Rebecca Winters - Miracle for the Girl Next Door / Mother of the Bride - Miracle for the Girl Next Door

HERE COME THE BRIDES!

Two spirited women…

Two proud men…

Two shared pasts…

Prepare to be swept away

with rekindled love and wedding bells in:

MIRACLE FOR THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

by Rebecca Winters

MOTHER OF THE BRIDE

by Caroline Anderson

She thought she’d left her past behind…

until it led her down the aisle!

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Rebecca Winters,whose family of four children has now swelled to include five beautiful grandchildren, lives in Salt Lake City, Utah, in the land of the Rocky Mountains. With canyons and high Alpine meadows full of wild flowers, she never runs out of places to explore. They, plus her favourite vacation spots in Europe, often end up as backgrounds for her Mills & Boon® Romance novels, because writing is her passion, along with her family and church.

Rebecca loves to hear from her readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her website at www.cleanromances.com

To my one and only darling daughter Dominique Jessop, who recently signed her first book contract with Harlequin. Her study experience abroad in Siena, Italy, has caused her to become a lover of all things Italian, just like her mother. With her input on Limoncello, my Mills & Boon® Romance novel MIRACLE FOR THE GIRL NEXT DOOR has been enriched.

CLARA ROSSETTI had started to descend the steep, narrow steps between the ancient buildings of the hillside town when she heard a deep male voice behind her say, “Hey, Bella—how many men have told you you’re a remarkably beautiful woman?”

His seductive delivery had been spoken in the local Italian dialect and had a slightly familiar ring. But Clara assumed he had to be talking to some other female making her way down to the Piazza Gaspare below.

Picking up her pace, she moved across the busy square to the bus stop where she would catch her bus. It would be the last one of the day. Timing was everything when she felt this tired. Once back at the farm she would eat a light dinner and go to bed. Tomorrow she’d feel better.

Footsteps were gaining on her. “Clarissima—surely you haven’t forgotten!”

A quiet gasp escaped her throat followed by a burst of joy.

Tino.

After nine years’ absence her best friend from childhood was back? Valentino Casali was the only person in the world who’d ever called her Clarissima—a combination of Clara and bellissima. Clara had often thought it a joke since from adolescence she had been a chubby girl who’d grown into a heavy young woman. That was the curse of all the Rossettis.

She turned around to stare into the flashing dark brown eyes of Europe’s most eligible playboy, but to Clara he represented her exclusive partner in all the craziness of their years growing up. When they’d both turned eighteen and he’d left Monta Correnti, his departure had left a void no one else had ever filled.

Since then he’d become Italy’s poster boy, a wealthy, world-renowned adventurer and playboy whose photos appeared in the tabloids on a regular basis. He was constantly on the cover of Italy’s hottest celebrity gossip magazine.

“No, I haven’t forgotten,” she said in a husky voice. Clara had seen him through every stage of his youth, from incorrigible rascal to outrageously handsome teen. His intelligence and daring had distinguished him from all the other guys in the region, leaving an indelible mark. To her he’d always been the picture of precious life itself. Her heart groaned in response to that undeniable reality. “How are you, Valentino?”

Her question seemed to bring him up short, as if he were expecting something else from her while he stared into her eyes. “Better now that I’ve caught up with my oldest friend.”

Delight filled her system to hear him acknowledge it. He might belong to the world now, but those early years she could claim for herself.

After he had kissed her on both cheeks, his narrowed gaze traveled over her classic features as if trying to reconcile the changes that had taken place since she’d grown up and become the slender, five-foot-four woman who’d shed the excess weight she had carried when younger.

“Friend, you say?” she teased. “Whatever happened to the postcards and gifts from the four corners of the world you were going to send me? I don’t recall your carrying out any of those periodic visits you once promised to make.”

He gave an elegant shrug of his broad shoulders clothed in an expensive-looking open-necked cream sport shirt and jeans. His index finger trailed across her lips, a gesture that appeared as automatic to him as breathing, but he’d never touched her like that in their lives. A shock wave traveled through her body.

“I meant to do it all. You know that,” he whispered, always the charmer. The man oozed a sensuality that would be lethal for the many women clamoring for his exclusive attention.

She flashed him a wan smile, struggling to recover from her reaction to his touch. “I do know. Your good intentions could pave the road to heaven.” Their history went back too far for there to be misunderstandings. In truth Clara could never be angry with the Valentino she remembered—the one who’d always been kind and caring despite his devil-may-care attitude.

From an early age on, the local ragazzi had made their typical remarks about her and her younger sister Bianca for being fat, but Valentino had never joined the chorus. That was probably because he’d never looked at her in the man/woman way. They might have been joined at the hip, but he’d had far more important things on his mind than Clara Rossetti.

Having been born in this quiet little mountain village between Rome and Naples, he’d put Monta Correnti on the map. His fame had brought the tourists, as well as a few celebrities from various parts of the world who’d chosen to live here, but there was no question that the heartthrob Formula 1 race-car driver who made his home in Monaco was the most famous celebrity of all.

Valentino cocked his attractive head. She noted he needed a shave, yet it only added to his virility. In the last nine years, he’d become a man in every sense of the word and so gorgeous she could hardly breathe.

“Are you aware you bear a superficial resemblance to Catherine Zeta-Jones? Only younger, of course.”

Clara preferred not to look like anyone else, but since film stars made up part of his world she had to assume he’d just bestowed a serious compliment on her. “No. I had no idea. Have you met her?”

He gave a slight nod. “You’re much more beautiful.” His white smile faded and he stared at her with increasing intensity. “What happened to your long hair?”

The hair she’d foolishly hoped would hide the rest of her?

Surprised he’d noticed, let alone changed the subject so fast, she said, “This April has been warmer than usual. Besides, I was due for a change.” Her silky hair, more black than brown, had become too difficult to deal with recently so she’d had it cut in a jaw-length style that fell straight from a center part.