Second Chance Bride: All Brides Are Beautiful, #2

By Joan Reeves

Constance Quinn is a woman who has given up everything to reinvent herself as wealthy and successful, knowing all too well the price she paid for that. Now, she realizes that the price was too high.

 

When she meets Alex, the attraction is immediate and mutual. Despite her fear that he may discover her secret, she can't resist him. Will Constance be able to keep her secret if she yields to her passion for Alex?

 

Follow Constance and Alex on their journey of love and redemption in Second Chance Bride, Book 2 of All Brides Are Beautiful. "If you enjoy Hallmark Movies and love stories with a bit of suspense, you will find yourself captivated by this novel." —Reader Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vita Via Publishing
• Release date: May 25, 2018
• ISBN: 9780991599677

Joan Reeves

Joan Reeves—Keeping Romance Alive…One Sexy Book at a Time—is a NY Times and USA Today bestselling author of Contemporary Romance. From Romantic Comedy to Romantic Thriller, all of her stories have the same premise: “It’s never too late to live happily ever after.” Joan lives her happily-ever-after with her hero, her husband, in the Lone Star State. They divide their time between a book-cluttered home in Houston and a quiet house at the foot of the Texas Hill Country where they sit on the porch at night, look up at the star-studded sky, and listen to the coyotes howl. Sign up for Joan’s Mailing List and be the first to know about giveaways and new books: http://www.subscribepage.com/z8x3r9.

Book preview

PREVIEW

of

SECOND CHANCE BRIDE

Despite the sultry evening, Constance Quinn felt chilled. This was the house. Every room blazed with lights. The air vibrated with pounding music, accompanied by loud splashes, girlish squeals, and booming laughter. She should leave. Yet, she remained rooted, staring at the house for several more minutes before she turned—and literally bumped into a man. A startled gasp escaped her. She gave a nervous laugh. Where did you come from?

He took a step backward, as if knowing she felt threatened, and pointed toward the house she’d been studying. From across the street.

His voice captured her attention despite the noise in the background. When he stepped forward, into the light cast from a streetlamp, her eyes widened and chill bumps swept over her arms as she realized who he was. His online photo didn’t do justice to his unruly dark hair and warm brown eyes. He didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a history professor. Not with those broad shoulders, lean waist, and carved biceps. Unexpectedly, a wave of heat chased away her chill.

I’m Alejandro, but just about everyone calls me Alex. He pointed again to the house across the street. That’s my house. I hope the noise and lights didn’t disturb you.

His easy smile made her breath catch. She could only shake her head in response. She found herself taking a step toward him. Oh, dear. She curled her fingers into fists to keep from reaching out to touch him. Her pulse beat erratically. She felt threatened by...what? His intense masculinity? She took a deep breath and tried to articulate what she was feeling, rather than stuff her feelings into the hole in her soul and pretend they didn’t exist. What was she feeling?

Attraction. Desire.

No! That was crazy. She was the Ice Queen. She didn’t feel desire. Hadn’t felt it in years. Certainly not for a man she’d just met. She bit back a groan, knowing she was lying to herself. Why this man?

Even if she wanted him, he was the one man she could never have.

PRAISE

for

SECOND CHANCE BRIDE

Exquisite Storyteller and captivating story! Rare find! A second in a series that didn’t keep referring to previous characters. Here the story was seamless and believable. Tragic and romantic and sex with a capital S. Now I want to go back and read book one and...anything else written by Joan Reeves. Excellent storyteller. —DM Productions

Enjoyable HEA romance. Believable characters with distinct personalities. Thought-provoking and memorable dialogue. He told me young dogs would always be adopted but that this old dog would never find someone to love him if we didn’t take him. I told him that the dog wouldn’t have many years or maybe not even months of life left. He said that was an even better reason to adopt him so he’d know love before he died. I look forward to other works by this author. —Bookzilla, Top 500 Reviewer

This is such a lush book. The pacing is smooth, and the plot is engrossing. The reason behind Constance’s move to Lantana Lane is mysterious at first, so I was stunned when I learned what it is. It’s a great plot twist. Alex/Alejandro is a dear man. The way he encourages and supports Constance is utterly sweet. The best part, though, is how Constance’s past is redeemed. It’s absolutely beautiful. —Kindle Reviewer

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 2018 Joan Reeves

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be used or reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without prior written permission of Joan Reeves, the copyright owner and publisher of this book, with the exception of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products that may be referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and/or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person with whom you wish to share it. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should purchase your own copy. Thank you for honoring the copyright laws and for respecting the author’s work and her livelihood.

