The Ranieri Bride
ENRICO RANIERI was striding across Hannard's foyer with his dark head lowered. He was late and he was frowning, too preoccupied with the meeting he was about to attend to notice the drop-jaw looks of recognition he and his small entourage were receiving as they passed through.
It was the finest—finest—hint of a sound crashing into his consciousness that made him lift up his head. After that he stopped dead, every important thought preceding this moment wiped clean away by the sight that met his ink-dark gaze.
She was about ten feet away, just stepping out of one of the lifts. His insides flipped and then rolled as if he'd been put into a sudden steep dive. He struggled to believe it—or did not want to. It was years since he'd so much as clapped eyes on her, yet as she uttered some small, indistinguishable sound he found himself rendered so immobile he couldn't make his brain move beyond the fact that she was right there before him in the flesh!
She had not noticed him yet because her head was lowered, her glorious mane of bright auburn hair caught up on the top of her head in one of those unflattering knots that had al ... read full excerpt from: The Ranieri Bride ebook
