Pamela Browning - Heard It Through The Grapevine

“Stop it,” Gina hissed at Josh

“Stop what?” Josh asked, putting on an expression that was pure fake.

“There are no cameras here the way there were on the show. You don’t have to pretend.” Thank goodness the aspirin was kicking in. The throbbing in her head had subsided to a dull ache.

“Pretend? Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“And what am I pretending?” His eyes took on a devilish gleam as he treated himself to a long, languorous lick of ice cream. A runnel of it dripped down his wrist and Gina imagined licking it off. She made herself look away.

“That you—that you…” Words failed her. She averted her eyes, no longer angry. She was exhausted, though. Anger could do that to a person.

“That I’m fascinated by you,” he said simply….

Dear Reader,

Most of us, at one time or another, have been dumped by a guy we cared about. Me, too. It wasn’t in front of millions of people, as happened to Gina Angelini, the heroine of this book. But it still hurt.

Oh, you say. I remember what that’s like. It was awful.

I know, my friend. I know.

So there I was, after my own personal experience, watching one of those television reality shows where a handsome bachelor chooses one out of many fabulous women to continue a relationship. The choice was down to two. One was in love with him; the other didn’t seem to be. But guess who he chose? Not the one who loved him.

Afterward I felt so sorry for the one whose heart was broken, because I knew exactly how she felt. I started thinking, what if? What if this guy lives to regret his choice?

Thus the idea for Heard It Through the Grapevine was conceived. I wanted that girl to get the guy eventually, so that’s what happens to Gina. She goes home, gets on with her life and then…the man who dumped her turns up and wants to make amends.

In fiction we can right past wrongs. We can make things turn out happily ever after. That’s not always true of real life, but guess what? It happens sometimes.

You know the guy who broke up with me? I eventually married him. Yes, really. And when I watched the TV show that gave me the idea for this book, he was right there beside me. He said, “You could write a book about this.”

And I did.

With love and best wishes,

Pamela Browning

Heard it Through the Grapevine

Pamela Browning

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For Alix, the never-to-be-forgotten frog princess, with wishes for her present and future happiness; and for Bethany, with thanks for her technical advice.

Unlike her heroine in Heard It Through the Grapevine, Pamela Browning has never been on a reality-TV show, but she once was a contestant on Jeopardy!

She divides her time between homes in Florida and the North Carolina mountains, but enjoys visiting her relatives in California’s Napa Valley once or twice a year.

Pam invites you to visit her Web site at www.pamelabrowning.com.

HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

854—BABY CHRISTMAS

874—COWBOY WITH A SECRET

907—PREGNANT AND INCOGNITO

922—RANCHER’S DOUBLE DILEMMA

982—COWBOY ENCHANTMENT

994—BABY ENCHANTMENT

1039—HEARD IT THROUGH THE GRAPEVINE

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

The last tourist bus had lumbered out of the Good Thymes parking lot, and Gina Angelini narrowed her eyes at the broad-shouldered guy lurking behind the display of dried sunflowers. At first she thought that maybe he’d missed the bus, but a glance out the window revealed a snazzy BMW parked under the olive tree. It shouldn’t be there. That morning she had posted a neatly lettered sign on the front door notifying customers that her herb shop was closing early today.

“Ah-choo!”

The man’s sneeze startled her so that she almost dropped the tray of dried rosemary that she was removing from the sales floor. “Bless you,” she said distractedly before carefully setting the tray down beside the cash register.

“Thank you,” said her last customer. He emerged slowly from behind the sunflowers and favored her with a brilliant smile. Gina felt her jaw drop, and she grasped the edge of the counter for support. She knew this man. She knew him only too well. But what was he doing in Good Thymes? And two years after he’d dumped her?

“Get out,” she said as soon as she regained her voice. Unfortunately, this wasn’t before she registered that broad chest, those wide shoulders, the blue eyes that sparkled in pleasure as he gave her a quick and appreciative once-over.

He cocked a skeptical eyebrow and stuck his hands deep in his pockets as he leaned against a table holding vases of lavender. “So, Gina, I guess you still love me,” he said.

She charged toward him past the goldenseal, the chamomile, the valerian. A pot of chives sat close at hand, and she could have thrown it at him. Instead she showed remarkable restraint, considering that he’d humiliated her in front of millions of people on national TV.

“Wrong,” she said. “It’s not the first misjudgment you’ve made, either.”

“I had my reasons for choosing Tahoma,” he said. “Maybe you’d like to hear them.” It didn’t help that he looked as if he’d stepped right out of Gentleman’s Quarterly. The blazer was Armani, Gina was sure, and his Italian leather loafers were polished to a high gloss.

She turned her back on him with all the determination she could muster, considering that she didn’t trust him not to pounce. There was a certain tigerish quality contained in Joshua Corbett’s well-groomed, well-mannered personage, which was probably why he’d been chosen to be Mr. Moneybags on the reality-TV show. That’s where Gina had met him, thanks to her overzealous cousin Rocco, who had submitted her name to a contestant search unbeknownst to her.

“I don’t want to hear anything you have to say,” she said, stalking back to the cash register and taking refuge behind the counter. She’d never thought she’d set eyes on him again, and though she never let him know it, she was seriously rattled, so much so that she was trembling.

“Maybe you should,” he said mildly. “It might be a good idea to have this conversation outside, if you don’t mind.” He sneezed again.

“I don’t love you, I don’t like you, and what are you doing here in the Napa Valley, anyway?” It seemed like a logical question, since he used to live in Boston.

“I happened to be in the neighborhood and came to see if you’re married and have a couple of kids,” he said, moving closer and hitching himself onto a stool nearby.

“She isn’t married, and that’s why she doesn’t have children,” said a little voice from beneath the counter. A curly red head popped up. The moppet to whom it belonged stared at him curiously for a moment before breaking into a wide gap-toothed grin.