Late for the Wedding (Twelve Brides of Christmas Book 2) by Barbara Edwards
Blurb: Heather Green will do anything to make her twin’s wedding perfect. Despite an impending nor’easter, she sets out with the wedding dress, cake, favors and cake topper in her car. As the snow piles up, her car is wrecked and she barely misses injury in a major accident.Nicholas Burnes would rather be ensconced with his latest cuddle than drive a tow truck, but his brother needs his help. He reluctantly agrees to help Heather find a way to the wedding locale, but when the storm closes the roads, he ends up offering her shelter in his penthouse.Warm and rested at last, Nick and Heather explore their powerful attraction to each other, only to part when he delivers her, on time, to her sister’s wedding. But weddings breed weddings…
Title: Late for the Wedding
Series Name: Twelve Brides of Christmas
Theme(s): On the Road
SubGenre(s): Holiday, Contemporary
Rating: Super Sweet (G)
Keywords: Boston, nor’easter, wedding, turtledove, tow truck
Page Count: 71
Word Count: 16775
Digital Price: 1.99
Stranded by the storm, she needs his help or she’ll be late for the wedding.
She promised to make the wedding perfect, but fate steps in with a less than perfect man.
She strained to see past the broken windshield. Her throat hurt when she swallowed. Other vehicles lay tangled in a mess, not just the truck and her car. She prayed another car wouldn’t hit her again and inhaled to calm her racing pulse. She finally got the seatbelt lock to release, forced her door open and stood. Her knees shook and she had to hang onto the sagging door for support. She stared around. Headlights glittered like monster eyes. Her vehicle was at the edge of a horrendous multi-car pile-up.
Sirens wailed like lost children. Blinding red and blue lights flashed everywhere as emergency personnel rushed by. Her hands shook as she dragged on her cashmere coat. Time squeezed and expanded like an accordion being played. A fireman asked if she was okay and ran on at her nod.
She brushed moisture from her face and realized she was crying. She pillowed her head on her arm, the roof supporting her as she wept.
“Hey, lady, you okay?” A gentle hand gripped her shoulder.
This time the questioner stopped to listen.
She looked up into scorching blue eyes so bright they could have been a propane flame. Her skin warmed and her pulse leaped as if it recognized the message in them. They promised heat and comfort and strength like the hand on her shoulder. He’d pulled his knit hat down over his forehead and his lower face was covered with dark stubble that matched his thick black eyelashes. His hands were splotched with grease and he smelled like oil and fuel fumes. His quilted jacket was stained and patched, his boots wet and cracked, but he exuded strength and caring.
She swallowed. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Another fixer-upper, like her ex, she briefly thought, although with those gorgeous eyes he might be worth the trouble.