Nancy Warren
ISBN 0-7582-1045-0
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Lucky for Chloe Flynt, everyone knows it’s easier to get out of a bad relationship than it is to get in one. But when it comes to hot, steamy, long-lasting passion, even Chloe is at a loss—until this British playgirl comes face to face with a true-blue Texas cowboy who tempts her to toss away her commitment-phobic habits once and for all to join him for a walk down the aisle…
Falling in love is much harder than breaking up…
With three broken engagements under her oh so fashionable belt, it’s high time London party girl Chloe Flynt gets a job. Unfortunately, Chloe isn’t exactly qualified for anything, except dumping a Mr. Wrong or two (or three!) with a little dignity. Realizing she needs a new beginning, she lands in Austin, Texas, and opens a company helping other people do the dirty work of breaking up…
Too bad Chloe’s tall, tough-talking, and take-charge landlord, Matthew Tanner, isn’t interested in her expertise. Because anyone can see that his girlfriend is clearly all wrong for him. Not that Chloe cares. She and Matthew have nothing in common—other than that mind-blowing attraction, that is. But when his girlfriend requests Chloe’s services, all hell breaks loose. If there’s one thing Chloe knows for sure, it’s that just because she’s good at breaking up bad relationships doesn’t mean she has a talent for putting together good ones. Maybe it’s finally time she gives it a try…
Read an Excerpt
“I’m not going to make it,” Chloe Flynt moaned into the phone, each word dripping with despair and drama. “I’m so bored.”
She was supposed to be in her oil painting class, but she couldn’t summon the enthusiasm. Apart from Nude Study of the Male, she wasn’t having nearly the fun she’d hoped. She glanced out the window of her bedroom in the villa. The golden Umbrian hills reclined under the sun as though they were enjoying a siesta.
That was the trouble with this place. It was too relaxed. Slow meals, slow pace of life. No decent shopping for miles. Oh, the sixteenth century villa was certainly lovely, but she rather fancied that when she bolted from London and her broken engagement, she’d have been better off heading to Milan or Rome. Or better yet, Paris. Somewhere where there was some life.
Apart from the rather dishy Tuscan chef who loved nothing more than to tempt her fickle palate, she wasn’t really enjoying her newly chosen career as a painter.
“Of course you’re bored,” her friend Nicky said in the nasal drawl that made her sound like Kiera Knightly with a head cold, “Perhaps it was a little soon after breaking off your engagement to be deciding on a career.”
“I haven’t any talent for painting, anyway,” she said, staring dismally out of her window to the garden overlooking the vineyard where eight easels were set up and seven painters were dabbing at canvases with various levels of success. Her own abandoned effort was shockingly bad, even from here she could see that the ochre had been a mistake.
Hearing from Nicky about all the fun that was going on at home in London, without her, only worsened her boredom.
“I can’t stand it,” she said suddenly, “I’m going to have to quit.”
There was annoying laughter at the other end, “Of course you are, silly. We’ve had bets on how long you’d last. I lost my ten quid last Thursday. If you make it through the end of the week, Gerald Barton-Hinks wins the pool.”
They were placing bets on how soon she’d quit? Really it ought to inspire her to stay through to the end of the course, four weeks from now, just to show them all she could do it.
She contemplated this option for a minute, then thought, sod it, I’m not staying here another month for anything. Besides, it was cheering to know that everyone at home missed her so much they were making book on when she’d return. “Who wins the pool if I quit today?” she asked.
“I think it’s Jack.”
Her older and extremely annoying brother who was extremely annoyingly happy with his American chef girlfriend. “Perfect. Maybe if he makes a profit he won’t be so shirty with me for throwing more of daddy’s money down the drain.”
“Are we talking about the same Jack? Your brother Jack? He adores you.”
“He’s horrible,” she said, pouting. How unkind he’d been when she had to cancel her wedding at the last minute.
“He’s not horrible. He thinks you should settle down and stop acting irrationally, that’s all.”
“My engagement was recently broken,” she reminded Nicky. “I think I’m entitled to act irrationally.”
Another laugh answered her. “That might have worked the first time. You even managed it pretty well the second time, but Chlo, three broken engagements in a row, well, it’s getting to be a bad habit.”
She sighed, twisting the bracelet with the intertwining Cs around her wrist. “I know. It’s just that I’ve got such awful taste in men. Anyway, I’ve done with men. I’m going to have a career instead. But what am I going to do? If I don’t become a painter, which I can tell you isn’t bloody likely, what sort of job would I like? Because I’m going to have to work, you know. Daddy says that’s it. This is my last chance.”
“Ouch. Nasty. But then you can always bring your dad around, you know you can.” It was true enough, but lately, Daddy had been very glum and had taken to turning out all the lights at home to save on the electric. “Still, couldn’t you manage four more weeks?”
Chloe glanced out the window again. She saw that the painters were taking a break, stretching their pleasantly tired painting arms no doubt. She noted that they all gathered around her easel and Georgio, their teacher, was pointing with his brush at her canvas, which elicited a riotous burst of laughter from the group.
She shook her head violently and said, “No. I can’t stay another minute.” To emphasize her decision, she dragged out the matched set of Louis Vuitton luggage that her first almost husband had bought her and, holding the phone against her ear with her shoulder, managed to wrestle the larger of the cases onto the bed.
“Right then,” said Nicky, who was her best friend for a reason. “If you can’t stay, you can’t.”
“It’s lovely having someone who truly understands me. I tell you what, call in half a dozen of our friends — the ones with posh jobs. We’ll have an emergency summit meeting when I get back.” She was beginning to feel excited. She missed her friends, and someone was bound to know of some glamorous, high-paying job she could do.
“An emergency summit meeting? Like at the U.N.?”
“With better food, better drink, and much better looking delegates.”
Nicky was obviously flicking through her appointment diary, Chloe could hear the pages turning. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Great. We can have the emergency summit right after my surprise welcome home party.”
Happiness began to well inside Chloe like tears. She grabbed her own appointment book. “I’ll get a flight out tomorrow. Let’s say Friday for the surprise party. And Saturday morning … no, that won’t work. Not after Friday night…better make it Sunday brunch. We’ll meet for my career planning emergency session then.”
“But—“
