A Christmas Bride by Susan Mallery

By Susan Mallery

Only Us

Pet groomer Carina Fiore desires not anything greater than to admit her emotions to the guy she loves. She's attracted to veterinarian Cameron McKenzie's beauty, worrying nature and particularly his devotion to his younger daughter. There's only one challenge — he's her boss. placing her center at the line may perhaps expense Rina either her task and their friendship ceaselessly. but if a kiss less than the mistletoe unlocks the simmering ardour among them, Rina and Cameron may locate love for the vacations after all….

The Sheik and the Christmas Bride

When Prince As'ad of El Deharia consents to undertake 3 orphaned American ladies, he does so on one — that their appealing instructor, Kayleen James, turn into their nanny. His plan is to go away her to accommodate the kids as he keeps his existence, undisturbed. yet all that alterations whilst Kayleen and the ladies invade the palace — and As'ad's middle — and alter it for the higher.

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She sighed quietly. ” 55 Leopolda was kneeling bolt upright, face blazing and twitch­ ing, a barely held fountain of blasting poison. “Christ has marked me,” I agreed. I smiled the saint’s smirk into her face. And then I looked at her. That was my mistake. For I saw her kneeling there. Leopolda with her soul like a rubber overboot. With her face of a starved rat. With the desper­ ate eyes drowning in the deep wells of her wrongness. There would be no one else after me. And I would leave. I saw Leo­ polda kneeling within the shambles of her love.

Only the tough wild rhubarb flourished. Goldenrod rubbed up their walls. It was a poor convent. I didn’t see that then but I know that now. Com­ pared to others it was humble, ragtag, out in the middle of no place. It was the end of the world to some. Where the maps stopped. Where God had only half a hand in the creation. Where the Dark One had put in thick bush, liquor, wild dogs, and Indians. I heard later that the Sacred Heart Convent was a catchall place for nuns that don’t get along elsewhere.

I am going,” I said. ” But she held me down. “Don’t go,” she said quickly. “Don’t. ” 51 I was weakening. My thoughts were whirling pitifully. The pain had kept me strong, and as it left me I began to forget it; I couldn’t hold on. I began to wonder if she’d really scalded me with the kettle. I could not remember. To remember this seemed the most important thing in the world. But I was losing the mem­ ory. The scalding. The pouring. It began to vanish. I felt like my mind was coming off its hinge, flapping in the breeze, hanging by the hair of my own pain.

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