Sara Craven - Weddings Collection

Weddings Collection

His Runaway Bride

Liz Fielding

The Bride Wore Blue Jeans

Marie Ferrarella

How to Marry a Billionaire

Ally Blake

The Bridal Chase

Debra D’Arcy

His Bid for a Bride

Carole Mortimer

The Tycoon’s Virgin Bride

Sandra Field

The English Aristocrat’s Bride

Sandra Field

Bride of Desire

Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Cover

Title Page Weddings Collection His Runaway Bride Liz Fielding The Bride Wore Blue Jeans Marie Ferrarella How to Marry a Billionaire Ally Blake The Bridal Chase Debra D’Arcy His Bid for a Bride Carole Mortimer The Tycoon’s Virgin Bride Sandra Field The English Aristocrat’s Bride Sandra Field Bride of Desire Sara Craven www.millsandboon.co.uk

His Runaway Bride His Runaway Bride Liz Fielding

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

The Bride Wore Blue Jeans

DEDICATION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

LETTER TO READER

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

EPILOGUE

How to Marry a Billionaire

DEDICATION

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

The Bridal Chase

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

His Bid for a Bride

PROLOGUE

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

EPILOGUE

The Tycoon’s Virgin Bride

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

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The English Aristocrat’s Bride

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Bride of Desire

All about the author… Sara Craven

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

His Runaway Bride

Liz Fielding

“I’m so sorry, Mike—”

“I’m so sorry, Willow—”

They both spoke at the same time.

Willow frowned. “What are you apologizing for, Mike? I’m the one who left you standing at the altar. Was it awful?” she asked. “Did my mother have hysterics?”

“I don’t know, because I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there,” Mike repeated.

“What?” Her breath was coming in tiny little gasps as what he was saying finally sank in. “You did it too, didn’t you?” She felt almost dizzy with relief. “We both ran out on our wedding!”

‘DON’T go.’ Mike kept his arm around her, holding her close. ‘I love it when I wake up and you’re the first thing I see.’

Willow loved that, too. Loved waking with her cheek pressed against his chest, his arm around her, his corn-coloured hair flopping over his forehead. Loved him. And nestling against him in the dark, his kisses tempting her to stay put and damn the consequences made it hard to be strong.

Getting out of a warm bed to drive home late on a Sunday evening was not top of her ‘fun-to-do’ list, any more than it was Mike’s. Which was why she always found some pressing reason to drive to his place, rather than have him pick her up. With her own car parked outside, she didn’t have to make a big deal of it.

‘Sorry, sweetheart.’ She stirred, kissed him and then forced herself to get out of bed. ‘If I stay, I’ll have to get up at dawn and dash across town to change for work. Mondays are stressful enough, without that.’

‘You should bring a change of clothes with you.’ He propped himself up on an elbow and watched her. ‘Keep some stuff here. That’d beat the stress.’

It wasn’t the first time Mike had suggested this, but Willow was having none of it. She’d handled the toothbrush issue by buying a little travelling set, with a folding toothbrush and a mini tube of toothpaste, easily stored in her capacious shoulder bag, along with a clean pair of knickers and a spare pair of tights. She was a journalist, she reasoned, and had to be prepared for any eventuality. Even on a regional rag like the Chronicle.

Leaving clothes at his place was much more serious. The edges of their relationship would become blurred. She’d become too accessible. Before she knew it she’d be there more often than she was at home and he’d be taking her for granted. Expecting her to take on the routine domestic duties because she was there. Because she was female. She’d seen it happen a dozen times.

‘It wouldn’t help. I have to feed Rasputin and Fang.’ She grabbed his bathrobe and headed for the shower. Her two needy goldfish, won by Mike at a visiting fair, were worth their weight in fish food.

‘Bring the fish, too,’ he called after her. ‘I’ll build an extension and you can bring your entire collection of cuddly toys, if you like.’

‘When I’m here, sweetheart, I prefer to cuddle you.’ She turned on the shower and then peered around the bathroom door. ‘And an extension would look very peculiar on a second-floor flat.’

He swung himself out of bed, followed her into the bathroom, putting his hand into the water to check the temperature. ‘It’s the thought that counts.’

‘Is that right?’

‘You can even bring those horrible wind chimes with the tubes like a church organ.’ Then he said, ‘Move over. Or had you forgotten about the water-saving campaign you’re running in the paper?’ This was no way to get home before dawn, Willow thought. But she moved over, hoping to avoid too much tempting physical contact. ‘What more can I say?’ Mike asked, squeezing some gel into his palm, smoothing it over her back. A whole lot more, she thought, as his hands sapped her will to the point that she had to bite back a groan of pure pleasure. ‘Bring everything. Move in here with me.’ She held her breath, waiting, but he’d apparently finished. That was it.