The Bridal Bed. HELEN BIANCHIN

ection>

      

      “Which bed would you prefer?” Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Copyright

      “Which bed would you prefer?”

      Sloane regarded her thoughtfully. “You don’t want to share?”

      “No,” Suzanne told him. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t dare. It was bad enough having to share the same villa, the same bedroom!

      To share the same bed was definitely impossible. Unless she was into casual sex, for the sake of sex. And she wasn’t. To her, sex meant intimacy, sensuality, love.

      “A word of warning, Suzanne,” Sloane said softly. “Don’t expect me to behave like a gentleman.”

      Anything can happen behind closed doors!

      Do you dare find out...?

      Welcome to the final book in our sizzling, sensual

      miniseries DO NOT DISTURB!

      Meet the last of four different couples thrown

      together by circumstances into a whirlwind of

      unexpected attraction. Forced into each other’s

      company whether they like it or not, they’re soon in

      the grip of passion—and definitely don’t want to

      be disturbed!

      This month it’s the turn of popular Presents author Helen Bianchin to explore this delicious fantasy in a tantalizing romance you simply won’t want to put down.

      What happens when Suzanne and her ex-fiancé

      Sloane find themselves sharing The Bridal Bed...?

      Turn the pages and find out!

      The Bridal Bed

      Helen Bianchin

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      IT SHOULD be Friday the thirteenth, Suzanne determined as she perused the perfectly printed legal document on her desk and noted yet another clause she knew wasn’t worded to her client’s best interest.

      Midwinter had delivered metropolitan Sydney with a shocking day, and she’d woken to howling winds and heavy rain. Consequently she’d got wet traversing the external stairs leading from her tiny Manly flat down to the garage beneath.

      Her car, which had up until now behaved impeccably, had decided not to start. A telephone call to the automobile association had elicited there was a backlog of calls, and it would be at least an hour before someone could come to her rescue. Two hours later the diagnosis had been a dead battery, and it had taken a further hour to organise a replacement and drive into the city.

      Consequently she’d been late, very late arriving at the inner-city legal office where she worked as one of several junior solicitors. A fact that hadn’t sat well with two waiting clients who had been virtuously punctual. Nor had the senior partner been very happy that she’d missed an important staff meeting.

      There had been files piled up on her desk, messages that required attention, and three rescheduled appointments lined up one after the other. Lunch hadn’t even been an option.

      Mid-afternoon came and went as she struggled to catch up on a workload that threatened to spill over into work she would have to take home.

      ‘Suzanne, urgent call on line three.’ The receptionist’s voice sounded hesitant, diffident, and vaguely apologetic for breaching a ‘hold all calls’ instruction. ‘It’s your mother.’

      Her mother never rang her at work. An icy hand clutched Suzanne’s heart as she snatched up the receiver. ‘Georgia? Is something wrong?’

      A light, husky laugh echoed down the line. ‘Darling, everything’s fine. It’s just that I wanted you to be the first to hear my news.’

      ‘News, Mama?’ She kept her voice deliberately light. ‘You’ve won a fabulous prize? Bought a new car? Booked an overseas trip?’

      There was a breathless pause. ‘Right on two counts.’

      ‘Which two?’

      ‘Well, sweetheart,’ Georgia began with a delicious chuckle, ‘the overseas trip is booked...Paris, would you believe? And I have won a fabulous prize.’

      ‘That’s wonderful.’ Really wonderful. Suzanne shook her head in silent amazement. Georgia was always taking lottery and raffle tickets, but had never won anything other than the most minor of prizes until now.

      ‘It’s not exactly a prize prize.’

      The faintly cautious tone had Suzanne sinking back in her chair. ‘You’re talking in riddles, Mama. Is there a catch to any of this?’

      ‘No catch. At least, not the kind you mean.’

      What had her cautious mother got herself into? ‘I’m listening.’

      ‘Bear with me, darling.’ Georgia’s voice hitched, then raced on in an excited rush. ‘It’s all so new, I still have a hard time believing it. And I wouldn’t have rung you at work, except I really couldn’t wait a minute longer.’

      ‘Tell me.’

      There was silence for a few seconds. ‘I’m getting married.’

      Initial joy was quickly followed by concern, and it was a frightening mix. Her mother didn’t date. There was a collection of friends, but no one man. ‘I didn’t know you were seeing anyone,’ Suzanne said slowly, and heard her mother’s light laughter in response. ‘Who is he, and where did you meet him?’

      ‘We met at your engagement party, darling.’

      Three months. They’d only known each other three months. ‘Who, Mama?’

      ‘Trenton Wilson-Willoughby. Sloane’s father.’

      Oh, my God. Heat rushed through her veins, then chilled to ice. ‘You’re not serious?’ Tell me you’re not serious, she pleaded silently.

      ‘You sound—shocked,’ Georgia responded slowly, and Suzanne quickly gathered her wits.

      Recoup, regroup, fast. ‘Surprised,’ she amended. ‘It seems so sudden.’

      ‘Sometimes love happens that way. Sloane swept you off your feet in a matter of weeks.’

      Like father, like son. ‘Yes,’ she agreed cautiously. Sloane had gifted her a sparkling diamond, whisked her down to Sydney from Brisbane, and