Jennifer Rae - Confessions Of A Bad Bridesmaid

‘Stop apologising.’ Edward’s hands were shoved into his pockets and the collar of his grey coat was up.

‘What?’

‘You had a rough day. You drank too much champagne. It happens.’

‘But I … I …’ Threw myself at you. Tried to kiss you.

Heat rushed up and burned Olivia’s cheeks. As if someone like Edward would ever kiss her. She snuck a quick look at him. Today he was even taller and more handsome. Even more unattainable.

Stupid, stupid, Olivia , she berated herself. Always wishing for things she couldn’t have. Always falling for the wrong men. Not that she was falling for Edward. She just wanted to feel his skin. That wasn’t falling for him.

That was just lust. Hot, dirty lust.

Dear Reader

This story has been kicking about in my head for a long time. In the beginning I didn’t know it was a story. It was just a scene of a girl traipsing along a lonely country road in the cold, towing a tower of luggage, while a car crept up behind her. I didn’t know who she was, and for a long time I wondered where she was going.

But one day I was writing another story and this particular girl popped up in it. Suddenly I realised who she was—and where she was heading on that lonely road. I opened a blank page and started writing furiously. It was as if she had finally found a way out of my head and couldn’t wait to get onto the page.

I hope you enjoy meeting Olivia—a vulnerable little peacock with a tough shell—and Edward—the man strong enough to see through to her beauty inside.

These two people wanted me to tell you their story. So here it is. I hope you enjoy navigating through the maze of their love as much as I did.

Love

Jennifer Rae x

Confessions of a Bad Bridesmaid

Jennifer Rae

www.millsandboon.co.uk

JENNIFER RAE,a journalist and freelance writer for some of Australia’s leading lifestyle magazines, had written plenty of short stories in her teenage years, but it wasn’t until she received a commission to interview a couple of romance-writers for a feature article that she was introduced to the romance genre.

Finally the characters who had been milling around Jennifer’s head since her long years on the farm made sense and she realised it was time to start expanding her short stories into a book.

So with little more than a guidebook borrowed from the local library and a you-can-do-this attitude, Jennifer sat down to release her characters and write her first romance novel. No one was more surprised than Jennifer when her novel was picked up by Harlequin just a few weeks after typing The End.

Jennifer has spent the last twenty years travelling and living in the US and the UK but now calls Australia home.

This is Jennifer Rae’s debut novel for MODERN TEMPTED™ and is available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Mick, who never gave up.

Contents

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 Seventeeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Excerpt

ONE

It wasn’t just cold. It was bones-aching, tits-freezing cold. The white furry coat Olivia had purchased before she’d left home looked fabulous, but it was doing nothing to keep out the December winds that whistled along the rough country road she was now trudging down.

‘Five-hundred-dollar boots,’ she muttered as her cheetah print luggage got stuck in yet another muddy hole in the road. ‘F...’ she began, but the honk of a car horn behind her stopped the expletive coming out from between her hot-pink lips.

The road had been deserted for the last hour. Not one car or person had come along as she’d waded through the slush and ice. But this car now stopped behind her and waited. She didn’t look back but moved to the side of the narrow road so it could pass. But the car didn’t move and a prickle of fear spread over her shoulders and into her stomach.

‘Wonderful. Now I’m to be murdered on the side of the road. What a fabulous start to my holiday,’ she muttered into the wind.

Hopefully the killer would change his mind. Still, searching for an escape route seemed a sensible idea, so she anxiously swivelled her eyes to the sides of the road. The car crept up behind her again. Blood rushed to her head and burned her temples. She didn’t know what she was going to do. One thing she did know, though, was that when she found Edward Winchester she would kick him in his forgetful shins; then slap his inconsiderate face.

If he’d picked her up from the airport four hours ago she’d not be here, on a deserted road, in a foreign country, freezing and wondering how long it would take the authorities to find her dead, frozen corpse in the English countryside.

The car bleated another loud honk, which made her feet slip on the icy road. What did this bloke want? For her to turn around, plonk herself in his car and ask which way she should turn her head for the knife to slit best?

The tyres of the car crunched as it crawled up behind her and the heat of the lights warmed the backs of her thighs. Blood pumped furiously through her veins and her chest heaved violently. She stopped and turned slowly, desperately trying to channel her fear into anger. She screwed up her face as fiercely as possible and balled her fists, determined she wasn’t going down without a fight.

The car stopped and a figure stepped out from the driver’s seat. The tall man was draped in a grey coat and on his head sat a newsboy cap. Wrapped around his neck was a red plaid scarf, tied jauntily in a knot. He looked elegant and wealthy, and his car was an expensive sports-model-type. But not all murderers drive pick-up trucks, she reminded herself as her nails dug into her palms.

‘Get in.’ His voice was loud over the sound of the wind and it was gruff—angry, even.

He sounded like a man who was used to being obeyed. Well, not this time. Olivia turned swiftly and started to walk again, as fast as she was able with her tower of bags and her stupid high-heeled boots making her ankles groan.

She heard the car door slam and the engine rev before it sidled up next to her. She kept her eyes defiantly on the road ahead. The car was keeping up with her, with the driver’s side window now next to her. It came down a crack. Her heart felt as if it was about to explode in her chest.

‘Olivia Matthews. Get in the car.’

She turned at the use of her name and peered at the window. It was covered with ice. It came down another two inches.

‘It’s cold and we’re late. Get in.’ The voice was deep and very English and she didn’t recognise it at all. Not that she knew anyone here besides Will and Fiona.

‘Who are you?’

‘The Easter Bunny. Who do you think I am? I’m Edward. Get in.’

Edward. Edward Winchester. Who was supposed to have picked her up from the airport. Who had made her take the tube, then a bus, and then walk for an hour along a muddy country road looking for a house she’d never seen before.

‘About time.’ She let go of her bag and lifted both her arms, letting them slap down on her thighs in exasperation and relief. The boot opened with a pop and she hurried round to the back of the car. Her tired arms heaved the suitcase and two overnight bags into the boot.