Swept Away!: Accidentally Expecting! / Salzano's Captive Bride / Hawaiian Sunset, Dream Proposal

Swept Away!: Accidentally Expecting! / Salzano's Captive Bride / Hawaiian Sunset, Dream Proposal
Lucy Gordon

Joanna Neil

Daphne Clair

Accidentally Expecting! On holiday in Italy, Ferne is dazzled by charming Dante Rinucci and his zest for life. She doesn’t realise that every day could be his last. But Ferne’s surprise pregnancy, and the chance to be a dad, could save Dante… Salzano’s Captive Bride Marco Salzano is furious!One moment of passion in the sultry heat of carnaval has had its price. Burning with suspicion and anger, the arrogant Venezuelan billionaire is going to track down his errant onenight stand and claim his love child! But he’s accusing the wrong woman!Hawaiian Sunset, Dream Proposal Dr Amber Shaw has packed her bags, put her broken heart behind her, and come to Hawaii to take care of a wealthy patient. Once there, she soon falls under the island’s tropical spell, but she is determined to resist her patient’s infuriating yet handsome nephew, Dr Ethan Brookes!

Swept Away!

Accidentally Expecting!

Lucy Gordon

Salzano’s Captive Bride

Daphne Clair

Hawaiian Sunset, Dream Proposal

Joanna Neil

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

Accidentally Expecting!

Lucy Gordon

About the Author

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Charlton Heston and Sir Roger Moore. She also camped out with lions in Africa and had many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. Several years ago, while staying Venice, she met a Venetian who proposed in two days. They have been married ever since. Naturally this has affected her writing, where romantic Italian men tend to feature strongly.

Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America RITA

award.

CHAPTER ONE

HORNS blared, lights flashed in the darkness and Ferne ground her hands together as the cab battled its way through the slow-moving Milan traffic.

‘Oh no! I’m going to miss the train. Please!’

The driver called back over his shoulder, ‘I’m doing my best, signorina, but the traffic here is like nowhere else in the world.’ He said it with pride.

‘I know it’s not your fault,’ she cried. ‘But I’ve got a ticket on the night train to Naples. It leaves in a quarter of an hour.’

The driver chuckled. ‘Leave it to me. Twenty years I am driving in Milan, and my passengers do not miss their trains.’

The next ten minutes were breathless but triumphant, and at last the ornate façade of Milan Central Station came into view. As Ferne leapt out and paid the driver, a porter appeared.

‘Train to Naples,’ she gasped.

‘This way, signorina.’

They made it to the platform looking so frantic that heads were turned. But suddenly Ferne stumbled and went sprawling right in the path of the porter, who sprawled in turn.

She wanted to yell aloud at being thwarted at the last moment, but miraculously hands came out of nowhere, seized her, thrust her on board, the bags following after her. A door slammed.

‘Stai bene?’ came a man’s voice.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t speak Italian,’ she said breathlessly, clutching him as he helped her to her feet.

‘I asked if you are all right,’ he said in English.

‘Yes, but—oh heavens, we’re moving. I should have given that poor man something.’

‘Leave it to me.’

Now Ferne had a moment to look at him, and realised that she was suffering delusions. He was so handsome that it was impossible. In his thirties, he stood, tall and impressive, with wide shoulders and hair of a raven-black colour that only Italians seemed to achieve. His eyes were deep blue, gleaming with life, and his whole appearance was something no man could be permitted outside the pages of a novel.

To cap it all, he’d come galloping to her rescue like the hero of a melodrama, which was simply too much. But, what the heck? She was on holiday.

He returned her gaze, briefly but appreciatively, taking in her slender figure and dark-red hair. Without conceit, but also without false modesty, she knew she was attractive; the expression in his eyes was one she’d often seen before, although it was a while since she’d responded to it.

‘I’ll refund you that tip, of course,’ she said.

A woman had appeared behind them in the corridor. She was in her sixties, white-haired, slender and elegant.

‘Are you hurt, my dear?’ she asked. ‘That was a nasty fall you had.’

‘No, I’m fine, just a bit shaken.’

‘Dante, bring her to our compartment.’

‘OK, Aunt Hope. You take her, I’ll bring the bags.’

The woman took Ferne gently by the arm and led her along the corridor to a compartment where a man, also in his sixties, was standing in the doorway watching their approach. He stood back to let them in and ushered Ferne to a seat.

‘From the way you speak, I think you are English,’ the woman said with a charming smile.

‘Yes, my name is Ferne Edmunds.’

‘I too am English. At least, I was long ago. Now I am Signora Hope Rinucci. This is my husband, Toni—and this young man is our nephew, Dante Rinucci.’

Dante was just entering with the bags, which he shoved under the seats, and then he sat down, rubbing his upper arm.

‘Are you hurt?’ Hope asked anxiously.

He grimaced. ‘Pushing my arm through that narrow space has probably left me with bruises for life.’ Then a grin broke over his face. ‘It’s all right, I’m only joking. Stop fussing. It’s our friend here who needs care. Those platforms are hard.’