No More Secrets

No More Secrets
CATHERINE GEORGE

Friend–or husband?It seemed to everyone in Pennington that Ben Fletcher had met his match in Kate Harker and was ready to settle down. But Kate didn't see it that way at all. Though Ben was tall and handsome, she was determined not to fall for him!Kate couldn't believe that Ben shared her deep, loving feelings–not since she'd learned that secret about him….Was Kate right to be convinced that Ben could be only her friend and never her husband?PENNINGTONA place where dreams come true

“I’m asking you to the theater because it’s a good play and I’d like your company. (#ubf61d393-e1d1-50ea-a09b-3953762004bc)Letter to Reader (#u1cca928c-9623-5ae9-b9fe-382a4e326eef)Title Page (#u79b725b7-51cf-5b06-9c6a-598eb4780fa8)CHAPTER ONE (#ue6dda66b-0e12-584a-9ff3-d4d1daa61a6d)CHAPTER TWO (#ue3bd01c2-4983-5980-8436-26d0f74123be)CHAPTER THREE (#u84ed9dd3-01c8-54e1-9d83-726ead2d21d2)CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

“I’m asking you to the theater because it’s a good play and I’d like your company.

“Do you want to come or not?”

“Yes,” said Kate, and he kissed her square on the mouth.

“I’ll pick you up just before seven and feed you after the show.” Ben laid a finger on her lower lip, smiled at her, then leaned across to undo her seat belt.

Kate shrank back in her seat, away from the warmth and scent of his body, afraid he’d realize how his nearness affected her.

“Stop it,” he said, sitting upright. “You’re in no danger from me, I promise.”

That’s the trouble, she thought ruefully. I wish

I were.

Dear Reader,

Pennington, my favorite location, is my own creation. My serene fictional town lies in the lush, green English countryside, and has wide streets, tea shops, public parks ablaze with flowers, irresistible stores with elegant clothes and jewelry, others with antique furniture and porcelain. Pennington is a place of delightful people, prosperity and picturesque charm—a place where dreams come true....

Sincerely,

Catherine George

No More Secrets

Catherine George

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

CHAPTER ONE

A SUDDEN squall of wind sent the yellow wool hat spinning across the road like a discus, and its small, hurrying owner dived after it in hot pursuit through a hail of sleet, blind to the oncoming car until it was almost on top of her with an ear-splitting squeal of brakes. Kate leapt away in fright, stumbled and fell on her hands and knees with a screech as the car swerved to avoid her and slewed sideways to a halt across the quiet backstreet.

The driver shot out and came running to pull her to her feet, his face haggard with shock. ‘Are you hurt? You gave me one hell of a fright! I came round the corner and there you were, right in the middle of the road. Did I hit you?’

Kate shook her head, half-blinded by wind and sleet and the strands of dark hair whipping across her face, speechless not only from shock but also from confrontation with the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on in her life. ‘Sorry—my fault entirely,’ she gasped. ‘Wind blew my hat off. I ran into the road after it. The car didn’t even touch me. Must dash.’

He retrieved the hat and handed it back to her. ‘Look, let me drive you —’ he began, but Kate backed away, shaking her head vigorously.

‘No, thanks, I’m fine! Really. My apologies again. Goodbye.’

She gave him a brief, embarrassed smile and raced off round the corner into the Parade before the man could do anything to prevent her.

When Kate arrived, panting, at the bookshop she felt more than a little shaky. What a start! Especially on an important day like this. But she just had to pull herself together, put the incident from her mind. She rummaged for her keys with unsteady hands, making herself concentrate on the display in the largest window. She took a few deep breaths and gave a nod of approval. The display was definitely eye-catching, bound to bring the punters in. The publicity stills of Quinn Fletcher, best-selling crime novelist and local celebrity, were good. Beauty and crime were a great combination for selling books. And books might be Kate Harker’s passion, but selling them was her job.

Luckily for her wind and limb she had set out a good hour earlier than usual, determined to make sure everything was perfect for the book-signing later on. Rush-hour traffic could have turned an embarrassing little incident into a nasty accident, but, thankfully, the quiet backstreet had been deserted. And now, she thought irritably, she’d have to utilise some of the time to make herself look more presentable. She was a mess. She shivered suddenly. If the car had been speeding round the corner, or if the driver’s reactions had been slower, she could have been looking far more of a mess than she did now.

When all the lights in the store were on Kate started up the electronic point-of-sale system at the till, took the money and till drawers from the safe in the office and installed them at the sales desks. By the time the rest of the staff arrived both the new floor manager and the shop itself were in readiness for the day. Kate had replaced muddied jeans with a skirt, and restored face and hair to the severe, businesslike look she kept to during working hours.

Teased about her early start, Kate smiled cheerfully, glad of the camaraderie. She’d arrived in Pennington to take over the post of floor manager only a few weeks before, and to her relief her new colleagues were a pleasant crew, with no hint of hostility from one or two who might have expected promotion to her job.

