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A Wife on Paper (Harlequin Romance Series #3837) [NOOK Book]

Overview


A convenient wife... An inconvenient love...

Francesca walked into the room and Guy Dymoke was mesmerized. But she was pregnant with Guy's brother's baby. An impossible situation...and Guy had been hiding his feelings ever since.

Years later, Francesca is now a widow, and when the will is read she's stunned to discover she's been placed into Guy's safekeeping...as his convenient wife! Guy wants to give Francesca and her son all the care in the...

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A Wife on Paper (Harlequin Romance Series #3837)

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Overview


A convenient wife... An inconvenient love...

Francesca walked into the room and Guy Dymoke was mesmerized. But she was pregnant with Guy's brother's baby. An impossible situation...and Guy had been hiding his feelings ever since.

Years later, Francesca is now a widow, and when the will is read she's stunned to discover she's been placed into Guy's safekeeping...as his convenient wife! Guy wants to give Francesca and her son all the care in the world. He also yearns to tell her how much he really loves her. But he'll wait for the day that she gives her love freely in return....


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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781426872440
  • Publisher: Harlequin
  • Publication date: 8/23/2010
  • Series: Harlequin Romance Series , #3837
  • Sold by: HARLEQUIN
  • Format: eBook
  • Pages: 192
  • Sales rank: 331,549
  • File size: 451 KB

Meet the Author




Reading is, and always has been, the first love of Liz Fielding's life. Except writing.

Success came early; Liz was twelve when she won an Easter egg in a hymn writing competition at school. But life intervened with her plans to become a hotshot author--she got a day job. Not that this was dull. Liz travelled to Zambia at the age of twenty where she worked as a secretary, before following her personal hero to the Middle East, Kenya and Botswana, and ambition became buried in the joyful business of raising a family.

However Liz never forgot that she was a writer. She wrote magazine articles, ghost stories and children's stories for BBC Radio. She was at a point where she wanted to move onto something bigger when she read a magazine piece about Charlotte Lamb and Anne Hampson and discovered, rather late in life, romantic fiction. She then read everything she could lay her hands on, and feeling certain she had a grasp of the genre, began writing. Liz had three rejections--she still has those letters!--but her fourth submission became An Image of You and was published in 1992.

Liz has now written forty-five Harlequin Romance books. Seven of them have been nominated for RWA's RITA award; The Best Man & The Bridesmaid took the prize in 2001. A Family of His Own won the RNA's Romance Prize, and was also named Reviewers' Choice Best Harlequin Romance by Romantic Times BOOKreviews in 2005. A Marriage Miracle took the Short Contemporary RITA in 2006.

These days, Liz, an empty-nester, lives in a small village in Wales where excitement means a visit from the mobile shop, the travelling library or the fish man. But she's a writer, so she invents her own worlds. Once the door to her cabin in the woods is closed, Liz can be anywhere her imagination takes her: the desert kingdom of Ramal Hamrah, the villages of Upper Haughton, Little Hinton and Longbourne (where romance is always just around the corner) or New York, the Mediterranean and even the Himalayas. "Pick up a book and come with me...

For news and excerpts of her latest releases, visit Liz's Web site at http://www.lizfielding.com. For gossip, competitions, chat and a chance to talk back, drop in on her blog at http://lizfielding.blogspot.com.
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Read an Excerpt

HIS brother was late, the restaurant was crowded, noisy, the kind of fashionable look-at-me-I've-arrived place he loathed and Guy wished he'd made an excuse, stuck to his original plan to have a sandwich at his desk as he worked through the evening.

A rush of cold air as the door opened behind him gave him hope that his ordeal would soon be over, but as he turned he saw that it wasn't Steve, but a young woman rushing to get in out of the rain.

She paused momentarily, framed in the entrance, spotlit by the bright lights of the cocktail bar against the darkness outside.

Time stretched like elastic. The earth stopped turning. Everything slowed down. He felt as if he could count every one of the raindrops sparkling in her corn gold hair.

It was tousled as if it had been caught by the gusting wind that she seemed to have brought into the restaurant with her, stirring everyone so that they turned to look. Kept on looking. Maybe it was because she was laughing, as if running through the rain was something she did for fun. Because she was a breath of fresh air...