Cover Art Copyright © 2018 by Adina Mayo. Photograph, Love Is In The Air (Beautiful Couple Relaxing... Photo #81460376 © blanaru, BigStockPhoto.com.

Ebook ISBN-13: 9780991599677

Vita Via Publishing Contact: Joan Reeves.

I LOVE READING

Discover New York Times and USA Today bestselling author JOAN REEVES and her brand of Romance. Joan writes stories about a man and a woman who are made for each other—they just don’t know it. Yet.

If you love to read, sign up for Joan’s free newsletter, I Love Reading, and receive exclusive content as well as news about giveaways, bargains, and new releases. (If your device isn’t internet-ready, that URL is: https://www.subscribepage.com/z8x3r9.)

ALSO BY JOAN REEVES

New York Times Bestselling Author

Writing Romance—One Sexy Book at a Time

For other books available from this retailer, visit Joan’s Books2Read webpage.. For a complete list of all books along with a short review blurb, see Sassy, Sexy, Sizzling Romance at the end of this book.

All Brides Are Beautiful

April Fool Bride

Second Chance Bride

A Moment in Time: Short Stories & Novels

LuvU4Ever, Story No. 1

Last Chance New Year, Story No. 2

Blame It On Chocolate, Story No. 3

Liam’s Irish Rose, Story No. 4

April Fool Proposition, Story No. 5

From Holiday to Holiday: A Moment in Time Quartet

Capitola Palace Dance Hall Romance

Stuck on the Naughty List

Outlaw Ridge, Texas

Heat Lightning

Dead Heat

San Antone Two-Step

Nobody’s Cinderella

Cinderella Blue

Single Title Novels

Every Little Lie

Jane (I’m Still Single) Jones

Just One Look

Scents and Sensuality

Still The One

The Key To Kristina

Small Town Texas Romance

Last Christmas

Brianna’s Season For Miracles

Surf, Sand, Secrets

Deceptively Yours

Foolishly Yours

Texas One Night Stands

The Trouble With Love

Romeo and Judy Anne

The Good, The Bad, and The Girly

Old Enough to Know Better

TABLE OF CONTENTS

SECOND CHANCE BRIDE

PREVIEW

PRAISE

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

I LOVE READING

ALSO BY JOAN REEVES

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

EPILOGUE

INSPIRATION FOR SECOND CHANCE BRIDE

NOTE FROM JOAN REEVES

SASSY, SEXY, SIZZLING ROMANCE

SNEAK PEEK: OLD ENOUGH TO KNOW BETTER

TINY PEEK AT LAST CHRISTMAS

SEND A NOTE TO JOAN

DEDICATION

Second Chance Bride is dedicated to my nephew Josh who coined the phrase used dog and to Tip, Josh’s used dog who had plenty of love to give before he went to that big dog park in Heaven, and to the real Tiger, another used dog with lots of love to give to his human family.

Like all of my books, Second Chance Bride is also dedicated to my hero, my darling husband, Larry.

NOTE TO READERS

Second Chance Bride is set in a fictional small town northwest of Houston, Texas, which I named Lone Cedar because of the many cedar trees in that region of Texas. The name also is an homage to the name of a road near my childhood home.

Although there is a real town of Lone Cedar, with a population of eighteen from 1986 to 2000, according to the Texas State Historical Association, the town I created is completely fictional as are the people, businesses, and college. Any resemblance to the actual town, the inhabitants—living or dead—businesses, etcetera, is purely coincidental.

