armful of woman. His woman. Oh yeah. There was no doubt in his mind. He was the biggest winner because he’d won Pearl.
Pearl was his woman and he was her man.
Lovers at last.
The End
Copyright
Lovers at Last
Copyright © 2014 Shelley Munro
ISBN: 978-0-473-30837-7
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ShelleyMunro.com
ONE NIGHT OF MISBEHAVIOR
Shelley Munro
Blurb
He wears his scars on the outside. She keeps hers safe inside.
Charlotte Dixon ignores her stepmother’s edict and, in an act of disobedience, attends one of the social events of the year—a masked costume ball. Charlotte’s naughtiness escalates when she dances and smooches with a sexy masked man. The night of anonymous passion that follows makes her yearn for a different life, but the next day she’s back to her dull routine of household management.
Advertising tycoon, Ash Marlborough is about to set a private investigator on the trail of his mystery princess when she waltzes right into his place of work. Charlotte is shocked to meet her masked man in the flesh, and even more perturbed when he asks her out on a date. Despite craving another night of sexy loving, she doesn’t have time for a man, not when she wants to reinvent herself and grasp a new, improved life with both hands. But Ash knows what he wants, and he’s determined to win the heart of his princess. Let the dance of seduction commence.
Warning: Contains a conniving stepmother, selfish stepsisters, a grandmother with fairy godmother tendencies and a sexy masked man who is willing to face them all for the love of a good woman.
Chapter One
“Charlotte Joanna Dixon!” A shrill voice—her stepmother’s—hacked through Charlotte’s Saturday morning lie-in and intensified the boom, boom, boom of her aching head. “Of all the mornings for you to sleep late,” Elizabeth screeched. “Didn’t you set your alarm clock? I have to meet the fundraising committee in an hour.” The sharp accusations kept coming, accompanied by a thunk on her bedroom door.
Charlotte stared up at the damp spot on her bedroom ceiling and started silently counting to ten. One. Two. Three. Snippets of music, memories of a sexy masculine form crept into her mind, and her count faltered. Last night she’d experienced the dizzy taste of freedom and now the thought of her normal routine rubbed like a raw blister. Her mouth settled into a mutinous line. Maybe she’d stay here all day.
“Charlotte!” Doors slammed. The water pipes in the old Victorian groaned as they gave up water for the shower. “Hurry up.”
Or not. Sighing, Charlotte scrambled into jeans and a T-shirt and trudged down the sweeping stairs to the kitchen. On automatic pilot, she started the coffeemaker then filled the jug to boil for Gran’s tea. While she waited, she trotted outside to grab the early morning post from the mailbox.
Soon the scent of fresh coffee flooded the kitchen, making her stomach lurch in protest. Maybe the last glass of Champagne hadn’t been the best idea. Gritting her teeth, she set the breakfast table, then swallowed down two headache tablets and assembled a tea tray for her grandmother. When she carried the tray and three letters upstairs, she found her grandmother was already awake, perusing one of the new craft magazines she’d had Charlotte purchase for her the previous day.
“Morning, Gran. How are you feeling? You have mail from your friends.”
“Charlotte.” Gran put down the magazine and peered
Pearl was his woman and he was her man.
Lovers at last.
The End
Copyright
Lovers at Last
Copyright © 2014 Shelley Munro
ISBN: 978-0-473-30837-7
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without the prior written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.
ShelleyMunro.com
ONE NIGHT OF MISBEHAVIOR
Shelley Munro
Blurb
He wears his scars on the outside. She keeps hers safe inside.
Charlotte Dixon ignores her stepmother’s edict and, in an act of disobedience, attends one of the social events of the year—a masked costume ball. Charlotte’s naughtiness escalates when she dances and smooches with a sexy masked man. The night of anonymous passion that follows makes her yearn for a different life, but the next day she’s back to her dull routine of household management.
Advertising tycoon, Ash Marlborough is about to set a private investigator on the trail of his mystery princess when she waltzes right into his place of work. Charlotte is shocked to meet her masked man in the flesh, and even more perturbed when he asks her out on a date. Despite craving another night of sexy loving, she doesn’t have time for a man, not when she wants to reinvent herself and grasp a new, improved life with both hands. But Ash knows what he wants, and he’s determined to win the heart of his princess. Let the dance of seduction commence.
Warning: Contains a conniving stepmother, selfish stepsisters, a grandmother with fairy godmother tendencies and a sexy masked man who is willing to face them all for the love of a good woman.
Chapter One
“Charlotte Joanna Dixon!” A shrill voice—her stepmother’s—hacked through Charlotte’s Saturday morning lie-in and intensified the boom, boom, boom of her aching head. “Of all the mornings for you to sleep late,” Elizabeth screeched. “Didn’t you set your alarm clock? I have to meet the fundraising committee in an hour.” The sharp accusations kept coming, accompanied by a thunk on her bedroom door.
Charlotte stared up at the damp spot on her bedroom ceiling and started silently counting to ten. One. Two. Three. Snippets of music, memories of a sexy masculine form crept into her mind, and her count faltered. Last night she’d experienced the dizzy taste of freedom and now the thought of her normal routine rubbed like a raw blister. Her mouth settled into a mutinous line. Maybe she’d stay here all day.
“Charlotte!” Doors slammed. The water pipes in the old Victorian groaned as they gave up water for the shower. “Hurry up.”
Or not. Sighing, Charlotte scrambled into jeans and a T-shirt and trudged down the sweeping stairs to the kitchen. On automatic pilot, she started the coffeemaker then filled the jug to boil for Gran’s tea. While she waited, she trotted outside to grab the early morning post from the mailbox.
Soon the scent of fresh coffee flooded the kitchen, making her stomach lurch in protest. Maybe the last glass of Champagne hadn’t been the best idea. Gritting her teeth, she set the breakfast table, then swallowed down two headache tablets and assembled a tea tray for her grandmother. When she carried the tray and three letters upstairs, she found her grandmother was already awake, perusing one of the new craft magazines she’d had Charlotte purchase for her the previous day.
“Morning, Gran. How are you feeling? You have mail from your friends.”
“Charlotte.” Gran put down the magazine and peered
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