Wanted: White Wedding

Wanted: White Wedding
NATASHA OAKLEY

Seeing Daniel Ramsey struggle with fatherhood makes memories of Freya's past come flooding back.Freya was a wild child, but on the inside she always dreamed of happy ever afters and white weddings. It was a way to escape the troubles of home. Now she's grown up, stunning and successful, and she knows she can help Daniel and his daughter.But Freya's afraid of getting too close…. She still has her secrets, locked up tight. Could it be that after all these years, she's met the man who has the ability to see straight into her heart?

His hand reached out to touch her

arm. Freya looked up.

“Thank you.”

And then he kissed her on the cheek. A gentle touch of his lips on her skin. Freya gripped her keys hard, willing the pain of the metal biting into her soft flesh to prevent her raising a hand to touch where he’d kissed her.

His kiss hadn’t been about sex. Or lust. Or any of the things she’d experienced before. It was liking. It was gratitude.

And maybe, just maybe, it was a little about love.

Dear Reader,

As anyone who has visited my blog will know, it’s been a very tough time for me and mine. I’m sure that many of you reading this will also have known difficult times. Maybe you’re in one of those dark patches right now. And even when life is on an even keel there are still those days when you just feel completely frazzled and worn out, aren’t there? It’s because life can be tough that I believe time out to read a romance is so very important—one of those little treats that make everything seem more rosy and manageable somehow.

I love writing romance. I get to give my characters real problems and losses—the kind we all face—and then I give them the resolution we all desperately want for ourselves. I believe absolutely that life can change for the better in a moment, and there is nothing better than a “happy ever after.”

Thank God for Harlequin Romance

novels.

Much love,

Natasha

Wanted: White Wedding

Natasha Oakley

Natasha Oakley told everyone at her elementary school that she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mom bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality, and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing or needed for “crowd control,” she loves to escape to antiques fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her Web site, www.natashaoakley.com.

“One of the best writers

of contemporary romance writing today!”

—CataRomance.com

“Ordinary Girl, Society Groom is one of those books

that keeps you guessing until the end.

It is very pleasing on so many different levels

that it will appeal to many. I sense awards

are in Ms. Oakley’s literary future.”

—Writers Unlimited

To Jenny, my editor.

Without your support and belief in me

this book would never have been written.

Thank you.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

FREYA bit down hard on the expletive hovering on the tip of her tongue and called again, her eyes raking the rows of old sofas and chests of drawers. ‘Hello?’

There was still no answer. No sound of anything in the cavernous building except the clip of her heels on the concrete floor. ‘Mr Ramsay? Anyone? Anyone at all?’ She came to a stop and looked back across the auction house.

She sucked in her breath and spun round to look again at the long line of caged cupboards piled high with knick-knacks. Where was everyone? The entire place was deserted.

Freya tucked her hands further into the depths of her sheepskin jacket and stamped her feet to get warmth back into her frozen toes. This was such a crazy way of doing business. There had to be someone whose job it was to speak to people like her. A porter? Wasn’t that the way it worked?

She hadn’t expected anything like Sotheby’s or Christie’s in a place like Fellingham, but this was plain ridiculous. Left to herself, she’d walk straight back out of here—and a casual trawl through the telephone directory would, no doubt, produce any number of more promising alternatives.