His for the Taking - By Ann Major Page 0,65
from Yella had come to celebrate her marriage to Cole, but she didn’t care all that much because her dear friends from Austin were there.
Somebody tapped a knife on a crystal glass to silence the throng.
“A toast to the bride,” rang Hester Coleman’s imperious voice.
“Oh, no,” Cole muttered as he took Maddie’s hand. “Mother, I don’t think—”
Maddie squeezed his fingers. “No, she’s been nice to me lately. Maybe she’s turning over a new leaf. Let her say whatever she has to say. It’s enough that she’s here. Whatever she says, I promise you that I’ll be okay.”
“But this is your day, not hers,” he said. “I want it to be perfect for you.”
“Life is messy,” she said, winking at Miss Jennie when she caught her eye.
“In a long life, people make mistakes,” Hester began. “I’ve made my share. Today, I wish to toast to the happiness of my son and grandson and daughter-in-law. I wish them all joy and long lives!”
“Well, that wasn’t too bad,” Cole muttered, clutching his bride close. “Maybe she’s coming around.”
“Maybe,” Maddie whispered. “Until she does, we have each other again. That’s all that really matters.”
Noah went up to Hester, and the older woman’s face lit up as she knelt to chat. Maddie thought of her own mother, whom she hadn’t invited, whom she wasn’t ready to forgive and maybe never would be. At least with Hester there was the hope of a better relationship in the future.
Cole pulled her close and kissed her, not caring if his mother and everybody watched. Her groom’s kiss swept her away, and she was only dimly aware of the joyous applause that surrounded them, only dimly aware that his mother was clapping, too.
Then Noah left Hester and ran to them. Leaning down, Cole lifted his son into his arms.
“Are we married now?” Noah asked joyously. “Are you my daddy for real?”
“Yes,” Cole said, hugging Maddie to him with his other arm. “For real and forever.”
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from A Conflict of Interest by Barbara Dunlop
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One
It was inauguration night in Washington, D.C., and Cara Cranshaw had to choose between her president and her lover. One strode triumphantly though the arches of the Worthington Hotel ballroom to the uplifting strains of “Hail to the Chief” and the cheers of eight hundred well-wishers. The other stared boldly at her from across the ballroom, a shock of unruly, dark hair curling across his forehead, his bow tie slightly askew and his eyes telegraphing the message that he wanted her naked.
For the moment, it was investigative reporter Max Gray who held her attention. Despite her resolve to turn the page on their relationship, she couldn’t tear her gaze from his, nor could she stop her hand from reflexively moving to her abdomen. But Max was off-limits now that Ted Morrow had been sworn in as president.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” cried the master of ceremonies above the music and enthusiastic clapping that was spreading like a wave across the hall. “The President of the United States.” His voice rang out from the microphone onstage at the opposite end of the massive, high-ceilinged room.
The cheers grew to a roar. The band’s volume increased. And the crowd shifted, separating to form a pathway in front of President Morrow. Cara automatically moved with them, but she still couldn’t tear her gaze from Max as he took a few steps backward on the other side of the divide.
She schooled her features, struggling to transmit her resolve. She couldn’t let him see the confusion and alarm she’d been feeling since her doctor’s visit that afternoon. Resolve, she ruthlessly reminded herself, not hesitation and definitely not fear.
“He’s running late.” Sandy Haniford’s shout sounded shrill in Cara’s ear.
Sandy was a junior staffer in the White House press office, where Cara worked as a public relations specialist. While Cara was moving from ball to ball tonight with the president’s entourage, Sandy was stationed here as