Holt Marry Me

1. Auflage 2013
ISBN: 978-1-62675-573-4
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 600 Seiten

Reihe: Marry Me

Bestselling author, CHERYL HOLT, sets her sights on the Colorado Rockies with her fun, sexy, and fast-paced Merriweather trilogy. The three Merriweather siblings-Lucas, Dustin, and Brittney-think they have it all. As the heirs of the Merriweather gold dynasty, they grew up rich, spoiled and entitled. Yet all the money in the world hasn't bought them love or happiness. They lead lonely, isolated lives. But that's about to change. As they meet the most unlikely trio of characters-a con artist, a nosy reporter, and a wounded vet-they learn that even the most carefully-constructed world can be turned upside down. By the right person. Passion, friendship, and everlasting love can strike in the oddest places, and dreams really do come true. Originally released as three separate novellas, Ms. Holt has bundled them under one beautiful cover for readers to cherish. Three great stories. One great book. Seduce Me, Kiss Me, Love Me...MARRY ME!

CHERYL HOLT is a New York Times, USA Today, and Amazon bestselling author of over thirty novels. She's also a lawyer and mom, and at age forty, with two babies at home, she started a new career as a commercial fiction writer. She'd hoped to be a suspense novelist, but couldn't sell any of her manuscripts, so she ended up taking a detour into romance where she was stunned to discover that she has a knack for writing some of the world's greatest love stories. Her books have been released to wide acclaim, and she has won or been nominated for many national awards. She is particularly proud to have been named 'Best Storyteller of the Year' by the trade magazine Romantic Times BOOK Reviews. She lives and writes in Hollywood, California, and she loves to hear from fans.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holt, Cheryl

Leseproben

CHAPTER NINE

The phone rang, and Faith leapt to answer it. She was positive it would be Lucas.

“Hello?”

“Is this Mrs. Merriweather?” an unfamiliar male voice asked.

“There’s no one here by that name.”

“Faith Merriweather?”

“I’m Faith Benjamin.”

“But you were married to Harold Merriweather, right?”

“Well…yes.”

“Hi, Ms. Benjamin. I’m a reporter with the—“

She cut him off. “A reporter?”

“Yes, and I’d like to know if you have any comment.”

“About what?”

“About the charges Lucas Merriweather’s attorney levied against you this morning at the press conference.”

Faith’s stomach dropped to her toes. “What charges?”

“Let’s see, there’s elder abuse, fraud, theft—“

Faith hung up and hurried over to the front window. The drapes were closed, and she pulled back a corner to peek outside. There was a TV news van parked by the curb. Several technicians were hustling about, fussing with gear. A bored newscaster watched them, holding a microphone and obviously waiting to go on the air.

Faith went to the kitchen where Gracie was drinking coffee. There was a small television on the counter, and Faith punched the power button.

Gracie frowned. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Who was on the phone?”

“A reporter. He wanted to know if I had any comment about Lucas’s charges of elder abuse against Harold.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“I hung up on him.”

They sat, stunned, staring at the TV, as the morning news show droned on.

Just before a commercial break, the anchor said, “In local news, lawyers for Lucas Merriweather, CEO of prominent Colorado company, Merriweather Industries, announced today that the Merriweather family would be meeting with Boulder police to discuss filing of charges against the young widow of Merriweather patriarch, Harold Merriweather. Merriweather died in December at the age of ninety.”

Gracie gasped as Faith hissed, “That bastard.”

“He seemed so nice,” Gracie complained. “I can’t believe he’d do that to you.”

Faith couldn’t bear to listen to the rest. She grabbed the remote and hit mute, but they continued to gape at the screen.

A picture flashed of Harold that was only two or three years old, so he appeared very frail. It faded and was replaced by a very recent photo of Faith. She didn’t have to struggle to recollect when it was taken: her first date with Lucas.

They were at the restaurant where they’d gone to eat, and she’d just stepped out of his limo. The expensive car was behind her, as if she’d posed in front of it, as if it was hers. She was wearing her sexy black dress and spiky silver heels, and she’d never been more beautiful or more glamorous.

She didn’t recall seeing a photographer that night, so he must have been lurking in the bushes. He’d managed to get the perfect shot, one that absolutely conveyed the image Lucas was trying to portray: rich, gorgeous, bored, and very, very young—much too young and much too pretty to have married such an aged man unless she’d done it for nefarious purposes.

She clicked off the TV as Gracie fumed, “The little shit.”

“Did I look smug?”

