That Kind Of Man. Sharon Kendrick
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That was the main attraction, Abigail conceded reluctantly.
Nick Harrington was like an intricate puzzle that you could spend the rest of your life trying to get to the bottom of.
The sensual mouth had curved into a slow, humourless smile. ‘You’ve grown up, Abby,’ he observed, with a touch of wry surprise. ‘That was a pretty thorough inspection you just subjected me to.’
‘And does it bother you?’ she queried coolly.
‘A beautiful girl giving me the once-over?’ he mocked. ‘Who in their right mind would object to that? Though to be scrupulously fair, Abby, I really ought to return the compliment ...’
One hundred. Doesn’t matter how many times I say it, I still can’t believe that’s how many books I’ve written. It’s a fabulous feeling but more fabulous still is the news that Mills & Boon are issuing every single one of my backlist as digital titles. Wow. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you - which are as vivid to me now as when I wrote them.
There’s BOUGHT FOR HER HUSBAND, with its outrageously macho Greek hero and A SCANDAL, A SECRET AND A BABY featuring a very sexy Tuscan. THE SHEIKH’S HEIR proved so popular with readers that it spent two weeks on the USA Today charts and…well, I could go on, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourselves.
I remember the first line of my very first book: “So you’ve come to Australia looking for a husband?” Actually, the heroine had gone to Australia to escape men, but guess what? She found a husband all the same! The man who inspired that book rang me up recently and when I told him I was beginning my 100th story and couldn’t decide what to write, he said, “Why don’t you go back to where it all started?”
So I did. And that’s how A ROYAL VOW OF CONVENIENCE was born. It opens in beautiful Queensland and moves to England and New York. It’s about a runaway princess and the enigmatic billionaire who is infuriated by her, yet who winds up rescuing her. But then, she goes and rescues him… Wouldn’t you know it?
I’ll end by saying how very grateful I am to have a career I love, and to thank each and every one of you who has supported me along the way. You really are very dear readers.
Love,
Sharon xxx
Mills & Boon are proud to present a thrilling digital collection of all Sharon Kendrick’s novels and novellas for us to celebrate the publication of her amazing and awesome 100th book! Sharon is known worldwide for her likeable, spirited heroines and her gorgeous, utterly masculine heroes.
SHARON KENDRICK once won a national writing competition, describing her ideal date: being flown to an exotic island by a gorgeous and powerful man. Little did she realise that she’d just wandered into her dream job! Today she writes for Mills & Boon, featuring her often stubborn but always to-die-for heroes and the women who bring them to their knees. She believes that the best books are those you never want to end. Just like life…
That Kind of Man
Sharon Kendrick
CONTENTS
‘OH, ORLANDO! Darling, darling Orlando!’ An unknown blonde wearing black gave a dramatic cry.
Abigail had noticed the woman in church. She had been sobbing loudly throughout the service, but now Abigail could observe that the tears she had cried had left her mascara miraculously unsmudged. She had wondered briefly whether the woman had been one of her husband’s lovers, before pulling herself up short—for that way lay madness.
The bitter wind lifted a stray strand of honey-coloured hair and whipped it across Abigail’s pale face, and the gentle lashing movement forced her to give herself a little shake. Because it was all like a dream—some weird and crazy dream. Not a nightmare exactly, but something pretty close to it. Unreal. Yes, that was it. Unreal. As if this were all happening to someone else. And not to her.
Abigail shivered violently as a fat flake of snow fluttered down from the gun-metal sky like a frenzied bird, to eventually settle on her hand. She had worn a pair of fine black kid gloves in an attempt to keep warm, but, even so, her fingers still shook like a drunk’s as they clutched onto a single scarlet rose.
She was cold. Cold as an arctic waste. Unprotected from the furies of the winter weather, she stood by the graveside wearing the only black outfit she had had in her wardrobe—a thin, two-piece suit whose material, if not colour, was more suited to a spring day.
Black was not a colour she normally wore, but for today it was a must. And Orlando would have expected it. Because no matter what had gone on between them—no matter what a mess their marriage had been—he should not have died.
She was too young, she thought, casting a disbelieving look around her. Much too young to be a widow at nineteen, standing with and yet curiously apart from Orlando’s wild, thespian friends, who even now were loudly reciting extravagant poetry. How she wished that they would stop. During their histrionics at the church she had been half tempted to tell them to shut up, but the last thing she wanted today, of all days, was a row.
If only she had someone there for her. Someone to rely on. Someone strong enough to lean on. Or at least to cast a few withering looks of disapproval which might make some of the people present behave more circumspectly.
But she had no one. Her mother was dead,