fifty-second-floor condo in Chicago. And since he hadn’t had the foresight to throw rain gear into his trunk along with his fishing pole and a spare T-shirt, he was about to get soaked to the skin. Those clouds were too leaden to hold back their moisture for long.

The wind shifted and danced, fanning the tall grasses and wildflowers as he continued his trek along the narrow country road. According to his map, the town of Hancock was ten miles from the little bridge he’d just crossed, a good thirty miles closer than the freeway exit he’d taken to reach the fishing spot a client had told him about. Spending a Saturday making long looping casts into a secluded stream had sounded like a fine idea when he’d been staring at the ceiling above his bed at 6:00 a.m. Five hours later, he almost wished he’d fought his insomnia with a run along the shore of Lake Michigan instead.

Almost.

The same edginess that had prompted his escape from the city still stirred in his gut. He’d had to get out. Get away. The need had felt too urgent to question. He wasn’t even questioning it now. It had been there ever since he’d left last night’s celebration dinner—a dinner given in his honor—and still hadn’t quite eased.