“Yes.”

“Crap.”

“When was the picture taken? Do you remember?”

“On our date when we went to dinner.”

“He must have planned it.”

“Could he really be that calculating?”

The moment Faith asked the question, she realized how naïve she sounded.

Of course he could be that calculating. He was a Merriweather. Harold had told her plenty of horror stories and she’d believed every one.

“He set you up,” Gracie said, “then he slept with you afterward. That is so low.”

“It’s lower than low.” An alarming prospect rattled her. “You don’t suppose he has a video of us. Would he have made a sex tape?”

“If he did, we still have that gun of Harold’s in the hall closet. He taught me how to load and fire it. I’ll track Lucas down and murder him.”

Faith chuckled miserably. “I don’t understand this.”

“Neither do I.”

“I thought he liked me.”

“He did. I could tell.”

“Then why would he act like this? He has to know I’ll never speak to him again. We’re back to battling over the money.”

“This is his version of foreplay. He thinks you’ll be impressed by macho posturing.”

“He could have just never called me. He didn’t have to be so mean.”

“He’s a Merriweather,” Gracie pointed out. “Cruelty is in his blood.”

“Bryce and Peanut will be dragged into the middle of any public fight. Why would he want that?”

“He’s a man, and they’re all fools. It probably never occurred to him that there would be consequences for the kids.”

“Their lives will be splashed across the tabloids.”

The phone rang again and they both grimly stared at it.

“Should I answer?” Gracie asked.

“No,” Faith said, but Gracie went over and picked it up anyway.

She listened for a moment, then barked, “No, you may not.” A pause. “Because she doesn’t wish to talk to you, and even if she did, I wouldn’t let her.” A second pause. “Well, I have a gun, and if I see you out in my yard, I’ll shoot you with it.”

She slammed down the receiver.

“Who on earth was that?” Faith inquired.

“Lucas Merriweather.”

“He had the nerve to call me?”

“He wants to see you. He wants to explain.”

“I’d rather have all my teeth pulled without an anesthetic.”

“My thought exactly.”

“He wouldn’t dare show up here, would he?”

“If he does,” Gracie said, “he’ll be sorry he tangled with me.”

The phone rang yet again, and Gracie unplugged it. “We don’t need to have that turned on.”

Faith peeked out the window. Another news van had joined the first.

Would she become a hostage in her own home? Would she have to run a gauntlet of microphones and cameras whenever she walked outside?

She staggered over to a chair and slumped down.

“My heart’s broken,” she said. “I hardly knew him, and my heart’s broken anyway.”

“Be glad you didn’t have time to grow too attached, honey. You’ll get over him in a hurry.”

“I hope so.”

“Especially after you consider what an ass he is. You won’t be sad. You’ll be very, very angry.”

“I’m already there.”

“Good. Now let’s have breakfast. I refuse to let Lucas Merriweather ruin my day.”

Faith gaped at her. Could Gracie really get over it—just like that? Faith couldn’t. She and Lucas had had such a potent connection. Would she never see him again? It didn’t seem possible, yet what other ending could there be?

“Go ahead and eat without me,” she told Gracie. “I’m not feeling very well.”

She trudged out, close to weeping and not even sure why she was bereft. His true character had been revealed. He was a snake in the grass.

She should have known better, but she’d been lured in by that handsome face, by that charm and charisma. Too distraught for words, she climbed to her room and locked herself in, wondering if she would ever come out.

* * * *

“No comment.”

Lucas pushed past a reporter, but another mike instantly appeared. How many stinking news stations were here?

The street in front of Faith’s house was lined with vans. Reporters and their crews were hovering, waiting for something to happen.

By showing up, he’d certainly given them a scoop. Not that they’d needed one. He shouldn’t have driven to Boulder—Gracie had been very clear in telling him not to—but he never listened to women, and he wasn’t about to start.

“Lucas! Lucas!” A skinny blond reporter hustled up.

“Beat it,” he growled.

She was undaunted. “What are you doing? Are you serving papers on her? Are you here to seize the house?”

The idiotic questions brought him stumbling to a halt.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Give me something I can use. Our readers are fascinated. How did she trick him into marrying her? Was he in possession of his faculties? How would you describe his mental state at the time of his death?”

Lucas rolled his eyes. How would they react if he admitted he hadn’t seen his grandfather since he was a small boy, that he had no clue as to Harold’s mental faculties or anything else.

Other reporters circled, trying to hear his every word, and he demanded, “Don’t you people have somewhere more important to...