A Family To Belong To. NATASHA OAKLEY

      Dear Reader,

      I think we’ve all experienced the agony of unrequited love sometime in our lives. You know…that boy you were too scared to speak to and whose smile made your day just that little bit brighter. For my Kate that “boy” was Gideon Manser.

      I hope you ache for her—for them both—because life has hit them hard. In reality things do not always work out the way we would wish, but in my story Gideon and Kate have the happy ending they richly deserve.

      The Isle of Wight, where this book is set, is a real place. My husband worked on it for a couple of summers, and my family and I escape there whenever we can. If you stand at the bottom of England and look out to sea, you will see it. Just twenty-three miles by thirteen miles, it’s a truly magical place. I can’t think of many places more perfect to live out a “happy ever after.”

      Much love,

      Natasha

      Harlequin Romance® is thrilled to bring you another sparkling new book from British author

      Natasha Oakley

      Her poignant and emotional writing will tug on your heartstrings.

      Books by Natasha Oakley

      HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

      3838—FOR OUR CHILDREN’S SAKE

      3854—THE BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT

      A Family To Belong To

      Natasha Oakley

      

www.millsandboon.co.uk

      NATASHA OAKLEY told everyone at her primary school she wanted to be an author when she grew up. Her plan was to stay at home and have her mum bring her coffee at regular intervals—a drink she didn’t like then. The coffee addiction became reality, and the love of storytelling stayed with her. A professional actress, Natasha began writing when her fifth child started to sleep through the night. Born in London, U.K., she now lives in Bedfordshire with her husband and young family. When not writing, or needed for “crowd control,” she loves to escape to antique fairs and auctions. Find out more about Natasha and her books on her Web site www.natashaoakley.com

      CONTENTS

       CHAPTER ONE

       CHAPTER TWO

       CHAPTER THREE

       CHAPTER FOUR

       CHAPTER FIVE

       CHAPTER SIX

       CHAPTER SEVEN

       CHAPTER EIGHT

       CHAPTER NINE

       CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE wind tasted salty on her lips and the ice-cold rain pitted her cheeks. Kate Simmonds stared out at the slate-grey sea and felt her hair flick painfully around her face.

      She was coming home.

      Too late.

      Aunt Babs was dead.

      She lifted one shaking hand to push back her hair. A week ago everything had been so different, or had seemed that way. Then there’d been time. She had known she’d make the trip back home some time—just not yet. She wasn’t ready. Even now. And Aunt Babs had understood. She really had.

      But now it was too late.

      Kate leant against the metal bar of the upper ferry deck and looked out to sea. An immense grey vastness stretching out before her. It put everything into perspective somehow. Made all her bitter angst seem rather unimportant and petty. She should have made time.

      Aunt Babs had given her a home. She’d taken an awkward, angry little ten-year-old into her house and loved her as though she’d been her own. A foster mum in a million. Kate knew she’d deserved more from her than the weekly phone call and the occasional trip to London. It was just one more regret to add to the pile she was accumulating in her life.

      It must be almost six years since she’d made this trip. She’d not meant to stay away so long. Six years! So much had changed in that time. She had changed. She was barely recognisable from that twenty-two-year-old Katie. She’d passed through Katie, Kay and Katherine before becoming Kate. Reinvented. Kate Simmonds. Poised. Elegant. In control of her life.

      If only that were true. Inside she still lived with the same cankerous uncertainties and a desperate desire to belong. Still carried the scars of rejection. And now, of course, there was something more. Something even deeper. A more recent pain that seared like a branding iron. She pushed her hands deep in the pockets of her long black coat and turned away from the overwhelming greyness of the March sky.

      Just a handful of tourists had ventured outside to eagerly watch the Isle of Wight appear in the distance. They stood clustered together under a canopy of clashing umbrellas. Dimly she was aware of a questioning glance directed at her, then a half-smile as though the elderly lady in the red anorak thought she might know her.

      Kate looked away. She didn’t. It was an illusion—like so much of her life. She didn’t want the inane conversation she knew would follow. She wanted to be left alone with her thoughts, however painful.

      Abruptly Kate turned and walked back across the deck, pulling open the heavy metal door. The high heels on her suede boots made the steep steps down difficult and her black coat spread out behind her like a flowing cape.

      Below, the passenger lounge smelt of chips and stale cigarettes but it was good to be out of the bitter wind. Kate shook out her hair and unwound her long burnt-orange scarf before joining the crocodile of people waiting in line for something to drink.

      ‘If you want coffee you’re in the wrong queue.’

      Her head whipped up at the sound of a male voice and she stared up into the face of Gideon…Manser.

      His name fell effortlessly into place. She remembered him perfectly. His intense blue eyes and angular features. The small indentation in the centre of his chin. A man with more sex appeal than the average movie star. And the object of her unrequited teenage fantasies.

      ‘The machine’s broken down this side,’ he said calmly, a faint smile pulling lines in his strong cheeks.

      Gideon Manser.

      Instinctively her hand went to her hair; she was uncomfortably aware it hung damp and limp about her face. She’d have known him anywhere. He hadn’t altered at all. Or perhaps he had a little. He was slightly thinner. Tired-looking. Slightly worn at the edges. But he was still sexy. Very sexy indeed.

      ‘Thank you,’ she managed.

      She could remember, all too clearly, what a complete and utter fool she’d made of herself when he’d first arrived on the island. At seventeen she’d thought he was the most gorgeous thing to have ever walked the planet—and she couldn’t have made it much plainer.

      He was older than her. Much