Melinda Curtis - A Marriage Between Friends

As Vince approached, his gaze drifted over her.

“You, too.” She didn’t have to tell Vince he looked better than great. He probably knew it. She could imagine the babes roaming Vegas fell regularly at his feet.

He held her immobile with his dark gaze as he continued to narrow the gap between them. She could barely remember her own name, much less his. She wanted to put up her guard, but she couldn’t lift a finger. And her feet…her feet weren’t moving either.

He wasn’t stopping. Her heart thudded against her chest.

Long arms reached for her. Settled on her shoulders and drew her to him.

Don’t, don’t, don’t, don’t…

Dear Reader,

I first met Vince in Count on Love. He was angry and impetuous, and caused a lot of grief to my other characters—a bad boy in need of his comeuppance! I fell in love and began devising his romantic demise. But he was a bad boy and didn’t want to be tamed; not by me, not by his grandfather and certainly not by his long-lost wife, Jill.

And Jill? Jill is so used to staying the course—alone—that having an overbearing man around (much less an overbearing husband!) who interferes with every aspect of her life and makes her feel things she’d resolved never to feel again…well, it’s not right. She’s determined to thwart Vince at every turn, even if she and Vince were friends in school before she let him talk her into a marriage they never got around to consummating.

I hope you enjoy Jill and Vince’s journey. I love to hear from readers, either via snail mail, P.O. Box 150, Denair, CA 95316, or at my Web site, www.MelindaCurtis.com, which is full of fun trivia and monthly contests.

Happy reading!

Melinda Curtis

Melinda Curtis lives in Northern California with her husband, three kids, two Labradors, two cats and a circle of friendly neighbors who eagerly weigh in on everything from the best way to cut your lawn to the best haircut for a fourth grader—just what good friends are for!

To the patient ones in my life—my dh, my cat and

my editor. Good things come to those who wait!

And to the dreamers in my life—

Mason, Colby and Chelsea. It’s good to dream big.

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

THE THING ABOUT RELYING only on yourself was that you had no one else to blame when things went wrong.

Vince Patrizio downshifted his Porsche 911 and hugged another hairpin turn in the California gold country. This bend in the road didn’t bring Railroad Stop into view, either. Why am I not surprised?

His GPS didn’t work in the uncharted territory at the foot of the mountains and he was unable to get a solid signal on his cell phone. He was late, lost and about to lose an important deal, one that would most likely cost him his inheritance.

Vince cursed and shifted into a higher gear, the force cocooning him deeper into the cradle of fine German leather that felt as welcoming as a well-paid stripper’s back-room embrace. The car shot over a sharp rise, startling a deer next to the road. Luckily the doe ran away and down into a ravine, instead of into Vince’s path.

He took a deep breath and slowed the car. It was a beautiful early-September afternoon and the narrow ribbon of road beckoned, promising he’d end up somewhere, if not exactly where he wanted to be.

The story of my life.

He’d always been a runner-up, never a winner. Born to wealth but part of a dysfunctional family, left by his wife on their wedding night, what would Vince do but screw up if faced with success and happiness?

That was his grandfather talking. Because of a card game, his grandfather had agreed to stake Vince, but only if he could put a deal together in a year. Aldo Patrizio expected Vince to fail. And for ten months Vince had been doing just that.

Vince cursed again. He jammed his foot down on the accelerator and attacked another turn.

Red lights flashed in his rearview mirror. A siren screamed.

“Now that’s par for the course,” Vince mumbled as he coasted into one more curve before pulling over onto the narrow shoulder beneath an ancient oak tree, hoping the sheriff was as good at giving directions as he was speeding tickets.

“THIS MEETING IS ADJOURNED.” Jill Tatum Patrizio had never been so happy to raise her gavel. Railroad Stop was safe.

“No!” Arnie Eagle grabbed the mayor’s symbol of power mid-stroke, his tan fingers brushing hers.

Instinctively Jill let go of the gavel, relinquishing it to her political rival.

Why did a man’s touch still rattle her after all this time?

Laughter rippled through the standing-room-only crowd at the community center, bringing Jill back to the present. Her cheeks heated. She stood and stepped back from the old warped table.

The city councilman’s gaze remained fixed speculatively on Jill even as he said, “We’re still waiting for our guest speaker.”

That was where Jill had him. Arnie couldn’t say they were still waiting for the tribe’s venture capitalist to show up. That would be admitting a conflict of interest with his position on the city council.

More than aware of some three hundred Railroad Stop residents and her own son watching them, Jill lifted her chin and connected with Arnie’s hard gaze. She would never support a casino in this isolated town. Railroad Stop was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone else and it was impossible not to feel at ease.

“I’m sorry, Arnie,” she said. “We’ve rearranged the city council’s agenda for you twice already. This town needs us to act to revive our economy. Since the Amador Tribal Council still lacks financing for its casino, the gated-vacation-home project will most likely garner our support. This meeting is over.”

Voices filled the air. People rose to their feet. Arnie’s Native American cronies began to circle him, but Jill could still feel his eyes on her. Other attendees stood and chatted or ambled out to clog the aisles. It seemed everyone but Jill was reluctant to leave, an indicator that Jill’s phone would ring off the hook with calls from citizens both for and against the casino come Monday morning.

Eager to make an exit, Jill managed to reach Teddy, her ten-year-old son, and Edda Mae, her former boss and mentor. They inched their way through the throng. Edda Mae tapped a woman’s shoulder with a sun-mottled, wrinkled hand and asked if they could squeeze past her. They were halfway up the side aisle and still had the rear of the room to cross.

“I would’ve liked to hear what Arnie’s man had to say,” Edna Mae said.

“Not me,” Teddy piped up. “Grown-up speeches are boring, especially Mom’s integer speech.”

“That’s integrity,” Jill corrected, edging around a particularly large gentleman engrossed in a heated discussion about the merits of a casino versus a vacation subdivision. “Don’t knock it. That’s what got me elected.”

“You were the only one who ran,” Edda Mae said.

“That doesn’t mean no one else cares,” Jill grumbled, bumped from behind by someone.