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Back The Runaway Heiress Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. PRAISE FOR MEG TILLY AND HER NOVELS
  3. TITLES BY MEG TILLY
  4. Dedication
  5. PROLOGUE
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. 30
  36. 31
  37. 32
  38. 33
  39. 34
  40. 35
  41. 36
  42. 37
  43. 38
  44. 39
  45. 40
  46. 41
  47. 42
  48. 43
  49. 44
  50. 45
  51. 46
  52. 47
  53. 48
  54. 49
  55. 50
  56. 51
  57. 52
  58. 53
  59. 54
  60. 55
  61. 56
  62. 57
  63. 58
  64. 59
  65. 60
  66. 61
  67. 62
  68. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  69. Excerpt from SOLACE ISLAND
  70. 1
  71. 2
  72. 3
  73. 4
  74. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  75. What’s next onyour reading list?

He leaned forward, propped his head on his hand, elbow on the table, a hint of laughter in his eyes.

“Potatoes?” she said, brazening it out, polite inquiry on her face.

He sat back, slapped his thigh with a hoot of laughter that had people’s heads turning toward their table. “You are something,” he said, shaking his head. He sounded almost admiring, which didn’t make sense. “Balls the size of cantaloupes.”

“Wow. Thanks. In your menial vocabulary, I presume that is considered a compliment?” she said, reaching across the table and snagging the potatoes. That comment yanked another laugh from him. She felt good. Felt seen. Didn’t know how he’d managed to do it. The majority of the population never looked past the mask she presented. She plopped some of the potatoes on her plate, strands of melted cheese trailing from the spoon, the scent of their greasy goodness making her mouth water.

“I’ll bet,” he said, toying with his wineglass, watching her over the rim, “you come from one of those stuffy old families.” He grinned. “Probably can trace your ancestors back to the first Mayflower.”

Pretty much. Getting too close to the truth. Time to change the subject. She popped a forkful of the potatoes in her mouth. “Umm . . . these potatoes are so tasty. Sheer heaven.”

“Glad you approve,” he said, taking a mouthful of wine, holding it on his tongue for a second, then tipping his head back for the swallow. There was something about the way he savored the flavor of the wine that made heat pool low in her abdomen. And for a split second she had the oddest desire to slide along the leather banquette, cradle his face between her hands, and taste the remnants of wine from his lips.

“That.” He leaned forward. “There.” His hand had risen as if to pull the thought from her mind. “What were you just thinking?”

“Seriously?”

“I want to know. I’m curious.”

“Oh well,” she said, returning her attention to her plate. “As my employer, you have a claim on my time. Not my thoughts.”

12

The roar of a luxury sports car yanked Sarah from sleep, disoriented, her heart pounding. Kevin was the first thought that dropped into her sleep-soaked brain. The engine sound was similar to the Maserati GranTurismo he had pressured her into putting on her black American Express card the day after they returned from Vegas. “A wedding gift,” he’d said. “After all, that rock you are wearing didn’t come cheap.”