“What am I going to do about you?”
Angeline asked aloud as she stepped forward again, right into the V of his legs. Her chocolate-brown eyes were on a level with his mouth, and their focus seemed to be fixated there.
“You’re going to bandage me up,” he said, but his voice was gruff. Damn near hoarse.
“In a minute,” Angeline whispered. She leaned into him, tilting her head and, light as a whisper, she rubbed her lips over his.
She’d started out feeling tenderness.
That was all, Angeline reassured herself. Just tenderness for this man whose unexpected acts of kindness touched her just as much as his more “creative” stunts shocked her.
But tenderness was abruptly eaten up in the incendiary flames that rose far too rapidly for her to fight.
Instead, she stood there, caught, as wildfire seemed to lick through them both.
For my editor, Ann Leslie. Thank you for your patience, flexibility and general excellence. I think we’ve come a long way together!
ALLISON LEIGH
started early by writing a Halloween play that her school class performed. Since then, though her tastes have changed, her love for reading has not. And her writing appetite simply grows more voracious by the day.
She has been a finalist in the RITA® Award and Holt Medallion contests. But the true highlights of her day as a writer are when she receives word from a reader that she laughed, cried or lost a night of sleep while reading one of her books.
Born in Southern California, Allison has lived in several cities in four different states. She has been, at one time or another, a cosmetologist, a computer programmer and a secretary. She has recently begun writing full-time after spending nearly a decade as an administrative assistant for a busy neighbourhood church, and she currently makes her home in Arizona with her family. She loves to hear from her readers, who can write to her at PO Box 40772, Mesa, AZ 85274-0772, USA.
Dear Reader,
Many years ago, I wrote about a minor character – a little girl, orphaned in another country, who snagged the heart of one of the Clay brothers, Daniel. In the end, not only was Daniel united with his soul mate, Maggie, and her little blond munchkin, JD, but their new family grew even more when they were joined by sweet Angeline.
Little did I know that some day Angeline would grow up and find a story of her own, or that the secret agency partly responsible for that long-ago rescue from the orphanage would play such a part of so many of my stories. From one agent to another, that Hollins-Winword world just seems to keep growing, ever entwining, and even I am sometimes surprised with the pairings that result.
But that’s one of those fascinating – and often frustrating! – things about writing…you think you know what your characters are going to do, and who they’ll end up with, but quite often they have an entirely different idea. I never really intended Angeline for Brody Paine, but once he stuck his handsome nose in her business, well… this author had to just move out of the way and let them both have their way.
After all, who wants to stand in the way of true love?
Allison
Wed in Wyoming
Allison Leigh
MILLS & BOON
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Prologue
November
“Are you insane? What if someone sees you here?” Angeline Clay looked away from the tall man standing in the shadows of the big house to the wedding reception guests milling around behind her, barely twenty yards away.
“They won’t.” The man’s deep voice was amused. “You forget, sweet cheeks, what I do for a living.”
She rolled her eyes. They stood outside the circle of pretty lights that had been strung around the enormous awning protecting the tables and the dance floor from the chilly Wyoming weather. Her cousin Leandra and her brand-new husband, Evan Taggart, were in the center of the floor dancing away, surrounded by nearly every other member of Angeline’s extensive family. “I’m not likely to forget, Brody,” she assured drily.
Since then, her brief encounters with the man had been few and far between, but they’d nevertheless been memorable.
Annoying, really, considering that Angeline prided herself on keeping her focus squarely where it belonged. Which was most assuredly not the impossible appeal of the elusive Brody Paine.
She flexed her bare fingers around the empty platter that she had been on her way to the kitchen to refill when Brody had stepped into her path. “How’d you even know I was here, anyway?”
The corner of his lips lifted. “It’s a small world, babe. You know that.”
Sweet cheeks. Babe.
She stifled a sigh. She couldn’t recall Brody ever using her actual name. Which was probably one of the reasons why she’d never tried very hard to take the man seriously when it came to anything of a personal nature.
When it came to the work he did, however, she took him quite seriously because Brody Paine was well and truly one of the good guys. Since she’d learned at a particularly early age that the world was definitely on the shy side when it came to such people, she tried to give credit where it was due.
“I’m just visiting Weaver,” she reminded him. “For the Thanksgiving holiday and Leandra’s wedding. I’m going back to Atlanta soon.”
He blandly reeled off her flight number, telling her not very subtly that he was perfectly aware of her schedule. “The agency likes to keep track of its assets.”
She looked behind her again, but there was nobody within earshot. Of course. Brody wouldn’t be likely to mention the agency if there had been. “I’m hardly an asset,” she reminded him needlessly. She was a courier of sorts, true. But in the five years she’d worked for the agency, all she conveyed were pieces of information from one source to another. Even then, she was called on to do so only once or twice a year. It was a schedule that seemed to suit everyone.
“Believe me, hon. You’ve got more than any woman’s fair share of assets,” he assured drily. His gaze—she’d never been certain if it was naturally blue or brown because she’d seen his eye color differ over the years—traveled down her body. “Of course for some stubborn reason you keep refusing to share them with me.”
She’d seen appreciation in men’s eyes when they looked at her since she’d hit puberty. She was used to it. But she still felt absurdly grateful for the folds of the cashmere cape that flowed around her taupe-colored dress beneath it. “That’s right,” she said dismissively. “I assume this isn’t a social call?”
His lips twitched again. “Only because you’re