Holt Love Me

1. Auflage 2012
ISBN: 978-1-62095-468-3
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, Band 1, 260 Seiten

Reihe: Love Me

Another fun, fast-paced, and sizzling read from bestselling author, CHERYL HOLT.

CHERYL HOLT is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty novels. She has numerous national writing awards to her credit and is particularly proud to have been named 'Best Storyteller of the Year' by the trade magazine, Romantic Times. The magazine also selected her as one of the 'Top Twenty-Five Erotic Writers of All Time'. She has been hailed as the 'Queen' of erotic romance, as well as the International Queen of Villains! She lives and writes in Hollywood, California.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holt, Cheryl

Leseproben

CHAPTER TWO

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“About what?”

“That you’d hired security.”

“I told your mother.”

Brittney bit down the terse response that was begging to spill out.

She was on the phone with Andrew.  He was in New York, and she was in Denver, trapped in wedding prep hell and having to deal with her mother every waking minute.

When she’d flown to Colorado, she’d planned a two week trip, where she’d arranged to interview caterers and florists.  Fourteen days was such a short amount of time.  She’d thought she could tolerate Jacquelyn for the brief interval, but she was already feeling as if she couldn’t breathe and longing to escape her mother’s clutches.

She was angry with Andrew for being in New York, for waiting twenty-four hours before he’d returned her call.  She was angry with herself for traveling alone to Denver, for not bringing Andrew to serve as a barrier against Jacquelyn’s constant barbs.  She was angry at her brothers for not visiting her.

They both knew she was in the city, but neither of them would stop by the mansion while Jacquelyn was in residence.  Their rift with her was that horrid.

Brittney was particularly furious with her brother, Dustin.  He was getting married over the weekend, in a small, private ceremony up in the high country. 

She’d been invited, but didn’t see how she could attend.

Jacquelyn had adamantly insisted that Brittney ignore the event as she, Jacquelyn, intended to do.  Brittney was in an untenable position, caught between her mother’s snobbery and her brother’s unshakeable resolve to marry a woman their mother loathed.

If Brittney went to the wedding, her mother would never forgive her.  If Brittney stayed away, her brother would never forgive her.

She was incensed over her mother’s arrogance and how it had split the family apart.  Jacquelyn was such a cold and callous person.  She’d never exhibited any maternal tendencies toward her three children, and her attitude hadn’t softened as she’d aged.

With Brittney’s father having passed away, she felt that everyone should be trying extra hard to get along, to get closer.  But instead, everyone was fighting more than ever.

“Mother never mentioned the security guard,” she peevishly said to Andrew.  “He showed up with no warning.”

“I’m sorry.  I assumed she’d inform you.”

“I don’t need him watching over me.”

“Well, I hope to fly out there next week, and if I can make it, I’ll be more comfortable if we have someone local in place.”

“Why?”

“I always have security.”

“I never noticed.”

“That’s because they’ve been discreet.  I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Why would I worry?  What aren’t you telling me?”

“I simply like to be cautious.”

In the background, people were speaking to him.  He pulled the phone from his ear, his hand over the receiver, and there was a lengthy period where he was distracted.

Her temper flared, and she was confused by her bad mood.  He was an international financier.  He had more important problems than the petty details of their wedding or Brittney’s stupid spats with her mother.

She knew that fact and understood that fact, but often, she seemed to be an afterthought, which left her wondering why he was marrying her.

He claimed he was madly in love with her, that he’d fallen for her the moment they’d met.  She claimed she was in love too, but she wasn’t.  Not really.

She would never let herself be swept away by potent emotion for a man.  She didn’t think she was capable of that sort of powerful sentiment.  In her turbulent childhood, spent at lonely boarding schools because her mother had refused to have her at home, she’d learned to tamp down her feelings.

Life was easier when there were no wild swings up and down.  And she’d seen too vividly how passion had driven her parents to extreme displays of rage and trivial acts of revenge.

