Rush to the Altar

Rush to the Altar
Rebecca Winters

Riley Garrow is the ultimate bachelor - he's always had a string of glamorous women on his arm. Only one woman has ever turned him down and he's been determined to pursue her ever since…and claim her as his wife! Ann Lassiter is stunned to discover that she'll be sharing her sister's Italian hideaway with Riley.The attraction between them is amazing, but Ann is reluctant to get involved with a playboy like Riley. Only, now Riley is emotionally blackmailing Ann to the altar and she has no choice but to accept….

Rebecca Winters has written over forty-five books for Harlequin Romance

and is an internationally bestselling author. Her wonderfully unique, sparkling stories continue to be immensely popular with readers around the world.

Praise for

Rebecca Winters:

“Winters weaves a magical spell that is unforgettable.”

—Affaire de Coeur on The Nutcracker Prince

“[A] rare gem…an emotionally gripping story of forbidden love.”

—Romantic Times on Second-Best Wife

“A delightful tale in which love conquers all.”

—Romantic Times on Three Little Miracles

Rebecca Winters, an American writer and mother of four, was excited about the new millennium because it meant another new beginning. Having said goodbye to the classroom where she taught French and Spanish, she is now free to spend more time with her family, to travel and to write the Harlequin Romance

novels she loves so dearly.

Rebecca loves to hear from readers. If you wish to e-mail her, please visit her Web site at: www.rebeccawinters-author.com

Rush to the Altar

Rebecca Winters

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

“HE WAS good-looking before in a dark, dashing way. Now he’s handsome as sin, but you wouldn’t want to tangle with a man fighting his demons! I’ll do his vital signs before I leave the floor.”

Riley Garrow had been lying propped in his hospital bed at St. Steven’s counting the minutes until Bart Adams arrived.

Some of Riley’s friends and colleagues as well as those of his deceased father had been in and out of his room at one time or other in the last two months. However faithful Bart, his dad’s closest buddy and confidant, had been the one to serve as Riley’s lifeline to the outside world during his convalescence.

But it was Sister Francesca’s voice, not Bart’s, he heard out in the hall. He had the strongest suspicion the head nurse had intended for him to overhear her.

Theirs had been an ongoing battle of the wills. Her psychiatric training hadn’t prepared her for Riley’s refusal to let her explore his inner self—the core, as she put it, where he really lived. The persona he showed to the world was a mere facade hiding the wounded soul struggling for help from within.

He loved baiting her when she started to pull her psychobabble on him. Since there wasn’t anything else to do during the long boring hours, it made his day pushing her buttons.

“Uh-uh-uh,” he would say to her, waving his index finger before her shrewd brown eyes. “Control, Sister. Control. Don’t forget you’re a role model for the sweet young postulants under your care.”

At that point the gentle lines of her face would harden while she fought with herself to remain calm and collected.

“You’re absolutely impossible,” she would mutter before leaving the room in exasperation.

“I’ve been told that before by a number of women who’ve warmed my bed,” he would call after her before bursting into laughter.

When she went off the day shift she briefed the night staff personally if they were new to the floor. After eight weeks and several plastic surgeries to graft skin from his leg to the area around his right eye and cheek, he knew everyone’s schedule.

Unfortunately the only female nursing help who came and went from his room were lay nuns. That was something Sister Francesca had probably rigged up too. Surely there couldn’t be that many women in Santa Monica, California, rushing to take vows of chastity and obedience.

He stared at the four sterile walls of his cage. “Sixty days without a real woman— No wonder I’m chomping at the bit to get out of here!”

“Your protest has been noted.” Sister Francesca floated into his room pretending she was mother serenity herself this evening. “It appears heaven has heard your prayers at last, Mr. Garrow.”

He smiled up at her. “I didn’t think heaven listened to impossible men.”

“They’ve made an exception in your case on behalf of all the sisters at St. Steven’s who go to their knees the moment before they enter your room, and as soon as they leave.”

“All?” He arched one black brow. “Isn’t it a sin to exaggerate, Sister?”

She started taking his vital signs. “After examining you on his rounds before dinner, Dr. Diazzo informed me you’re being discharged in the morning.”

Riley’s eyelids closed tightly for a moment.

“I thought that news would please you.”

He opened them again. “Since I know you’d be forced to do penance if you lied, I have to assume you’re telling me the truth. For once I’m happy you invaded my privacy.”