Beauty and the Brooding Boss / Friends to Forever. Nikki Logan

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       BEAUTY AND THE BROODING BOSS

      BARBARA WALLACE

       FRIENDS TO FOREVER

      NIKKI LOGAN

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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       BEAUTY AND THE BROODING BOSS

      BARBARA WALLACE

      Dear Reader,

      There’s this fantastic old movie called The Enchanted Cottage. In it, two wounded people hide from the world in a country cottage. While there, they discover their scars mysteriously disappear. At first they credit the cottage for weaving a magic spell, but in the end come to realise the real magic is the love they find with each other.

      I couldn’t help thinking of this movie when writing Beauty and the Brooding Boss. Like the characters in the movie, Alex Markoff has withdrawn to a country cottage to hide from a world that has let him down. In her own way Kelsey Albertelli is hiding too—she’s protecting herself from life’s bumps and bruises. When these two loners suddenly find themselves spending the summer together in the romantic countryside, their self-protective walls are chipped away. But the question is, will their relationship survive the outside world? Will their love be strong enough to weave a magic spell for them?

      This book has a special spot in my heart because it’s based in the Berkshire Mountains, where I grew up. I took a few liberties in creating the locations. Many of the settings, like Alex’s woods, the Leafy Bean and the Music Centre, are loosely based on real locations. It was a lot of fun finding romance in my hometown.

      I hope you enjoy Alex’s and Kelsey’s journey to happily-ever-after as much as I enjoyed writing it. Your comments are always welcome at my Web site, www.barbarawallace.com

      Best wishes and happy reading,

       Barbara

      About the Author

      BARBARA WALLACE has been a lifelong romantic and daydreamer, so it’s not surprising she decided to become a writer at age eight. However, it wasn’t until a co-worker handed her a romance novel that she knew where her stories belonged. For years she limited her dreams to nights, weekends and commuter train trips, while working as a communications specialist, PR freelancer and full-time mum. At the urging of her family she finally chucked the day job, pursued writing full-time and couldn’t be happier.

      Barbara lives in Massachusetts with her husband, their teenage son, and two very spoiled self-centred cats (as if there could be any other kind). Readers can visit her at www.barbarawallace.com and find her on Facebook. she’d love to hear from you.

      For Peter — I couldn’t do this without you.

      And for the Moody Muses — the best support

      group a gal could ask for.

      CHAPTER ONE

      ALEX Markoff WASN’T really ugly.

      Nor was he scarred, horribly disfigured, or any of the other things Kelsey imagined a recluse to be. In fact, the man standing before her couldn’t be described as anything less than stunning. He was tall, at least a half a foot taller than her, with a lanky athletic build that took up most of the door frame. Faded jeans hung low on narrow hips while a black golf shirt molded to expansive shoulders. With his right arm engulfed from biceps to fingers in a plaster cast, she wondered how he managed to put on such a well-fitting garment.

      Storm-cloud-colored eyes bore down on her from above finely-honed cheekbones.

      Nope, not ugly. But definitely unhappy to see her on his doorstep.

      Other doorsteps and other unwelcome expressions threatened on the edge of her memory and she shook them away. This wasn’t the same. Not at all. Still, she couldn’t stop that all-too-familiar uncertainty from creeping into her voice as she offered up a polite smile. “Hi. I’m Kelsey Albertelli.”

      When he didn’t respond, she added, “Your new assistant.”

      Silence.

      “From New York. Mr. Lefkowitz hired me to—”

      “I know who you are.”

      His voice matched his physical stature. Kelsey nearly stepped back from its impact. Or was it the barely veiled hostility?

      Driving up the Taconic Parkway with the windows rolled down had blown her topknot loose, and strands of brown hair were falling into her line of sight. She tucked a few of them behind her ear. “Good. For a moment, I thought maybe Mr. Lefkowitz’s office forgot to close the loop.”

      “No, he closed it. Several times.”

      Kelsey nodded as an awkward silence settled between them. More strands of hair fell in her face. She tucked them back and waited to see what Markoff would say next.

      The answer was nothing. He simply turned around and retreated into the house leaving her standing alone on the threshold.

      Can’t say you weren’t warned. “Doubt you’ll get much of a warm welcome,” his editor had said. Clearly an understatement. “Just remember, he doesn’t have a choice. You work for me, not him.”

      “Don’t worry,” she’d assured him. “I’m sure I’ll be fine. Nothing I can’t handle.” For the right price. Thanks to Grandma Rosie, she was all about the paycheck these days. She’d have to work three or four jobs to earn what Mr. Lefkowitz offered. Besides, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t shown up unwanted on a doorstep before.

      Coincidentally, that was thanks to Grandma Rosie too.

      Since Markoff left the door open, she assumed he intended her to follow. By the time she realized and crossed the threshold, he was several paces ahead, and she had to rush to catch up.

      “You’re certainly tucked away up here,” she said, reaching his shoulder. “You don’t get too many sets of directions saying ‘turn right at the big pine tree’ in New York City. I think I turned right three times at three different trees.”

      “It’s the one at the fork,” he replied.

      “I know that now.” She emphasized the word. “Still, in most places when they give you a landmark, it’s a building or a sign or something. Not a pine tree. I missed your driveway the first time driving by too. You can barely see your mailbox behind the bushes. But then, I imagine that’s the point ….”

      Her sentence faded off. She was rambling. She hated rambling. Nervous chatter to fill up silence. Drove her insane. She’d had enough of it as a kid to last a lifetime. Got to the point, in fact, where she wanted to scream at the social workers to shut up. Yet here she was doing the same exact thing. Anxiously trying to break the