She lifted her arms to comb her fingers through her hair, shake it back into place and the dress she was wearing rode up to expose half a yard of thigh. When she dropped them and the hem descended, the scooped neckline of her dress fell too, offering a glimpse of what the clinging fabric so enticingly suggested.

Nothing about her was flat; everything about her seemed an open invitation to his hands to describe her, to stroke the sinuous lines of her body. She wasn't beautiful exactly. Her nose lacked classical perfection. Her mouth was too big, but her silver-fox eyes sparkled as if she was lit up from within and the glow that emanated from her eclipsed every other woman in the room.

And as time caught up with them, his body reacted as if she'd touched his personal blue touch paper.

Pulse, heart rate, all the physical responses leapt into overdrive, but it was more than a lustful response to the kind of stimuli that probably had half the men in the room in the same condition.

It was like coming face to face with destiny. Coming face to face with the reason for your existence.

As he rose slowly to his feet she saw him, their gaze locked and for a split second the laughter froze on her lips, and he thought that she felt it too. Then his brother was there, closing the door, cutting off the rush of cold air, breaking the connection between them as he put his arm around the girl's waist, pulled her close against him.

Something hot, possessive swept through him and he wanted to grab Steve, pull him away, demand to know what the hell he thought he was doing. Except, of course, it was obvious. He was saying to the world -- saying to him -- this woman is mine. And as if the gesture wasn't enough, he grinned and said, 'Guy, I'm glad you could make it. I really want you to meet Francesca.' He looked down at her with the look of a man who's won the lottery. 'She's moving in with me. She's having my baby...' Make that a man who's won the lottery twice.

'Mr Dymoke...' He started at a touch to his shoulder, opened his eyes to see the stewardess smiling down at him. 'We're about to land.'

He dragged his hands over his face in an effort to dispel the lingering wisps of a dream that, even after three years, continued to haunt him.

He straightened his chair, fastened his seat belt, checked the time. He should just make it.

Guy Dymoke was the first person she saw as she stepped from the car. That wasn't what surprised her. He was the kind of man who would stand out in any crowd. Tall, broad-shouldered, deeply tanned, his thick dark hair streaked with sun bleached highlights, he made everyone else look as if they were two dimensional figures in a black and white photograph.

The effect was mesmerising. She saw it in the effect he had on the people around him. Had to steel herself against it, even now.

She wasn't even surprised that he had taken the time from his busy life to fly in from whatever distant part of the world he currently called home to attend his half-brother's funeral.

He was a man who took the formalities very seriously. He believed that every T should be properly crossed, every I firmly dotted. He'd made no secret of his disapproval of her and Steven's decision not to do the "decent" thing and get married. Demonstrated it by his absence from their lives.

As if it was any of his business.

No, what truly astonished her was that he had the nerve to show up at all after three years in which they hadn't seen or heard from him. She hadn't cared for herself, but for Steven...

Poor Steven...

Thankfully, she didn't have to make an effort to hide her feelings as their gaze briefly met over the heads of the gathered mourners. Her face was frozen into a white mask. Nothing showed. There was nothing to show. Just a gaping hollow, an emptiness yawning in front of her. She knew if she allowed herself to think, to feel, she'd never get through this, but as she walked past him, looking neither to left nor right, he said her name, very softly.

'Francesca...'

Softly. Almost tenderly. As if he cared. And the ache in her throat intensified. The mask threatened to crack... `

Anger saved her. Hot, shocking, like a charge of lightning.

How dare he come here today! How dare he make a show of offering her sympathy when he couldn't be bothered to so much as lift a telephone when Steven was alive and it would have actually meant something.

Did he expect her to stop? Listen to his empty condolences? Allow him to take her arm, sit beside her in church as if he gave a damn...

Just for appearances.

'Hypocrite,' she replied as, looking neither to left nor right, she swept passed him.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 1, 2012

    You must check it out.

    very nice story to read.

    1 out of 3 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 22, 2012

    Excellent

    Very good story Well written Wont disappoint

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