Mary Leo: For Better or Cursed

Dear Reader,

When I was seventeen, I fell in love with a rogue. You know the type of guy I mean, all sweet talk but little commitment. Somewhere during my senior year in high school my rogue asked me to marry him. Unable to see the inevitable future, I said yes, and after months of hot-and-heavy, he said, “I need to go out into the world and find myself…without you.” Devastated, I vowed never to date again. Then I fell for another rogue, then another and another, until I thought for sure I was incurable.

Which brings us to Rudy Bellafini—the rogue poster boy. Although he’s totally fiction, he’s totally real to me and with my slightly quirky Italian heritage, it’s no wonder there’s a curse involved.

I’m not attracted to rogues anymore, just like I’m not attracted to expensive clothes and chocolate truffles.

Yeah, right!

Best,

Mary Leo

P.S. Please come visit me on my Web site at www.maryleo.net. We’ll talk some more.

Her sister Gina had picked out the semi-designer creation and Mrs. Crocetti had discounted the dress for good luck. All was good.

“Let’s take a second and hit the highlights.” Gina’s words made Cate stop before she left the room. “You’re doing this revenge wedding because—”

“Because I don’t want anything bad to happen to any other guy I may be interested in.”

“And?”

“And this is the only way to break the curse. He jilted me ten years ago.”

“And?”

“And because my last fiancé nearly choked to death on a cannoli.”

“Makes perfect sense to me, but are you happy?”

“No.”

“Great. Everything’s as it should be.”

Aunt Flo burst into the room. “What’s the holdup, dolls? We got over a hundred people down there waiting for the bride. So are you going to walk down those stairs or are you going to jilt him now?”

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For Better or Cursed is Mary Leo’s follow-up novel to Stick Shift. She’s had careers as a salesgirl in Chicago, a cocktail waitress and keno runner in Las Vegas, a bartender in Silicon Valley and a production assistant in Hollywood. She has recently given up her career as an IC layout engineer to pursue her constant passion: writing romance.

Mary now lives in Pennsylvania with her husband and new puppy.

To: Janet Wellington, for her endless energy;

Maureen Child, because she keeps me sane;

Cheryl Howe and Crystal Green, for their continued

encouragement; Holly Jacobs, who answers all

my lame questions; Rick, because he’s rational

when I’m not; and most of all to Kathryn Lye,

the best editor a girl could have.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

There’s a belief on Taylor Street in Chicago’s Little Italy that if a man jilts a woman after a proposal of marriage, then her love life is forever cursed…unless, of course, the man returns so the woman can have her revenge.

RUDY BELLAFINI COULDN’T MOVE , at least not without agonizing pain, but as he lay in the snow, his skis pointing straight up in the air, a person stood over him snapping his picture.

“What the…?” Rudy said as he spit snow and debris out of his mouth, angry over the amateur paparazzo with the disposable camera.

“Don’t worry about a thing, Mr. Bellafini.” Click… “The ambulance is on its way.” Click…click…click.

Rudy couldn’t believe this chick. Did she have no shame?

“Come on. I’m a mess here. Could you stop with the pictures?” Rudy pleaded, and held up a hand to block the camera’s focus.

Click… “Sorry, honey, but I thought guys like you loved this kind of stuff. Besides, it’s an even trade. I called the ambulance. You owe me,” she purred.

“I owe you? I’m lying here next to death and I owe you for calling an ambulance?”

“It’s about giving something back.”

“That would mean that I took something from you, which I didn’t because I don’t know you. Do I?”

Click…

“Stop taking—” Rudy mumbled, but the chick wouldn’t give it up.

As Rudy dropped back in the snow, completely defeated, a curious memory drifted into his consciousness. A memory he thought he had successfully tucked away forever.

“Stop taking my picture,” Rudy chided.

“I want to remember this when you’re rich and famous,” Cate said as she snapped several pictures of Rudy’s face. They leaned up against the far wall in the back of his father’s closed restaurant, teasing each other with kisses and laughter as a snowstorm howled right outside their door.

“You make me crazy,” he said right before he kissed her gently on her full, wet lips.

“We came here for food,” she taunted. “You told me that your dad left us a couple sandwiches.”

“You are my food,” he whispered between playful kisses.

She snapped another picture.

“I’m the one who’s hungry. Not you. You ate like a pig today,” she told him.

“I’m hungry for you,” he said, not believing the words that came tripping out of his own mouth. All he knew at that exact moment was that he wanted her, right then, right there, and nothing could stop him. Her hair smelled like the rain, her skin tasted as sweet as sugar and her full breasts were softer than he had ever imagined. He had unbuttoned her sweater, and slipped her camisole off one shoulder to reveal her breast and now he couldn’t keep his hands or his mouth away from her body.

“I thought you were in so much pain you couldn’t move,” she told him.

“I was, until you gave me that back and shoulder massage. I thought I wouldn’t be able to ski again for the rest of the season. Then you came along. Did anybody ever tell you that you have the magic touch?”

“You’re the first,” she said, smiling.

“We should get married,” he said after a deep kiss that sent a thrill through his entire body. He could feel her heat as she pressed up against him, leg twisted around his, arms surrounding his neck, his shirt undone so he could feel her breasts tickling his chest.

She pushed him back. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

He looked into her glistening brown eyes, saw that loving look on her sweet young face and answered a resounding, “Sure. Marry me, Cate Falco. Be mine forever. I’ll give you all the gold and diamonds in the world.”

“I don’t want all the gold and diamonds in the world. A single strand of white gold and diamonds would do just fine. But we’ve only been dating for three months.”

“Since when did dating-time have anything to do with marriage?”