Unguarded. Tracy Wolff
“Dance with me.”
Rhiannon smiled her agreement to Shawn’s request. He pulled her to her feet and onto the intimate dance floor. And as his arms closed around her, he inhaled as though breathing her in.
The song was a whisper and a plea. A promise made.
His right hand was on her waist, his fingers resting against the curve of her side while his left hand cradled her right. Heat emanated from him, working its way through her until he was all she could feel. In those long, intimate moments in his arms, all she knew was him.
She simply relaxed and enjoyed the sensations coursing through her. She remembered for a moment what it was like to be seventeen and feeling the sweet ache of desire for the very first time.
She never wanted the music to end.
Dear Reader,
I’m very excited to bring you Rhiannon’s story, a follow-up to my July 2010 Harlequin Superromance novel, Beginning with Their Baby. From the moment Rhiannon appeared, I knew I wanted to tell her story, and I’m so blessed to have an editor who told me to “go for it.” Writing this novel was bittersweet, as one of its themes—a woman recovering from violence—is a subject near and dear to my heart. When I was in college, I volunteered at a woman’s shelter and was absolutely horrified and astounded at what so many of the women had gone through to arrive there. Watching them heal was an incredible thing, and their bravery made an impact on me that has lasted ever since.
In this novel my heroine, Rhiannon, is recovering from a brutal rape that cost her her career, her marriage and her sense of self. She’s spent the past few years healing slowly, but it is not until she is confronted with Shawn—a handsome, talented, easygoing younger man—that she really begins to see herself as a healthy, strong woman again. The relationship between Shawn and Rhiannon was difficult to write, as it is complex and full of emotional ups and downs, but getting them (two people who so richly deserve it) to their happy ending was a thrill for me. I hope you enjoy reading Unguarded as much as I enjoyed writing it.
I love to hear from my readers—either by email at [email protected] or on my blog, tracywolff.blogspot.com. Stop by and say hello sometime.
All my best,
Tracy Wolff
Unguarded
Tracy Wolff
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tracy Wolff collects books, English degrees and lipsticks and has been known to forget where, and sometimes who, she is when immersed in a great novel. A writing and feminist literature professor at her local community college, she has spent years reading, teaching and writing about life as a woman in twenty-first-century America—with all its ups and downs. She is married to a wonderful man and is the mother of three terrific and rambunctious sons, who keep her on her toes. They make their home in Texas.
To Emily and Shellee
Thanks for all the fun, friendship and collaboration
CONTENTS
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
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER ONE
SHE COULD DO THIS.
She could do this.
Really, she could do this.
Rhiannon Jenkins repeated the mantra that had gotten her through so much in the past two years as she squared her shoulders and climbed slowly out of her car. Despite the pep talk she’d given herself all the way over here, she couldn’t help feeling like she was headed for the guillotine. Which was ridiculous, she reminded herself impatiently. It was just a business lunch, and she’d had hundreds of them over the course of her career. One more certainly wasn’t going to do her in.
Of course, she’d told herself the same thing three years before when she’d made the mistake of trusting a source for her newspaper article. That meeting hadn’t killed her, but it had come damn close—and taken a huge amount of her life with it. Including, she admitted with a grim sigh, her ability to confidently meet a man in a packed restaurant—even for a lunch date that was strictly business.
But she didn’t have a choice. She had to do this. The only other option—running back to her boss and best friend, Logan, and telling him that she’d been too chicken to even walk in the restaurant’s door—was somehow a million times worse. He’d taken a chance on her when she’d been all but paralyzed with grief and fear. She wouldn’t repay him by screwing up one of the biggest responsibilities he’d given her.
So what if it was the first time she’d pitched a party completely on her own since joining Logan’s firm two years before?
So what if the man she was supposed to have lunch with was young and sexy and a little bit intimidating?
So what, even if she was so scared she was literally quaking in the two-hundred-dollar boots she’d bought the night before to give herself courage?
She could do this. She would do this…even if it sent her careening over the edge of the sanity she clung to with battered fingertips. She was never going to get better, never going to get any sort of a life back, if she didn’t push herself. It was what she’d told Logan when he’d asked if doing this first meeting alone was really okay with her, and it was what she’d told herself in the bathroom mirror a hundred times that morning as she’d put on her makeup.
After gathering the briefcase and purse she’d almost forgotten in the car, Rhiannon headed straight toward the front door of the Mexican restaurant Shawn—the client—had chosen. As she walked, she did her best to banish the nerves that continued to assault her.
She’d spent her life around men—all kinds of men—so she felt ridiculous working herself up into this state just because he’d called the office and specifically requested her. Why wouldn’t he have? she asked herself viciously. She’d been the one he’d met at the party she’d coordinated on Saturday night, and it was her business card she’d handed him when he’d asked what company she was with. It only stood to reason that he would have asked for her when he’d spoken to the receptionist two days before.
Understanding the whys of how she’d gotten there didn’t make it any easier to open the restaurant’s door and walk inside. But then, nothing had been easy for nearly three years now. That didn’t mean she’d stopped doing things—it only meant that she had to go through this ridiculous freak-out in anticipation of every new or not-since-the-attack incident that came up. For a woman who had once been known for her intrepid and insightful newspaper articles, it was a hard thing for her to admit. And even harder for her to accept.
She