Merline Lovelace - The Duke's New Year's Resolution / Quade's Babies - The Duke's New Year's Resolution

The Duke’s New Year’s Resolution by Merline Lovelace

“Do you remember asking me if Italians make New Year’s resolutions?”

His face cast in shadows, Marco reached up to tuck a wayward strand behind Sabrina’s ear.

“I do. And as I recall, you said that was an all-American tradition.”

“I’ve decided to make one tonight.”

She had to smile at his solemn expression. “Want to tell me what it is?”

“It’s you, Sabrina mia .”

As if consumed by the need to touch her, Marco drew his fingertips across her cheek, brushed her lips, cupped her chin. “I know we agreed to move one step at a time. I know I’m pushing when I should be patient. But I’ve resolved to do whatever I can, whatever I must, to keep you in Italy. And in my heart.”

Sheer surprise took her breath away.

Quade’s Babies by Brenda Jackson

“I have no intention of marrying you.”

“You might want to think this through carefully,” Quade cautioned.

“There is nothing to think about. I have no plans to get married, especially to you. I don’t even know you.”

“Then I suggest you get to know me. Like it or not, I don’t intend for you or our children not to carry my name.”

“My babies and I have a name. Steele. Thank you very much for your offer, but we don’t need another one. I happen to like the one we have.”

“And I happen to like the name Westmoreland for you and our babies better.”

“Too bad,” she snapped.

“No, too good,” he replied.

And too late, Cheyenne thought, when she noticed his gaze had zeroed in on her mouth.

by

by

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

by

A retired Air Force officer, Merline Lovelaceserved at bases all over the world, including tours in Taiwan, Vietnam and at the Pentagon. When she hung up her uniform for the last time, she decided to combine her love of adventure with her flair for storytelling, basing many of her tales on her experiences in the service.

Since then, she’s produced more than seventy-five action-packed novels, many of which have made the bestseller lists. Over nine million copies of her works are in print in thirty-one countries. Named Oklahoma’s Writer of the Year and the Oklahoma Female Veteran of the Year, Merline is also a recipient of Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA® Award.

When she’s not glued to her keyboard, she and her husband enjoy travelling and chasing little white balls around the fairways of Oklahoma. Check her website at www.merlinelovelace.com for news, contests and information about upcoming releases.

Be sure to watch for The Executive’s Valentine Seduction , coming next month from Mills & Boon® Desire™.

Dear Reader,

Did you ever stumble on a place that just took your breath away? My husband and I did when we drove down from Rome and meandered along Italy’s Amalfi Coast with two of our best friends. I’ll never forget my first view of Positano, with its colourful villas stair-stepping down a steep hillside to the achingly blue Mediterranean Sea. Like the heroine of this book, I was completely blown away.

I knew I had to write a story set in that fascinating locale someday, and when I started plotting this series, the Amalfi Coast leapt instantly to mind. So sit back, sip a glass of limoncello if you can find it, and celebrate the New Year with a hunky duke in one of the most glorious spots on earth.

All my best,

Merline Lovelace

To our travelling buds, Sue & Pat,

who shared the glories of the Amalfi Coast with us

despite the knuckle-biting roads and one sprained

ankle. Next stop—the Pyramids! And very special

thanks to Elizabeth Jennings, doyen of Italy’s fabulous

Women’s Fiction Festival and the kind, patient fellow

author who straightened out my mangled Italian.

Sabrina Russo got only a few seconds’ warning before disaster struck.

The powerful roar of a vehicle rounding the hairpin curve behind her carried clearly on the late December air. Cursing, she kicked herself for parking her rental car in a turnout a good ten yards back. The roads on this portion of Italy’s Amalfi coast were narrow and treacherous at best. Walls of sheer rock hedged the pavement on one side, thousand-foot drops on the other. But, like the worst kind of numbnuts tourist, she’d had to leave the protection of the turnout and inch along this narrow, pebble-strewn verge to snap a picture of the colorful village spilling down the steep mountainside to the blue-green Mediterranean below.

The slick leather soles of her boots provided only marginal traction as she scrambled back toward the turnout. She was still trying to reach its protective guardrail when a flame-red Ferrari convertible swept around the curve.

Sabrina caught a glimpse of the driver—just a glimpse. Her frantic mind registered dark hair, wide shoulders encased in a buckskin-tan-colored jacket, and a startled expression on a face so strong and chiseled it might have been sculpted by Michelangelo. Then the Ferrari was aiming right for her.

“Hey!”

Yelping, she leaped back. She knew she was in trouble when her left boot heel came down on empty air. Faced with the choice of throwing herself forward, under the Ferrari’s tires, or toppling down the steep precipice behind her, she opted for the tumble.

She didn’t fall far, but she hit hard. The cell phone she’d been using to shoot the photos flew out of her hands. A rocky outcropping slammed into her hip. Her gray wool slacks and matching, hip-length jacket protected her from the stony, serrated edges. The wool provided little buffer, however, when she crashed into a stunted, wind-tortured tree that clung to the cliffside with stubborn tenacity.

Pain shot from her ankle to her hip in white-hot waves. The achingly blue Mediterranean sky blurred around the edges.

“Signorina! Signorina! Mi sente?”

A deep, compelling voice pierced the gray haze. Sabrina fought the agony shooting through her and turned her head.

“Ecco, brava. Apra gli’ occhi.”

Slowly, so slowly, a face swam into view.

“Wh—what happened?”

“ Siete …” He gave a quick shake of his head and shifted to flawless English. “You fell from the road above. Luckily, this cypress broke your descent.”

Sabrina blinked, and a twisted tree trunk came into focus. Its thin branches and silvery-green leaves formed a backdrop for the face hovering over her. Even dazed and confused, she felt its sensual impact.

The man was certifiably gorgeous! Whiskers darkened his cheeks and strong, square chin. His mouth could tempt a saint to sin, and Sabrina was certainly no candidate for canonization. His short, black hair had just a hint of curl, and his skin was tanned to warm oak.

But it was his eyes that mesmerized her. Dark and compelling, they stared into hers. For an absurd moment, she had the ridiculous notion he was looking into her soul.

Then more of her haze cleared and she recognized the driver of the Ferrari. Anger spiked through her, overriding the pain.

“You almost hit me!”

She planted a hand against the tree trunk and tried to sit up. The attempt produced two immediate reactions. The first was a searing jolt that lanced from her ankle to her hip. The second was a big hand splayed against her shoulder, accompanied by a sharp order.