Barbara Daly - You Call This Romance!? - You Call This Romance!? / Are You For Real

Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #69

Popular Barbara Daly serves up a delightful Double Duets this month featuring the smart, sexy, sassy Sumner sisters, Faith and Charity. The Telegraph Herald says this about Barbara’s books. Look for “…a delicious blend of humor, seduction and romance as refreshing as a day in New England.”

Duets Vol. #70

Cheryl Anne Porter returns with the second book in her humorous miniseries A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE DELIVERY ROOM. This talented writer always delivers “a funny ride—a roller coaster of fun and adventure.” Joining her is Silhouette author Kate Thomas with a neat premise. What does an overburdened working woman need these days? A stay-at-home “wife!”—in the form of the sexy, ever helpful hero!

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

You Call this Romance!?

Are You for Real?

Barbara Daly

www.millsandboon.co.uk

You Call this Romance!? You Call this Romance!?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

Are You for Real?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Epilogue

It occurred to her that she could talk about her stress to Cabot and at the same time take the first step toward her goal of seduction.

He nodded, a font of wisdom in a navy blazer. “You’ve lost so many jobs, you expect to lose this one. But don’t worry. I’m going to give you great references.”

She was touched. “Even after all the mistakes I’ve made? That’s sweet.”

“Downright noble, I’d say.” A smile twitched at his lips, then disappeared. “You’re good at this job. You need a little self-confidence, that’s all.”

“And brake shoes.” Self-confidence was all very well, but it didn’t pay the rent.

His brow furrowed. “What?”

“And tires.” But the job, the brake shoes and the tires were putting less stress on her at the present time than Cabot himself. She needed to get him into a loverly mood. Arouse him. Steer the conversation in a different direction…if she could just figure out where the oars were.

Dear Reader,

Do you have a sister? I’m so envious if you do! Growing up an only child, I was always fascinated by the relationships among sisters. I observed that they seemed to divide up the personality traits, and the oldest got first choice. If she chose to be “the smart one,” the next sister was “the pretty one.” If a third sister came along, she might be “the artistic one,” or “the athletic one.” Or, of course, “the wild one.” I knew of one sad case in which the older sister was “my sweet baby” and the younger, “the other one.”

Since I couldn’t have sisters of my own, I simply had to invent some. The Sumner sisters, Faith, Hope and Charity, divvied up the personality traits all right, but not according to any of the current literature on birth order! Hope’s the middle child, but she’s always been the leader. (For the story of her tumble into love, read A Long Hot Christmas, Harlequin Temptation, December 2001.) Now, with Valentine’s Day approaching, it’s hearts and flowers for Faith and Charity and two romantic stories from me to you.

Barbara Daly

HARLEQUIN DUETS

13—GREAT GENES!

34—NEVER SAY NEVER!

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

859—A LONG HOT CHRISTMAS

To David Ernstmeyer and Kate Carpenter, my heartfelt thanks for taking care of my kids when they got too old to listen to me.

CABOT DRENNAN STARED at the woman across the wrought-iron table from him. She meant more to him than anyone else in the world at this particular moment in his life. She meant what Charlie McCarthy meant to Edgar Bergen all those long years ago, what Judy Garland meant to the Metro Goldwyn Mayer studio, what Groucho meant to the Marx Brothers, what Larry and Curly meant to Moe.

Tippy Temple—blond, beautiful, angelic, today’s supporting actress and with Cabot’s expert advice and assistance, tomorrow’s biggest box-office hit—was hysterical.

“I’m gonna kill ’im, Cabot,” she screamed, her exquisite mouth twisted into something downright ugly. “That…” From that mouth came a string of expletives that sent chills up Cabot’s spine—chills of fear that the neighbors might be listening. “He can’t do that to me. He promised!” She burst into tears.

Cabot watched in despair. These were not the pretty tears that had run down her pristine face in A Kiss to Build a Dream On. They were tears of the purest, most vindictive rage.

One thing you could say about Tippy. She was a damned fine actress.

The tears ceased abruptly as Tippy reached for a cigarette. “I’m gonna call home and get a contract put out on him,” she said. “I’m gonna tell ’em to kill him slow, cut off his…”

“Tippy!”

“…toes one at a time and then his…What?” Sulkily she blew a stream of smoke through the nostrils of her perfect nose.

“There’s nothing we can do to Josh Barnett,” he said, struggling for a calm he himself did not feel. These were his hopes and dreams going up in smoke, as it were. “Josh agreed to marry you for the publicity, and he’s backed out on us. It was his right. It’s not like money changed hands, or we signed a—” Thinking it over, Cabot decided not to bring up the word contract again. “—a legal document.”

Tippy’s face contorted again. “He did more than back out, that…”

Cabot winced as another string of expletives bristled through the smoke. He’d had no idea there were so many pejorative phrases in the English language. “He eloped with Kathy, that…” Now the adjectives turned on Kathy Simpson, the star who’d beaten Tippy out for the lead in Kiss and now, it seemed, had stolen the co-star, Josh, as well. Tippy’s scowl deepened. “I’m gonna get her taken out, too, that…”

“Tippy, we must be calm and think this over.”

“Oh,” she said with a sudden breeziness, “I don’t need to think it over. I know exactly how I want it done. I’ll have the mob asphyxiate her with hair spray.”

Cabot closed his eyes. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, we need to think what to do next. I’ve already scheduled the chapel, the flowers, the reception. All we need is a groom.”

She threw her slender, golden arms up in the air. “Well, ain’t that just great. All we need’s a groom. Yeah, sure. So whadda you gonna do? Tour the agencies? Ask ’em, ‘Hey, who’ll marry Tippy? Anybody’ll do.’ You think that won’t get around in a New York minute?”

Tippy also surprised him occasionally with her intelligence, which was hard to see through the smoke. “Of course not,” he said, although that possibility had been going through his mind. “If Josh leaks the news to anybody, we’ll spread the word that you ditched him for…for…somebody else,” he finished lamely.

“Who?”

“That is the question,” he admitted.

He was unnerved to see that she was gazing at him speculatively. She stubbed out her cigarette, reached for a stick of gum, chewed it vigorously, pursed her full, sweetly bruised mouth and blew a bubble, all the while gazing at him with those big blue eyes.