Kathleen O'Reilly - Midnight Resolutions

First published in 2001, KATHLEEN O’REILLYis an award-winning author of more than twenty romances, with more books on the way. Reviewers have been lavish in their praise, applauding her “biting humor,” “amazing storytelling” and “sparkling characters.” She lives in New York with her husband, two children and one indestructible goldfish. Please contact the author at kathleenoreilly@earthlink.net or by mail at PO Box 312, Nyack, NY 10960, USA.

Dear Reader,

A while back I noticed a trend in my stories. Unexpected love, unexpected places. My editor suggested a trilogy, and the Blaze ®senior editor came up with a grand title for it: WHERE YOU LEAST EXPECT IT.

In the first book, Hot Under Pressure , the characters meet on a crazy airplane flight. For Midnight Resolutions I focused on New Year’s Eve.

When I came up with the idea of a magical kiss on New Year’s, I knew I wanted to create two characters who needed to start over. It was only a matter of figuring out the why. With Ian and Rose, I found those two people. There was Ian, who knew what he needed to do, and was already on his journey. And then there was Rose, who didn’t have a clue…until she started to fall in love.

I hope you enjoy the story, and I hope your 2011 is bright, joyous and full of new beginnings.

Look for the next WHERE YOU LEAST EXPECT IT book soon. There’s this lake, and this hero who wants to be left alone…

Best wishes for the New Year!

Kathleen O’Reilly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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About the Author About the Author First published in 2001, KATHLEEN O’REILLY is an award-winning author of more than twenty romances, with more books on the way. Reviewers have been lavish in their praise, applauding her “biting humor,” “amazing storytelling” and “sparkling characters.” She lives in New York with her husband, two children and one indestructible goldfish. Please contact the author at kathleenoreilly@earthlink.net or by mail at PO Box 312, Nyack, NY 10960, USA.

Title Page Midnight Resolutions Kathleen O’Reilly www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Chapter Nineteen

Epilogue

Copyright

NEW YEAR’S EVE IN TIMES SQUARE. Ian Cumberland was done dwelling on last year’s miseries. Tonight was about new resolutions, new hopes, new opportunities. Cheerfully he stuffed his hands in his pockets and inhaled the crisp, seventeen-degree air. It was nearly midnight, and he was primed for the winds of change to blast open new doors. The neon carnival that was Times Square had seemed the ideal location—apparently it was also the ideal place for another two million huddled masses. They were huddled because those winds of change were blowing from the north at approximately thirty-five miles per hour. And not that he wanted to complain, but okay, those winds were freaking cold.

Noisemakers and plastic horns bleated in the air, riding over the upbeat tempo of the latest and greatest boy-band—greatest, that is, until they hit puberty or got involved in the latest sex scandal, whichever came first. No—no negativity. Not tonight.

Determined to make this work, Ian gave his senses free rein, marveling at all the tiny details he’d overlooked before. Ear-blasting sounds, a kaleidoscope of brilliant colors and a melting pot of smells. He took a deep breath of New York air—a million divergent perfumes, roasted chestnuts and strangely enough, honeysuckle.

Over the past year, he’d divided his life into two distinct periods. Prelayoff and postlayoff. Prelayoff ended precisely at 4:30 p.m. on February seventeenth. Then, Ian didn’t have the time to waste twelve hours standing around Times Square waiting for a giant multicolored orb to fall from the sky. Postlayoff, he still didn’t have the time, but now he had the will.

New Year’s at Times Square had been on his list of life to-dos since he was ten, waiting to be checked off. Prelayoff, he didn’t worry much about getting to Times Square. Postlayoff, he realized that life was not cooperative and orderly, and when you got the chance to have a once-in-a-lifetime moment, you just did it.

The night’s crowd was packed shoulder to shoulder. It was impossible to move, nearly impossible to breathe, and he found himself sharing the uncomfortably close personal space of a large group of awestruck foreigners who didn’t understand the common English vernacular: “You’re standing on my foot. Please move.”

As he took in the trolling lights and squinty-eyed police and happy, perky people, Ian waited patiently for something miraculous, something life-altering, something hopeful. But all he got was a trampled foot and a deafening horn in his ear.

Still he waited, colder, sober, and now thinking that perhaps he’d been a little wiser prelayoff when he had avoided Times Square like the plague.

Hell. On what planet had he actually thought this was a good idea? It didn’t matter that it was New Year’s Eve, Times Square, nearly midnight. In the end, he wasn’t an investment banker anymore; he was an employment counselor, and a lunatic one at that.

Beckett had told him it was stupid. Told him that nobody froze their ass off in New York in January when they could stay home and have a decent party, guzzle champagne and watch the ball drop from the confines of a well-insulated apartment. And of course, it was at that moment that Ian had looked his best friend square in the eye and launched into his winds of change spiel: new beginnings, living life—doing it right.

And there, crushed amidst two million other cockeyed optimists, he felt a killer wind shoot through him, the truth dawning with frigid clarity.

Ian was a sap. Time to pack in the New Year, accept what he had and trudge onward. Life was what it was, and nothing—not even a few mind-shattering hours in the center of the universe—was going to change it.

Feeling all sorts of foolish, he turned, starting toward the relative tranquility of the subway, because somewhere out there, his sanity and his friends were waiting. Before he managed another step, a pull at his arm knocked him off balance. Ian whirled, prepared to tell the jerkwad—foreign relations be damned—to quit touching him. But then he stopped—

Stared.

Gawked, actually.

Gorgeous.

She was honeysuckle in the flesh. She looked like it, smelled like it and damn, he wanted to know if she tasted like it, as well. His body shocked to life, filled, throbbed.

Hello, winds of change.

Watercolor-blue eyes were panicked and filled with worry. Warm, tawny hair streaked with gold spilled from her knitted cap.