The Loner's Guarded Heart. Michelle Douglas

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      He began to press hot kisses to her throat before claiming her mouth.

      Their desire swept her along like a swollen current of the river, like gale-force winds that bent the tops of trees. She felt wild, free…cherished. She—

      “No!”

      Kent jerked back and glared. Through the haze of her desire Josie saw the torment in his eyes. His fingers bit into her shoulders and he shook her, but she had a feeling it was himself he wanted to shake. She made a move to reach out to him, to try and wipe away the pain that raked his face, but he dropped his hands and stepped back out of her reach.

      “This is not going to happen,” he ground out.

      Her arms felt bereft, cold. She gulped. Need lapped at her. What had she done wrong?

      At the age of eight, Michelle Douglas was asked what she wanted to be when she grew up. She answered, “A writer.” Years later she read an article about romance writing and thought, Ooh—that’ll be fun. She was right. When she’s not writing she can usually be found with her nose buried in a book. She is currently enrolled in an English master’s program, for the sole purpose of indulging her reading and writing habits further. She lives in a leafy suburb of Newcastle, on Australia’s east coast, with her own romantic hero—husband Greg—who is the inspiration behind all her happy endings. Michelle would love you to visit her at her Web site, www.michelle-douglas.com.

      “Michelle Douglas makes an outstanding debut with His Christmas Angel, a complex, richly emotional story…This one’s a keeper.”

      —Romantic Times BOOKreviews

      The Loner’s Guarded Heart

      Michelle Douglas

      TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

       AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

       STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

       PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

      Just like having a heart-to-heart with your best friend, these stories will take you from laughter to tears and back again!

      Curl up and have a

      with Harlequin Romance^®

      So heartwarming and emotional, you’ll want to have some tissues handy!

      Look out for the next HEART TO HEART

      THE ITALIAN’S CINDERELLA BRIDE

      by Lucy Gordon

      Available in June

      For Greg

      CONTENTS

      CHAPTER ONE

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHAPTER THREE

      CHAPTER FOUR

      CHAPTER FIVE

      CHAPTER SIX

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      CHAPTER NINE

      CHAPTER TEN

      CHAPTER ELEVEN

      CHAPTER ONE

      ‘HELLO?’

      Josie Peterson bent down and called her greeting into the half-open window before knocking on the door again.

      No movement. No sound. Nothing.

      Chewing her lip, she stepped back and surveyed the front of the cottage—weatherboard, neatly painted white. A serviceable grey-checked gingham curtain hung at the windows.

      Grey? A sigh rose up through her. She was tired of grey. She wanted frills. And colour. She wanted fun and fanciful.

      She could feel the grey try to settle over her shoulders.

      She shook herself and swung away, took in the view about her. The paths were swept, the lawns were cared for, but there wasn’t a single garden bed to soften the uniformity. Not even a pot plant. At the moment, Josie would kill for the sight of a single cheerful gerbera, let alone a whole row of them.

      Six wooden cabins marched down the slope away from the cottage. Nothing moved. No signs of habitation greeted her. No cars, no towels drying on verandas, no pushbikes or cricket bats leant against the walls.

      No people.

      Fun and fanciful weren’t the first descriptions that came to mind. The grass around the cabins, though, was green and clipped short. Someone took the trouble to maintain it all.

      If only she could find that person.

      Or people. She prayed for people.

      The view spread before her was a glorious patchwork of golden grasses, khaki gum trees and a flash of silver river, all haloed and in soft focus from the late-afternoon sunshine. Josie had to fight back the absurd desire to cry.

      What on earth had Marty and Frank been thinking?

      You were the one who said you wanted some peace and quiet, she reminded herself, collapsing on the top step and propping her chin in her hands.

      Yes, but there was peace and quiet and then there was this.

      From the front veranda of the cottage, there wasn’t another habitation in sight. She hid her face in her hands. Marty and Frank knew her well enough to know she hadn’t meant this, didn’t they?

      Her insides clenched and she pulled her hands away. She didn’t want the kind of peace and quiet that landed a person so far from civilisation they couldn’t get a signal on their cell-phone.

      She wanted people. She wanted to lie back, close her eyes and hear people laughing and living. She wanted to watch people laughing and living. She wanted—

      Enough already! This was the one nice thing Marty and Frank had done for her in…

      She tried to remember, but her mind went blank. OK, so maybe they weren’t the most demonstrative of brothers, but sending her on holiday was a nice thing. Did she intend spoiling it with criticisms and rank ingratitude?

      Some people would kill to be in her position. Lots of people would love to spend a month in the gorgeous Upper Hunter Valley of rural New South Wales with nothing to do.

      She gazed about her wistfully. She wished all those people were lining the hills of this valley right now.

      She dusted off her hands and pushed to her feet. She’d make the best of it. According to her map there was a town a few kilometres further on. She could drive in there whenever she wanted. She’d make friends. She was tired. That was all. It had taken too long to get here, which was probably why her landlord had given up on her.

      She wondered what kind of people would live out here all on their own. Hopefully the kind of people who took a solitary soul under their wing, introduced them around and enthusiastically outlined all the local activities available. Hopefully they’d love a chat over a cup of tea and a biscuit.

      Josie would provide the biscuits.

      Impatience shifted through her. She rolled her shoulders, stamped her feet and gulped in a breath of late-afternoon air. She didn’t recognise the dry, dusty scents she pulled into her lungs, so different from the humid, salt-laden air of Buchanan’s Point on the coast, her home. Her stomach clenched up again at the unfamiliarity.

      She didn’t belong here.

      ‘Nonsense.’