Brittney had resolved to avoid such drama at all costs.  She wanted constancy and patience and serenity, and Andrew provided them in spades.  He was always the same:  charming, affable, and pleasant.  He would bestow the contented existence she’d persistently sought, but had never found.    

She was just irked sometimes—like now—when he was so preoccupied.  It didn’t help that he was forty and she was twenty-six.  She’d convinced herself that she liked him being older and more mature, but occasionally, he treated her as if she was a young and foolish girl, as if he was her father rather than her fiancé. 

When he was together with her and her mother, he had more in common with Jacquelyn than Brittney, and Brittney was still figuring out how she felt about that.

“Andrew?”  She was determined to snag his attention, but he didn’t answer.  “Andrew!” she repeated more irritably.

“Yes, darling,” he eventually said.  “What is it?”

She gnashed her teeth.  She hated it when he called her darling.  It sounded so outdated and pretentious. 

“You’re terribly busy.  I’d better let you go.”

“No, no, I always have time for you.”  Even though he wasn’t actually interested, he asked, “How are the preparations coming along?”

She’d attempted to discuss them with him once, but he’d insisted he would be fine with whatever she chose.  She hadn’t raised the topic again.

“I’m exhausted,” she said.  “It’s difficult for me, being here by myself with my mother.”

“I know.”

“I make a decision, but she immediately counters it.  My opinions don’t matter.”

“Would you like me to speak to her?”

“No,” she scoffed.  “I can deal with my own mother.  I just need to vent.”

And for you to listen to me.

“I’ll try to join you next week,” he said.  “It will be easier for you if I’m there.”

“Do you think we could—“

“Hold on,” he interrupted.  There was another exasperating pause, and when he finally returned, he hurriedly explained, “I have to go.  I’ll call you tonight.”

He hung up before she could say goodbye. 

She stared at the phone, then hit the off button.

This would be her life with him.  Conversations cut short.  Broken plans.  Inattention.  Her husband would be focused on the world and money and his lucrative ventures and everything but her.

She’d allowed herself to be caught up in the idea of marrying, but she was growing terrified that what he would bring to the union was not what she wanted.

The notion panicked her, and she refused to consider it. 

It’s bridal jitters, she told herself.  It was the fact that she was feeling overwhelmed and hadn’t had a moment to absorb what she’d set in motion.

Wedding fever was in the air, with the Merriweather siblings tying the knot left and right.

Her brother, Lucas, had gotten married at Christmas.  Her brother, Dustin, was marrying in a few days.  Was that why she’d been so eager when Andrew had proposed?

She’d been given the chance to marry too, and she’d jumped at the opportunity.  She couldn’t change her mind, couldn’t back out.  She had to calm down and behave like the sensible, centered woman she was.

She took a deep breath, let it out, then proceeded to the front parlor to find her mother.  As she walked down the hall and entered the foyer, her mother was out on the verandah and waving to someone in a van that was pulling out of the driveway.

“Brittney,” Jacquelyn said as she came inside, “there you are.”

“Who was that?”

“The caterer.”

Jacquelyn went to the stairs as if she’d climb to her room. 

“Where’s he going?  I thought we were meeting with him at one o’clock.”

“We rescheduled.” 

“You talked to him without me?”

“Yes,” Jacquelyn admitted without an ounce of shame, “and I hired him.  The food will be fantastic.”

Brittney was roiled by a flood of anger so potent that little red dots of fury darted through her vision.  Her head was pounding so hard that she wondered if she was about to suffer a stroke.

“Mother!” she snapped like a petulant toddler. 

Jacquelyn was already on the fourth step.  From her higher vantage point, she glared down at Brittney like an imperious queen.

“What is it?”

“Stop this.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop planning my wedding for me.  I swear to God, if you don’t knock it off, I’ll send you home to Santa Fe, and I’ll finish up without...