Her eyes were dry now, and her nerves were suddenly calm as the day. “Do you mean it?”

His lips curved. “No, Sutherland. I’m lying.”

With a laugh, she launched herself into his arms. “Tough break. I’ve got witnesses.” The spontaneous applause from the kitchen made her laugh again. “Oh, I do love you, Donovan. I’m going to do my best to make your life eventful.”

He swung her in one giddy circle. “I know.” After one last long kiss, he took her by the hand. “Come, meet your family again. We’ve all been waiting for you.”

If you liked Entranced, look for the other novels in the Donovan Legacy series: Captivated, Charmed, and Enchanted, available as eBooks from InterMix.

Excerpt from The Witness

Keep reading for an excerpt from

the newest novel by Nora Roberts

The Witness

Available April 2012 in hardcover from G. P. Putnam’s Sons

June 2000

Elizabeth Fitch’s short-lived teenage rebellion began with L’Oreal Pure Black, a pair of scissors and a fake ID. It ended in blood.

For nearly the whole of her sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days she’d dutifully followed her mother’s directives. Dr. Susan L. Fitch issued directives, not orders. Elizabeth had adhered to the schedules her mother created, ate the meals designed by her mother’s nutritionist and prepared by her mother’s cook, wore the clothes selected by her mother’s personal shopper.

Dr. Susan L. Fitch dressed conservatively, as suited—in her opinion—her position as Chief of Surgery at Chicago’s Silva Memorial Hospital. She expected, and directed, her daughter to do the same.

Elizabeth studied diligently, accepting and excelling in the academic programs her mother outlined. In the fall, she’d return to Harvard in pursuit of her medical degree. So she could become a doctor, like her mother; a surgeon, like her mother.

Elizabeth—never Liz or Lizzie or Beth—spoke fluent Spanish, French, Italian, passable Russian and rudimentary Japanese. She played both piano and violin. She’d traveled to Europe, to Africa. She could name all the bones, nerves and muscles in the human body and play Chopin’s Piano Concerto—both One and Two—by rote.

She’d never been on a date or kissed a boy. She’d never roamed the mall with a pack of girls, attended a slumber party or giggled with friends over pizza or hot fudge sundaes.

She was, at sixteen years, eight months and twenty-one days, a product of her mother’s meticulous and detailed agenda.

That was about to change.

She watched her mother pack. Susan, her rich brown hair already coiled in her signature French twist, neatly hung another suit in the organized garment bag, then checked off the printout with each day of the week’s medical conference broken into subgroups. The printout included a spreadsheet listing every event, appointment, meeting and meal scheduled with the selected outfit, shoes, bag and accessories.