Fiona Harper - Saying Yes to the Millionaire

Her heart seemed to have slowed to almost nothing and she could hear the rush of the river in her ears.

“You want me to be your partner?”

He jumped off the wall and stepped in front of her. For a moment she thought he was going to take her hands, but then he fidgeted, and stuffed them in his pockets. “Yes.”

“Why me?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “Because I think you’d be perfect.”

Inside her head she was screaming with frustration. How many times had she hoped to hear those words? But what he was asking her now wasn’t what she’d yearned for back then. He had no idea he’d ignited a painful and distant memory.

Four days with Josh. Once upon a time, she’d have thought that was heaven.

But it was only an hour since they’d met again, and she was getting all her signals crossed imagining there’d be moments and bolts from the blue and—heaven help her poor confused heart rate—kisses.

Four days would be far too much…and never enough.

Would your perfect wedding be in the spring, when flowers are starting to blossom and it’s the perfect season for new beginnings?

Or perhaps a balmy garden wedding, set off by a riot of color, making the summer bride glow with the joys of a happy future….

Do you dream of being a fall bride, walking down the aisle amid the dazzling reds and burnished golds of falling leaves?

Or of a winter wedding dusted with glistening white snowflakes, celebrated by the ringing of frosty church bells?

With Harlequin Romance ®you can have them all! And, best of all, you can experience the rush of falling in love with a gorgeous groom….

In April we celebrated spring with The Bride’s Baby by Liz Fielding

This month, enjoy the summer sun with Saying Yes to the Millionaire by Fiona Harper

Coming in September with crisp autumnal days: The Millionaire’s Proposal by Trish Wylie

Don’t miss:

Marry-Me Christmas

by Shirley Jump, out in December.

As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started elementary school Fiona found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.

Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavored. Of course she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up on tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.

For Kirsteen, my naughty little sister,

who has travelled the world and

bungee-jumped while I’ve just sat home

and day-dreamed about it.

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

‘NO, I CAN’T. I don’t think I can do this!’

Solid ground was a distant memory. Fern glanced down past her feet and a tidal wave of nausea crashed in her stomach. The Thames glittered in the June sun and London politely carried on about its business one hundred and fifty feet below her. Someone behind her muttered, ‘Is she going to jump or not?’

Not. Definitely not. Surely, if God had meant us to do this we’d have been born with lengths of elastic attached to our feet.

She gulped. Every muscle in her body had tightened itself into a dozen knots. She closed her eyes, but that just made things worse. The darkness magnified the dull roar of the traffic and the flap of the bungee cord as it swung in the faint breeze. Her body swayed.

No. She was not going to do this.

Her eyes snapped open and she twisted her head, opening her mouth to tell them it had all been a horrible mistake. But, before the sounds emerged from the back of her throat, a warm pair of hands steadied her on either side of her waist.

‘She’s all right. Aren’t you, Fern?’

Fern shook her head, but the squeak that finally made it out of her mouth sounded an awful lot like yes.

She caught a faint hint of aftershave as he moved closer, felt his breath as it tickled the fine tendrils of hair that had worked their way out of her ponytail and now curled in front of her ears.

‘You can do this.’ The voice sounded so warm and reassuring. ‘You know that, don’t you?’

For a second, Fern almost forgot where she was, high on a crane on the banks of the Thames. Almost forgot the crowd of onlookers and charity event organisers looking up at her from the hard concrete below. She recognised that voice!

Josh was here.

And he was right behind her, whispering words of encouragement into her ear. Her pulse didn’t know whether to speed up, slow down or stop altogether. But, bizarrely, she felt safe with him there, so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her back.

‘Yes,’ she whispered. This time, she half-believed her answer.

‘So…I’m going to count to three, and when I say go, you just allow yourself to fall.’

He had the most delicious voice. It seemed to curl and roll inside her ears. She got carried away just listening to the sounds, the individual syllables, forgetting the meaning of the words. And then suddenly she realised he was saying three.

‘But I—’

He didn’t shout; he said the next word so gently it was almost as if he’d just breathed out. ‘Go.’

And then she was falling, falling—the breath sucked so hard from her body that she couldn’t even scream.

Three days earlier…

‘No, thank you.’ Fern shook her head once, firmly, hoping Lisette would get the message. She should have known better. Her friend waved something slimy-looking on a fork in front of her face, so close she was going cross-eyed trying to focus on it.

‘Go on! Try it.’

‘Really, Lisette. No. I don’t like seafood.’

‘It’s squid. Hardly tastes of anything.’ The fork swayed in a hypnotising motion. ‘We’ve been coming to Giovanni’s once a month for the past year and each time you order exactly the same.’

Fern fended the squid-loaded cutlery off with her hand. ‘I like Pasta Neapolitana. It’s my favourite.’

Lisette threw her fork down on her plate. ‘It’s boring, that’s what it is.’

‘It’s nice. And I don’t run the risk of food poisoning if it hasn’t been cooked or stored properly.’

‘Spoken like a true Health and Safety specialist.’

Fern stabbed a pasta bow with her fork, put it in her mouth and chewed, all the time staring defiantly at her friend. Lisette was always poking fun at her job. She swallowed her mouthful and took a sip of wine. Not everybody could have an outlandish job like Lisette’s. And besides, her job might seem routine, but she helped people, kept them safe.