The Good Girl's Second Chance. Christine Rimmer

      

       To raise his little girl up right was more than enough. He didn’t need that special woman, after all.

      Or so he’d believed until twelve nights ago.

      Until Chloe led him into her house and straight to her bed.

      Chloe.

      She had it all—everything he’d already accepted he wasn’t going to find. And no one had ever tasted so good.

      Reluctantly, he broke the kiss.

      She stared up at him, eyes full of stars. “Come back to my house? Be with me tonight?”

      “Damn, Chloe. I was afraid you’d never ask.”

      * * *

      The Bravos of Justice Creek: Where bold hearts collide under Western skies

      The Good Girl’s Second Chance

      Christine Rimmer

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com.

      For Kimberly Fletcher, aka Kimalicious, Kimalovely, Kimhilarious—and more.

      You warm my heart and make me smile. I’m so happy to call you my friend. And this one’s for you!

      Contents

       Cover

       Excerpt

       About the Author

       Title Page

       Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

       Chapter Five

       Chapter Six

       Chapter Seven

       Chapter Eight

       Chapter Nine

       Chapter Ten

       Chapter Eleven

       Chapter Twelve

       Chapter Thirteen

       Chapter Fourteen

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Chloe Winchester woke with a startled cry.

      She popped straight up in bed as her heart trip-hammered against her ribs. Splaying a hand to her heaving chest, she sent a frantic, frightened glance around the darkened room.

      No threat. None.

      Just her shadowed bedroom in the middle of the night, silvery moonlight streaming in the high, narrow window over the curtained sliding glass door.

      “Nothing, it’s nothing,” she whispered aloud between gasps for air. “A nightmare.” More specifically, it was the nightmare, the one starring her ultrasuccessful, über-controlling, bad-tempered ex-husband, Ted.

      Not real, she reminded herself. Not anymore.

      Ted Davies was the past. He held no threat for her now.

      Chloe smoothed a shaking hand over her hair, pressed her cool fingers to her flushed cheek and took long, deep breaths until her racing heart slowed. Finally, when her pulse had settled to a normal rhythm and the dew of fear-sweat had dried on her skin, she plumped her pillow, settled back under the covers and closed her eyes.

      Sleep didn’t come.

      She tossed and turned for a while, and then tried to make herself lie still as she stared up at the ceiling and willed herself to feel drowsy again.

      Not happening.

      Finally, with a weary sigh, she shoved back the covers and went to the kitchen. She heated milk and sweetened it with honey. Then she carried her mug to the living area, where she turned a single lamp on low. Gazing out the two stories of windows that faced her back deck, she sipped slowly and tried to clear her mind of everything but the beauty of the Colorado night.

      She could see a light on in the big house down the hill from her. Quinn Bravo lived there with his little daughter, Annabelle, and that funny old guy, Manny. They’d moved in a few months before.

      Chloe smiled to herself. So. Somebody down there couldn’t sleep, either. Maybe Quinn? Could the tough martial arts star suffer from bad dreams, too?

      Unlikely. Quinn “the Crusher” Bravo was world-famous for taking down the most unbeatable opponents. No mere nightmare would dare keep him awake. She wished she could be more like him, impervious and strong. He seemed so very self-confident in his quiet, watchful way.

      And so different, really, from the boy he’d once been, the one she remembered from when they were children, the wild, angry boy with a chip the size of Denver on his shoulder who was always getting in fights.

      Different also from the boy he’d become by high school, still rough-edged, but quieter, with a seething intensity about him. She’d avoided him then, the same as she had when they were children. All the nice girls avoided dangerous and unpredictable Quinn Bravo.

      Even if, secretly, he made their hearts beat faster...

      * * *

      Quinn Bravo stood in his living room wearing an old pair of sweats, worn mocs and a Prime Sports and Fitness T-shirt. He stared blankly out the window at the faint gleam of light from the house up the hill. Beyond that house, the