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Was she going to tell him that she’d changed her mind about marrying him? When Seth realised it was a possibility he sensed his heart race in protest.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s nothing … I just—I just …’
As she brushed aside her hair, where it glanced against her cheek, Imogen’s gaze was surprisingly steady. Seth couldn’t attest to the fact that he even breathed right then. The look in her eyes stopped all thought in its tracks. What he saw in those silken burnished depths was a seductive mix of desire, need and longing … all the things he’d secretly yearned for her to want from him and more …
‘What are you trying to do to me?’ he husked.
‘Don’t worry … I just want you to kiss me …’
Whether the gesture was meant, or purely unconscious, she moistened her heavenly shaped lips with her tongue.
‘Is that allowed on the night before we get married, Seth?’
MAGGIE COX is passionate about stories that can uplift and transport people out of their daily worries to a more magical place, be they romance novels or fairy tales. What people want most, she believes, is true connection. She feels blessed to be married to a lovely man who never fails to make her laugh, and has two beautiful sons and two much loved grandchildren.
Required to Wear the Tycoon’s Ring
Maggie Cox
To my dear friend Mietzche for your love and support during a challenging time and your wonderful ability to make me laugh when I feel like crying! Maggie x
Contents
It doesn’t matter how long it takes... I’ll wait for you. No one is going to keep us apart. There’s nobody else on this earth for me but you. You’re the only one who can calm the lightning in my soul and help me find peace. If you ever doubt the strength of my love I want you to know that I love you more than life itself and always will...
IMOGEN READ THE words and it was as though they bled onto the page, such was the impact they conveyed. The depth and power of the sentiment pierced her heart, and something inside, something that had been tight and unyielding for so long, started to melt and unravel... Before she could stop it a stinging hot tear splashed down onto the once tightly folded piece of notepaper in her hand.
In her spare time she often browsed the charity shop shelves in the hope that she might find something new or interesting. The note she was reading had been carefully inserted inside the anthology of a well-known romance poet. As she’d flicked through the well-thumbed pages the unexpected addition had spilled out and revealed itself. The note had landed at her feet.
There was no indication of the writer’s name, just the initials SB. Was the writer male or female? she wondered. All Imogen knew was that the poignant promise ‘I’ll wait for you’ had her longing to experience being loved so deeply that she would never have cause to doubt that she was cared for.
Her recent excoriating experience of being jilted at the altar had almost entirely crushed any hope she had that there were men out there who were genuinely loving and considerate. Yet in a secret corner somewhere Imogen refused to relinquish that hope. Had the note’s writer reconciled with his or her lover after whatever had torn them apart? she mused.
With a trembling sigh, she momentarily shut her eyes. It wasn’t easy to deal with the tumult of the feelings that rolled through her. Sometimes they threatened to spill over and undermine what little confidence she had left.
She’d never experienced such loving devotion and she longed to. If only she could discover whether or not things had worked out well for the couple... It would mean so much to her if they had. She wanted evidence that hopes and dreams could be fulfilled and that true love could last so long as the lovers drew breath...
She made a resolve. Suddenly impatient, she finished her browsing. Carefully reinserting the note inside the book, she moved across to the cashier to pay.
The cheerful elderly assistant smelled liberally of lavender, and her pristine white blouse was perfectly ironed and starched, as though she wouldn’t dream of leaving the house unless it was.
As she surveyed Imogen her face crinkled in a welcoming smile, just as if she was a trusted old friend. ‘Found something nice, have you, dear?’
‘Yes. I have. I’d like to buy this book,’ she replied.
When the sale had been rung up on the till the woman put the purchase into a crumpled carrier bag.
After murmuring, ‘Thanks...’ as she took it, Imogen asked, ‘By the way, can I ask if you know who donated the book? Only I was in here a couple of days ago and I didn’t notice it on the shelves then...’
‘I can’t tell you who donated it, my dear, but I do know that my colleague took a delivery of books from the big house up on the hill yesterday. You must know the one I’m talking about—that splendid