Quotes:
"From its unconventional prologue to its superb conclusion, every page of the first in Bradley's Runaway Brides series is perfection and joy. Tinged with humor that never overshadows the poignancy and peopled with remarkable characters (especially the precocious Melody) who will steal your heart, this one's a keeper." --Romantic Times BOOKreviews

Under the covers:
I wrote this book while pondering the meaning of fatherhood. What makes a father? Is it instinct? Having a good example to follow? Reading the parenting books that have been strategically left by the toilet with relevant passages highlighted in yellow?

Aidan is a man who is locked down tight--until a child manages to pick that lock with a smile.

Excerpt:
Oh no. She was too close. Aidan towered over her, his broad shoulders blocking the light. For a moment Madeleine was back in bed with him, covered by him, wrapped around him. Shoulders like that could shelter a woman for the rest of her life--if she was mad enough to lie and cheat and sell her soul to get them.

No. She must not stand where she could feel Aidan, where she could breathe him in, where she could reach out to touch him so easily.

Step away. Move.

She did so, one painful step at a time. Turning away, she forced her feet to carry her to the opposite side of the room. "How . . . " Get your mind off those shoulders, you idiot! She cleared her throat. "How shall Melody and I get on? If the staff is not to know we're here, who will bring our meals?"

Even as she spoke she restlessly picked up a child's jumper which was crumpled in a corner of the settee. As she absently fluffed and folded it, she kept moving. She could feel Aidan more than see him, but she knew he was circling as well, keeping his distance but never taking that intensely hot gaze from her.

"Colin has gone out to purchase edibles," he told her in a low voice. "I believe we can use
them to stretch the dinner orders."

Aidan watched her put the knitted thing down, feeling it like a blow to his gut when her gown clung her firm shapely buttocks as she bent. He could envision her as if her gown did not exist. He could see those perfect heart-shaped ivory cheeks with the matching dimples above.

"So it's naught but buttered buns?"

He choked. "What?"

She cast him a glance over her shoulder and moved away once more. "I'm simply asking if we're to eat nothing but things Lord Colin can sneak in his pockets. Could you ask him to fetch me a nice long sausage?"

Aidan closed his eyes. "Colin shall not be delivering you sausages."

She turned to him, her eyes wide. "Why not? It should last me a good long while."

"Never mind the sausage!" Good God, he was going to snap right here, right now. Taking his lust by the throat, he choked it, beheaded it, buried it and built a crypt. Inhaling deeply, he squared his shoulders. "I shall see to the matter. I'm sure I can increase my orders to the kitchen without drawing suspicion."

She shrugged. "Very well then." Moving behind his chair, she lifted his discarded coat and shook it out. Folding it absently, she pressed it to her bosom with one hand while the other stroked down the velvet, smoothing out signs of his careless handling.

Aidan would have cast his fortune into the waves to be that coat. To feel those hands stroking over him, to press himself between those ripe, rounded breasts, to taste that milky skin--

"Milk!" She nodded emphatically. "With cream, I think."

She was trying to kill him. That was it. She was intent on murder--Death by Excessive Lust--in vengeance for his abandonment.

He twisted and flexed his neck but the tension of his near-bursting blood pressure refused to lesson the pounding in his head, among other places. "Milk, you say?" His voice was nothing but a rasp.

"Oh, yes. Children must have milk. And cheese. And fruit--you'll have to find oranges, or possibly apples, though it is a bit late in the year. I do love biting into a crisp, sweet apple. Somehow it seems to make everything alright." She squeezed his coat to her bosom, her gaze far away as the pressure pushed her breasts high. "Too bad it's far too early for melons."

Melons. Oh my God. She was demonic. "How . . . unfortunate for us all."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You're mocking me." Tossing his coat back down to fend for itself, she turned her back on it. "What of the housekeeping duties? Am I to be your chambermaid as well?"

Abruptly his lust rose from the dead, bursting from its crypt to take him by the throat. The Lusty Lord and the Cheeky Chambermaid. Not that he was elitist. He would just as happy to play the part of Lusty Footman or Lusty Stableboy, as long as it was Madeleine in the low-cut chambermaid costume with a feather-duster and a distinct lack of knickers . . .

They circled in silence for a long moment, their gazes locked. No. We cannot. And yet . . . I think perhaps we will.

The room became small as they moved about it, restlessly touching things, fighting the draw. She could feel his warmth. He could smell her skin.

Spiraling closer . . . until they stood face to face, close enough to touch at last.