Emilie Rose - Pregnant on the Upper East Side? / The Billionaire in Penthouse B - Pregnant on the Upper East Side?

Keeping you up to date on all that goes onat Manhattan’s most elite address!

Our own Amanda Crawford wins the Dubious Award for Abstinence. She did what no other female New Yorker has ever done—resist TDH (aka tall, dark and handsome) Alex Harper. Once that gorgeous lawyer turns on the charm, women normally rush into his arms. But not Amanda. She put the heartthrob through his paces before she succumbed. It’s a match made in heaven, sources say. Alex has all the contacts Amanda’s fledgling party business needs and she’s the best there is to bring him the publicity he craves. But theirs is more than a business arrangement, according to 721’s ninth-floor residents who were kept up all night by their…work.

With Alex’s fine pedigree, no doubt Amanda’s parents will approve of her man—for the first time ever—but rumour has it she’s keeping mum on her love life. How’s that possible when she’s seeing Manhattan’s most eligible bachelor? And just how long will Love ‘em and Leave ‘em Harper stick around this time? Only time will tell…Some say we’ll know in nine months!

The Billionaire in Penthouse Bby Anna DePalo

Keeping you up to date on all that goes onat Manhattan’s most elite address!

Could it be that our resident lone wolf, Gage Lattimer, has found a mate? Sources say his new housekeeper has become a live-in…and more than a maid. Maybe that’s why the workaholic is keeping regular hours. And just who is the mysterious Jane Elliott? Nobody can turn up anything on the secretive housekeeper. But she’s apparently keeping Gage happy—with her skills. Cleaning skills, that is. But, really, Gage, she’s the hired help. Tsk-tsk. Then again, Gage has had more than his share of troubles. Let’s just say his reputation of late is less than sterling. Other rumours abound at 721. The latest is that the NYPD claim former resident Marie Endicott’s death was not a suicide. Is it possible dangerous doings claimed the life of that sweet young thing in our own building? Only one thing’s for certain: at 721 there’s always a heap of secrets and scandals!

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Bestselling Desire ™author and RITA ®Award finalist Emilie Roselives in her native North Carolina with her four sons and two adopted mutts. Writing is her third (and hopefully her last) career. She’s managed a medical office and run a home day-care, neither of which offers half as much satisfaction as plotting happy endings. Her hobbies include gardening and cooking (especially cheesecake). She is currently working her way through her own “Bucket List”, which includes learning to ride a Harley. She’s a rabid country music fan because she can find an entire book in almost any song. Letters can be mailed to: Emilie Rose, PO Box 20145, Raleigh, NC 27619, USA, or e-mail: EmilieRoseC@aol.com.

Dear Reader,

I adore Manhattan. But then who doesn’t? When I was offered the opportunity to work with some of my favourite Desire ™authors on a series set on Park Avenue, refusing never crossed my mind. The only thing more fun would be taking another trip to New York City—and that is definitely on my agenda.

For a laid-back southern girl there is nothing like the energy of the city that never sleeps. I love visiting places I’ve seen on TV or in the movies, like Times Square, Central Park and Ground Zero to name but a few. I’m sure my practice of smiling at everyone I pass marks me as a tourist, but so what? When I go to Manhattan I’m there to have fun, see the sights and yes, the people, and that brings a smile to my face that I can’t smother.

My only regrets: I haven’t managed to catch a Broadway play or get to a baseball game on my trips north. So look out New Yorkers. I’ll be back and I intend to hit both a Yankees and a Mets game—both just short train rides away—and catch a show or two. Keep your fingers crossed that I don’t sing a show tune on the way out of the theatre. Trust me, that would be bad.

Emilie

Starting over is never easy, but I’ve been fortunate to

have friends to help me through the transition.

You know who you are, and you have my infinite

gratitude for making the process as painless

as possible.

“Are you stalking me, Alex Harper? You’re an attorney. You should know better.” Amanda Crawford frowned at the too-handsome-for-his-own-good man standing beside the rows of mailboxes in her apartment building.

Alex feigned innocence. Badly. His coffee-brown eyes glinted with mischief, shooting off tiny gold flares in his irises, which in turn set off corresponding sparks below her navel. She clamped down on the unwelcome response.

He withdrew his hand from his black overcoat pocket and dangled a brass mailbox key in front of her. “I’m here to pick up Julia’s mail. It’s not all being forwarded to Max’s place, and since I was going to be in the neighborhood I offered to stop by.”

As excuses went, Amanda could almost accept that one. Julia, her former roommate, had married Alex’s best friend just over three months ago. But Amanda had been seeing far too much of Alex to believe mail call was his only motive for turning up at 721 Park Avenue on a Saturday night at the exact moment she returned to her apartment building. No matter where she went lately he managed to make an appearance.

“The post office makes change-of-address kits for exactly that purpose. I’ll send a few to Julia. Better yet, I’ll fill them out myself.”

Melting snowflakes glistened in Alex’s dark hair, and he stood close enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne. She’d always been a sucker for Calvin Klein MAN, especially when applied to a tall, wellbuilt body.

Stop it. You’re all business all the time now, remember?

No men to divert your focus. Especially not this man.

At five foot ten in her bare feet plus her three-inchheeled Stuart Weitzman ankle boots, she shouldn’t have had to look up at anyone not affiliated with professional basketball. But with Alex she did.

“I’ll take care of Julia’s mail since I still live here,” she insisted. “Besides, I have more upstairs.”

“I’ll come up and get it and deliver it when I meet them for dinner later.”

Walked right into that one, didn’t you, Amanda?

Disgusted by her slip, she turned and stalked across the marble-floored lobby toward the elevator. Henry the doorman sat in the center of the lobby behind his big mahogany desk, with the phone receiver pressed to his ear. She waved as she passed and his beady eyes followed her.

Alex kept pace beside her. “Why don’t you join us tonight?”

“No thanks. I’m busy.” Not exactly true. All she had planned was an evening of combing her accounts and trying to find the money to cover her most pressing bills, but she didn’t want to encourage Alex by accepting. Not that a womanizer like him apparently needed encouragement. She’d given him none and yet here he was. Again.

“When are you going to stop playing hard to get and go out with me, Amanda?”

“Never. And I’m not playing. I am hard to get. Impossible, in fact. So have a little pride and stop asking.” She stabbed the call button and caught Alex’s inspection in the ornate gold-rimmed mirror hanging on the Tiffany-box blue wall.