Her career with Hardacres had begun as a junior bookseller at their Kensington branch a year after gaining her English degree. After leaving university she’d worked at whatever job she could until winning the post with the successful chain of specialist bookstores. Kate’s promotion to senior bookseller had been gratifyingly rapid, but in the Kensington flagship branch further promotion to floor manager would have been slower. So when the opening in the Pennington branch came up Kate had applied, eager to make a move she welcomed in more ways than one.

At first, in a town where the architecture was beautiful but everyone was a stranger, Kate had missed her life in London badly, and regretted her decision. Then she’d found a permanent place to live, made some successful decisions about new titles, contacted Quinn Fletcher’s publishers about the book-signing opportunity, and begun to enjoy her new life. Pennington was a less expensive place to live for a start, which made her salary go further. And the slower pace rather suited her. The other girls at Hardacres were friendly, the job was interesting and varied, and no one made demands on either her time or her emotions. It was surprisingly restful. The move, she’d decided eventually, had been a good idea.

Kate tidied the fiction shelves, checked to see if any titles needed re-ordering, made sure someone was at the till in her department during the break period, then went for coffee herself once Gail, who was so pretty that male college students crowded the store when she was on duty, was back at the till.

‘I brought some scones my mother made,’ said Gail, flicking back a lock of glossy blonde hair. ‘I saved one for you, Kate.’

Kate, perpetually struggling with one diet or another, thanked her ruefully. In the staffroom she poured herself some coffee from the machine, scowling at the buttered scone.

‘Eat,’ said Clare, the language specialist. ‘You seem a bit edgy.’

Kate described her near-miss with a Range Rover that morning, pulling a face as she admitted it was all her own fault in her hurry to get to work. ‘I wanted an hour to myself to make sure everything was perfect. It’s the book signing. I’ve never actually organised one before.’ Succumbing to temptation, Kate bit into the scone and sighed with pleasure. ‘I just wish Gail’s mother wasn’t such a cracking cook!’

‘A fright like that probably burned up enough calories to account for one scone! Heavens, Kate, you were lucky.’ Clare patted her arm. ‘And don’t worry about Quinn Fletcher. She sells like hot cakes—amazingly gory stuff, too.’

‘I know. I’ve read them all. This last one’s the best yet. I gather she’s married?’

Clare nodded. ‘I’m almost as new in town as you, so I don’t know him, but he’s gorgeous, according to Gail. Some people get all the luck.’

‘You’ve got a gorgeous husband yourself!’ retorted Kate.

‘But I don’t write best-sellers.’

‘True.’ Kate jumped up. ‘I’d better tidy myself up—again—and make sure everything’s ready. Make sure there’s a fresh pot of coffee on the go for Ms Fletcher, there’s a dear.’

‘Don’t worry. Tray all ready with best cups and luxury biscuits. But no scones. Young Harry scoffed the last one and had to be forcibly prevented from thieving yours.’

‘I wish he had!’ Kate smoothed her long grey flannel skirt over hips too curvy for her taste, brushed a stray strand of hair into her severe pleat of hair and replaced the horn-rimmed glasses she wore during working hours. She renewed her lipstick, tucked her striped grey and white shirt in more securely, and buttoned the grey waistcoat bought to hide the opulence of her upper half. ‘There. How do I look?’

‘Frighteningly efficient,’ Clare assured her, chuckling. She stood up, stretching, long-legged and slim in jeans and navy jersey. And tall.

It was Kate’s misfortune to have joined a team where every other member, male and female, were well over average height. Her own five feet and a bit was no match for Clare and Gail, and certainly not Harry, who was a gangling six-footer and still growing. Even Mrs Harrison, the manager, was a head taller.

‘I didn’t realise you had such great legs,’ commented Clare, attending to the coffee-pot. ‘Never seen them before.’

They all habitually wore trousers or jeans, with shirts and jerseys of various descriptions, because the work entailed a lot of kneeling and hefting around of boxes by all the staff. But today Kate felt the occasion called for a skirt. Which, though long and narrow, with a rather dashing split to the knee, felt dowdy alongside the leggy Clare and tall, slender Gail.

‘I’ll change back into my usual gear once our celebrity’s departed,’ she said, and went out into the store, glad to see several customers browsing in all sections of her department. By the time she’d found various titles for some of them, directed Harry to help Gail when necessary, and checked that the table and chairs for the signing were in a prominent place, ready for the author, it was almost eleven.

Clocks in the town were chiming the hour when a car drew up outside. Kate went to the door, her smile ready in welcome, then caught her breath in dismay as a tall man with an unmistakable shock of blond hair leapt out to help his companion to her feet. The woman’s brown curls and laughing, flushed face were equally recognisable from the photographs in the display; but with one noticeable difference.