The One He's Been Looking For

The One He's Been Looking For
Joanna Sims

Discovering his muse…World famous photographer Ian Sterling had been searching for the perfect woman. And, when he finally spotted Jordan Brand, he simply had to have her. Her photos would mark his final work. His life as he knew it was slipping through his fingers… Ian was losing his sight.Being with Ian made rebellious artist Jordan ridiculously happy. Knowing the difficult road he was travelling only made her love him more. But Ian refused to pass his disorder along to children – leaving Jordan to choose between the man who held her heart and the family she’d always wanted…

Ian turned slightly toward her. “So … you don’t feel like drinking and you don’t feel like dancing. What do you feel like doing?”

Kissing you.

That thought popped into her head instantly, and she was glad that the words hadn’t popped right out of her mouth. But it was the truth. She wanted to kiss Ian and be kissed by Ian. She wanted to be in his arms. She wanted the simple pleasure of holding his hand. She had given a pretty good speech the night before about being “just friends,” but her heart wanted a much deeper connection with Ian than that. She wanted to ignore the flashing warning signs—bad timing or not, her heart was attaching itself to Ian.

The One He’s Been Looking For

Joanna Sims

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

JOANNA SIMS lives in Florida with her husband and their three fabulous felines. Joanna works as a therapist for the public school system during the day, but spends her evenings and weekends fulfilling her lifelong dream of writing compelling, modern romances for Mills & Boon. When it’s time to take a break from writing, Joanna enjoys going for long walks with her husband and curling up on the couch to watch movies (romantic comedies preferably). She loves to answer any questions or provide additional information for her readers. You can contact her at joannasims2@live.com.

Dedicated to Martha:

Thank you for being a special part of my life.

Contents

Chapter One (#u2dc748c3-1f8f-55d5-b2a2-5e114ea88136)

Chapter Two (#ubbefb12a-7dd1-51e0-865c-e4bcbc304eda)

Chapter Three (#u602847ea-a022-5b97-b41d-f4da6a85586a)

Chapter Four (#ucaaad8cb-a59c-5447-aebf-f8eaaa86c521)

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)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One

Jordan Brand opened the throttle of her jet-black Ducati motorcycle and shot through the intersection just before the light turned red. She leaned forward as she aimed her bike between the two cars in front of her, determined to make up time by creating a third lane for herself. Jordan ignored the loud honking as she zipped in between the two lanes of traffic. She couldn’t care less if the other drivers didn’t like her shortcuts. This was California. No one had the right to cast stones.

Jordan cut off a canary-yellow Escalade as she made a right turn onto Broadway. She ignored the posted speed-limit sign. After all, sometimes tiny little rules needed to be broken. Jordan accelerated as she made another right onto Sixth and drove in the wrong direction up the one-way street. After dodging an oncoming car, she invented a parking spot in a no-parking zone and jammed on the brakes. She dropped the kickstand and shut off the engine.

“What lunatic actually thought it was a good idea to give you your license back?”

After she removed her helmet from her head, Jordan smiled broadly at the large, heavily tattooed man standing outside the tattoo parlor. “Which one of us has a better shot at makin’ it to old age, Chappy? Me with my driving, or you with your cigarettes?”

Chappy grinned right before he took another drag from his unfiltered cigarette. “It’s too close to call.”

Jordan swung her leg over the seat of her bike, tucked her helmet under her arm and walked over to where he was standing. She reached up, pulled the cigarette out from between his lips, dropped it on the sidewalk and then crushed it beneath the heel of her boot.

“I just added a week to your life.” She smiled up at him.

Chappy ran a beefy hand over his shaved, tattooed head. “If you come a little closer and give me a hug, I’ll forgive you.”

After she gave him a quick hug, Jordan asked, “Is Marty inside?”

“He’s been waitin’ on you, as usual. Got the client in the chair already. Don’t you own a watch?”

Jordan stepped away from him with an easy laugh and pulled a rolled piece of paper from the inside pocket of her motorcycle jacket. “I have the drawing right here. When have I ever let you down?” She stopped just before she pulled open the door to the tattoo parlor. “You know, for social degenerates, the two of you are really uptight about punctuality.”

* * *

“No.” Ian Sterling slipped the top photo from the large stack of pictures in his hand and dropped it onto the floor.

“No,” he said again, and the second photo followed the first. He sifted quickly through the pile as he paced around his photography studio. “No. No. No. Dammit. No!”

Ian dropped the rest of the photographs onto the floor. He pulled off his reading glasses, marched over to his phone and stabbed at the intercom button with his finger. “Chelsea.”

Dylan Axel, who was leaning casually against the desk, asked, “Is there a problem?”

Ian ignored him. “Chelsea. Come in here, please.”

The door leading to the reception area opened and a tall, rail-thin brunette hurried in. “Yes, Mr. Sterling?”

Ian jerked his head toward the photographs strewn across the polished concrete floor. “Shred those.”

Chelsea looked temporarily stunned but snapped out of it quickly. She lowered herself to the ground in her skintight pencil skirt and began to pick up the discarded pictures.

“I’m starting to think that you don’t approve of the models I found.” Dylan sauntered over to where Chelsea was teetering on her stiletto heels and offered his hand to her. “I’ll take care of it, Chelsea. Thank you.”