By Sharon Kendrick
One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.
There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.
I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”
So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?
I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.
Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…
‘I DON’T particularly want to talk about Liam,’ said Scarlett, forcing her voice to be cool only with a monumental effort. She pulled on a black silk stocking. ‘And certainly not on the night when I’m getting engaged to someone else.’
‘Don’t you?’ taunted Camilla softly. ‘But you were thinking about him just now, weren’t you? I could tell by the look on your face.’
Scarlett fixed a look of nonchalant bemusement onto her face; it was a familiar look and one which she had perfected—the bright mask she hid behind. Then she outstared Camilla—whom she’d known since they were three years old—just daring her to challenge her. ‘Thinking about Liam?’ she queried, even managing a throaty note of amusement. ‘Are you crazy?’
‘No, but you were. Crazy to—’
Scarlett had had enough. ‘Drop it, won’t you, Camilla? And do leave me in peace to get dressed—otherwise I’m going to be late for my own party.’
To her immense relief Camilla disappeared, and after she’d closed the door behind her Scarlett looked down at her hands, to discover that they were trembling. Could the very mention of his name still do that to her?
‘Damn Liam Rouse!’ she said huskily. ‘Damn him!’
She reached up and pulled her dress off the hanger. Outrageous, she thought as she stood in the clinging black basque looking at the brand-new gown. The perfect winter party dress—a long-sleeved, figure-hugging black velvet sheath, with a flirty and flouncy little overskirt in gold-spangled black tulle. The black echoed the darkness of her hair, and the gold of the spangles reflected the strange gold gleam of her eyes. Not her usual style at all.
She slithered into it and stood in front of the full-length mirror. I don’t look like me at all, she thought as she gazed back at the strangely glamorous and seductive creature. Even her hair looked completely different. Normally stubbornly straight, it usually spilled to just below her shoulders, but tonight it had been fashioned into great swirling waves by the village hairdresser. Beneath the heavy fringe the unusual clear amber, almost gold of her eyes glinted back at her.
I’d better go down and find Henry, she thought, when a movement from outside the uncurtained windows distracted her. Scarlett screwed her eyes up as she stared out into the blackness of the night at the sweeping grounds of Seymour House, her eyes lingering last on the massive oak, its bare branches heavy with snow. As she watched she thought she saw a shadow shift, and her heart accelerated with natural fear.
Was that a man standing there—as still and watchful as the tree itself?
Scarlett blinked and looked again, to see nothing but emptiness. There was no one there—of course there wasn’t! Who in their right mind would be standing under an oak tree on the coldest night of the year?