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Handsome, hardworking Shaw Cavanaugh defined the term "top cop." So when Moira McCormick arrived in town to research her next film role, it was no surprise that the Chief assigned the stunning movie star to shadow the no-nonsense Shaw--whether the officer liked it or not.
At first, Shaw couldn't stand the feisty, fearless Moira--or her constant presence in his squad car. But the movie star and the man in uniform discovered an unexpected connection that smoldered hotter than anything on the silver screen. After the cameras stopped rolling, would they give themselves up...to love?
About the Author
Prolific romance author Marie Ferrarella swears she was born writing, "which must have made the delivery especially hard for my mother."
Born in West Germany of Polish parents, she came to America when she was four years of age. For an entire year, Marie and her family explored the eastern half of the country before finally settling in New York. It was there that she was to meet the man she would marry, truly her first love. Marie was only 14 when she first laid eyes on her future husband, Charles Ferrarella.
From an early age, Marie's parents would find her watching television or tucked away in some private place, writing at a furious pace. "Initially, I began writing myself into my favorite shows. I was a detective on 77 Sunset Strip, the missing Cartwright sibling they never talked about on Bonanza, and the Girl from U.N.C.L.E. before there was a Girl from U.N.C.L.E., not to mention an active participant in the serialized stories on The Mickey Mouse Club."
Marie began to write her first romance novel when she was 11 years old, although she claims that, at the time, she didn't even realize it was a romance!
She scribbled off and on, while dreaming of a career as an actress.
During her days at Queens College, acting started to lose its glamour as Marie spent more and more time writing. After receiving her English degree, specializing in Shakespearean comedy, Marie and her family moved to Southern California, where she still resides today.
After an interminable seven weeks apart, Charles decided he couldn't live without her and came out to California to marry his childhood sweetheart.
Ever practical, Marie was married in a wash-and-wear wedding dress that she sewed herself, appliqués and all. "'Be prepared' has always been my motto," the author jokes. This motto has been stretched considerably by her two children, "but basically, it still applies," she says.
Marie has one goal: to entertain, to make people laugh and feel good. "That's what makes me happy," she confesses. "That, and a really good romantic evening with my husband." She's keeping her fingers crossed that you enjoy reading her books as much as she's enjoyed writing them!
Read an Excerpt
By Marie Ferrarella
Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.Copyright © 2004 Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.
All right reserved.
Chapter OneThe sound of the back door closing resounded through the morning air. The last of his offspring had gone off to work. Rising from the table, Andrew Cavanaugh struggled against the wall of loneliness that threatened to close on him.
Last night had been a surprise. He'd come home from the movies only to have Teri tell him that she was getting married. To her partner on the force - one Detective Jack Hawkins.
Of course, he had to admit that he'd seen it coming. Seen the way the young man had gazed at his middle daughter when he thought no one else was looking.
Probably just the same way he had looked at his Rose once. Right up until the day she'd vanished from his life more than fifteen years ago.
Andrew sighed as he gathered up the last of the breakfast dishes from the table. The others had already left to begin their day on the Aurora police force. The way he once had, before he retired.
Retirement was highly overrated.
Maybe he should start thinking about taking on consulting jobs, Andrew mused. At least that would keep him busy.
That made four now, he thought, stacking the dishes on the counter beside the sink. Four out of his five children were getting married soon, not to mention that Patrick, one of his four nephews, had suddenly decided to settle down, as well. All out of the blue, just like that. One minute they were too busy to draw two breaths together, much less get serious about someone; the next, they were making plans, making commitments. Moving on with their lives to the next level.
About time. He was thrilled for them.
Andrew paused, looking around the cheery kitchen. With the silence, he thought of how empty the house was going to seem soon.
It made him miss Rose all the more.
Maybe he should go back up there, he decided, to that little diner his youngest, daughter, Rayne, had discovered while working on one of her cases. The same diner where Rose had surfaced after all these years.
Except that it wasn't Rose, at least not in her mind. The woman he had gone to see, to reclaim, didn't remember who she was, didn't remember the family they'd created. She'd stared at him blankly when he'd turned up at her garden apartment, armed with a book of photographs and the knowledge that she really was his long-lost wife. He covertly got a sample of her fingerprints and had them run against the ones found on her favorite book. That had given him that final tangible proof. She could wear any name tag she wanted pinned to the front of her pink-and-white uniform, call herself anything she pleased, but she was still his Rose.
As gently as he could, he'd tried to convince her of that. It frustrated him that all he'd managed to do was make her sunny smile disappear. She'd withdrawn into herself right before his eyes and become upset. So, while everything within him had begged him to stay until he could convince her she was who he said she was, Andrew had retreated. He'd left the mother of his children with the novel, a copy of Gone with the Wind, and his phone number in case things began coming back to her.
He'd hoped that she would have called him by now, but she hadn't. Maybe if he went, tried to persuade her a little, that might do the trick....
Something caught his attention. Andrew stopped and cocked his head.
Was that the doorbell?
Telling himself he was probably hearing things, he nonetheless stopped rinsing the dishes before stacking them in the dishwasher and shut off the tap water. He walked a little closer to the front of the house.
The soft peal of the doorbell again disturbed the atmosphere. He grabbed a towel and dried his hands as he made his way to the front door. Slinging the towel over his right shoulder, Andrew reached for the doorknob and swung the door open. "What did you forget?"
The words hung in the air, mocking him, as he looked into the face of the woman who called herself Claire - the woman his heart knew was Rose.
The soft-spoken blonde on his doorstep looked nervous, vulnerable and more than a little wary. It took her a moment before she responded.
It took Andrew longer to recover. He'd lived the last fifteen years imagining this very scenario from every possible angle. He'd envisioned Rose tired, jubilant, even contrite, but he'd never once thought there would be a vacant, confused look in her eyes.
He heard himself whisper the words in grateful awe. "You came."
"I had to," she confessed. When he went to take her arm to usher her in, Claire shrank back a little, then offered him a rueful look as she walked into the house unassisted. She hadn't meant to flinch.
Reflexes were responsible for that, reflexes that had been there when she'd woken up, not knowing who or where she was. "I had to see if there was some truth to this story you told me. If I really was this Rose Gallagher Cavanaugh you said I was."
Even as she said the name, it meant nothing to her, created no spark, shed no light. Evoked no feeling of a connection, however distant, existing between her and this woman she was supposed to have been.
But there was something about this man's eyes, something about the way he looked at her, that stirred a faraway, vague feeling, like a breeze blowing along a feather, moving it, but letting it remain where it was.
She wanted - no, needed - the feather to become airborne. She was tired of not knowing. Tired of being afraid.
"Not was," Andrew corrected gently. "Are."
Claire nodded, though not in agreement. She nodded in acknowledgment of his words. A sigh escaped her lips before she could stop it. For just the slightest moment, her guard was down.
"I'm so tired of not knowing."
Andrew's mind began to race, making plans.
"Can you stay the day?"
He didn't dare hope for more. But even in that short amount of time, he could gather the clan together. Maybe seeing them in person, hearing their voices, might jar something loose for her, might make her start to remember. He knew nothing about amnesia except for what he'd read on the subject in the past few days. This was all virgin territory for him, but he meant to conquer it. Meant to have his Rose back in mind, not just in body.
Excerpted from Cavanaugh's Woman by Marie Ferrarella Copyright © 2004 by Harlequin Enterprises, Ltd.. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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