"Zoe will pick us up at the airport," I say quietly. I hate to leave this place. We only have one more week here before we have to head back to the lives we left behind.  My portraits had been so well received here that I've been granted a gallery showing of my own back in New York. I've started to garner the attention of art collectors across the globe and the biggest supporter through all of it has been Dane.

He cups my face in his hands. His right thumb brushes over my cheek. "I told my mother that I was going to marry you once we got back to New York."

"What did she say?"

"She was happy." A small smile takes over his mouth. "She told me she was happy for us."

I believe him. Anja has come to Paris twice since we've been here and although the first visit was filled with silent pauses and awkward glances, she'd taken the time to get to know me. She'd come to my first gallery showing here and had greeted my parents with a quick embrace and thoughtful words about how talented she thought I was.

By the time she flew across the ocean to see us again, Dane had told her about the baby. She was emotional, open and when she spoke about meeting her first grandchild there were tears in her eyes.

We may never be as close as she still is to Maisy, but we're making progress and the arrival of our baby in just under a half a year, will cement our bond more. I feel it.

"I don't want a big wedding," I repeat the same thing I've said almost daily since he proposed a month ago. "I don't need a ring either."

"I have a ring for you." He taps his bare chest. "I have vows for you too."

"What?"

"My mother gave me my father's ring after he died. It was his wedding band. I'm having a diamond put into that and they'll size it to fit this finger." He runs his index finger over my left hand. "It's at that jeweler we saw near the market. They do amazing work."

I'd sat on a bench, sipping a fruit juice while Dane had wandered into that shop last week. He'd emerged with a wide grin on his face and little to say. I knew that he'd gone inside to look at rings, but now, as I realize the meaning behind the ring I'll wear forever, I'm overcome with pure emotion.

"I started writing my vows to you when we got to Paris," he confesses. "I'm working on them but I already know the last line."

"Tell me what the last line is."

""My heart is yours. Keep it forever. Never let it go."

I reach forward to rest my hand over his against his bare chest and just as I lean in to kiss his mouth, I whisper the words back to him. "My heart is yours. Keep it forever. Never let it go."

A Special Surprise for EMBER Readers

Dane and Bridget had to face many hurdles as they journeyed towards their happily-ever-after.  I want to continue to tell their story as they move towards marriage and the arrival of their new baby.

I am so grateful to the people who invest their time in reading my books. I've been fortunate in that I've had an opportunity to meet some of you the past few months. You inspire me to write and create these characters and their unique stories.

As a gift to all of you I'm going to be sharing another novella that continues Dane and Bridget's beautiful love story. It will pick up right when they arrive back in New York and will focus on their life as a family and how that impacts Bridget's career and Dane's integration back into his life as a New York City firefighter. You'll also get to be witness to their small, intimate wedding.

This book will not be available for sale. It is strictly a free gift given to my readers.

If you'd like to receive this novella, please join the mailing list here:

Click here to join now!

I promise I won't send out emails about anything that is unrelated to my books.

Dane and Bridget will be back in the fall, in a story written just for you.

Xo

Preview of RISE

A Three – Part Series

"I know you, don't I?"

He doesn't. He's been watching me from across the room since he walked in right after the first model hit the catwalk.  I expected all kinds of men to file through the door tonight. Even though I'd arranged for the premiere fashion show of the Liore lingerie brand to be held in an abandoned warehouse on the Lower East Side, I knew it would draw a specific, upscale, crowd.

One glance around the room and it's easy to spot the familiar celebrity faces, but hidden within the throngs of people who have gathered in this space, are friends of the company's owner and the competition, clearly visible beneath the mask of a grin and a small lie about being an acquaintance of one of the models.

I'd tossed the guest list aside when I saw the first media crew approaching the sliding metal door that leads into the space. I wanted the attention, and if it meant people who weren't invited drifted in to watch the parade of scantily clad women march up and down the makeshift stage that was constructed, hours ago, I'm on board. Gabriel Foster, the owner of the Liore boutiques, paid me well to get as many eyes as I could manage on his product, and I've done that, in spades.

"Excuse me." The stranger taps me on my forearm. "I think we've met."

I look up and into his face. It's handsome. It's so handsome that I'd remember meeting him, or even seeing him in passing on the street.

"I'm sorry," I say patiently. "I've very busy right now. I assure you that we've never met."

"You're 2B," he murmurs in a deep growl. "I remember you from the lavatory."

I'd moved to Manhattan six months ago after graduating from college. I've had my fair share of men hit on me, which says little about the way I look and more about the fact that single women in this city seem to be a rarity. I may have stood out in a crowd back in the small town I lived in on the outskirts of Boston, but here, in one of the most populous cities in the world, my long dark hair and green eyes don't set me apart from the crowd. I'm just another woman who doesn't sport a ring on her left hand which means I'm ripe for the attention of any man who is looking for someone to warm the other half of his bed.

I've grown accustomed to the expected requests to buy me a drink and within that there have been a few who have actually approached me with an intelligent conversation in their back pocket, but this one, this may be the one that I'll remember long after tonight.

"The lavatory?" I adjust my left heel, hoping that the movement will relieve the pressure I feel on the ball of my foot. I've been wearing these shoes all day and I'm ready to head home to kick them off so I can crawl into a warm tub.

"You were on a flight from Milan to JFK the week before last." His blue eyes rake over my black dress. "You were wearing a red skirt, white blouse and your hair was pulled back, tight, into a ponytail."

What the fuck?

I part my lips to say something, anything, but the dark haired, bearded stranger isn't done yet.

"You sat in business class, first class, actually on that flight. You were assigned seat 2B."

I was. I remember it clearly because I'd asked for that specific seat. It's the one I always request. I wouldn't say I'm a nervous flyer but if I can quiet my anxiety over being thousands of miles in the air in a confided space with dozens of strangers, I'll do it. That particular seat has always kept me safe so why mess with a good thing?