CHAPTER 1

Twilight was falling into darkness when Constance Quinn reached Lone Cedar. The Friday night traffic had been light in Houston so the drive from her home in River Oaks to the small town took only a couple of hours. A few minutes later she turned left onto his street and pulled into the driveway at the second house on the right. The headlights revealed a one-story house that looked as if it should be in an English village. The only thing missing was a thatched roof. She’d seen pictures of the house she’d bought—never having seen it in person—so she was surprised by how picturesque and charming it really was, complete with a white picket fence surrounding the front yard.

Constance pressed the garage remote she’d received when she’d signed the papers for the home purchase, but the door of the detached two-car garage remained closed. Just a minor problem. Both Amy Nguyen, her lawyer, and Maddie, her stepdaughter, had warned her to have the property inspected, but Constance had ignored their advice. The house could have been a resort for every termite in Texas, and it wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing could have stopped her from buying it.

When she opened the door of her Lincoln SUV, she was greeted not by the quiet chirp of crickets and the soft sighing of doves, peaceful country sounds she’d expect, but by eardrum-bursting heavy metal. Van Halen she thought. Somebody was having one heck of a party.

She began unloading her SUV, grateful that the June evening was much cooler than the day had been. An hour later, she had everything unpacked and put away in what would be her weekend home—including the grocery order she’d picked up at a Houston Walmart. Asha, bless her, had even included a coffeemaker in the grocery order. Thanks to her miracle of an executive assistant, the utilities were on, the internet was up, a landline phone was installed, and the house had been cleaned by a local service from top to bottom so everything smelled like soap. The cleaning service had even lined every cabinet, closet shelf, and drawer with shelf paper.

Yesterday, while she was at the office, the stainless steel appliances and furniture had been delivered. Even though the realtor advertized that she offered full service, Constance was still surprised the woman had supervised the deliveries and appliance installations. She’d already sent a thank you note and a big potted plant to the realtor. Except for odds and ends and decorative items, she was all set to use the house as a weekend getaway.

In the study, Constance placed her laptop, a small printer, and a box filled with several items on the Queen Anne style desk that had been set up facing a large leaded glass window with a view of the front yard. On either side of the window were two comfortable sunflower yellow chairs with a square mahogany bookshelf table between them. From the box, she removed framed photographs of Maddie, Jake, the twins, Graciella, Asha and Robby, and an old photo of her parents. A pile of contracts she needed to read, some Dr. Seuss books, and a manila envelope with the report from the private investigator covered the office supplies in the bottom of the box.

Next, she tackled her new king-size bed, making it up with ecru lace-edged linens. Her best friend Graciella Becker, Maddie’s mother-in-law, had laundered the new linens because she’d told Constance that the sheets and pillowcases had to be washed before using them. Constance hadn’t known that. She’d been a poor college student when she’d met and subsequently married wealthy Edward Quinn, Maddie’s father. She’d never had a new set of sheets before, or a new anything for that matter. After her marriage, the housekeeper had taken care of everything. Constance smoothed a wrinkle from the pale ivory blanket. She hadn’t done a simple task like making a bed in almost twenty years. Her entire life had changed when she’d gone to work at Quinn Energy as an intern. She was young and driven with her only goal to advance her career and forget the past. Driven? That didn’t begin to describe her back then. That attitude was what had drawn Edward to her.

With the bed made, Constance had nothing to do. She could read or listen to music, but she was too wired for either. She should have bought a television she realized. She walked through the house again, feeling an odd sense of pride. The flooring in the kitchen, laundry, and bathrooms was travertine. Dark-stained wood covered the rest of the floors. The same type of wood had been used for the interior doors, crown molding, and other wood trim. The pleasant scent of lemon oil floated in the air. The house needed updating, but it was livable. The one thing that was crucial—besides the garage door opener—was the lighting. Single ceiling fixtures in the middle of each room provided light. Her bright red tee shirt looked dark orange in the dim yellow glow of the incandescent lighting. At the very least, she’d replace all of the old bulbs with bright white LED light bulbs. She took a notepad from the study and started a list of possible upgrades and another of things to buy.

With that done, she laid the notepad on the kitchen counter and drummed her fingers on the pad. Now what? She could walk down the street and look at his house. She wore comfortable walking shoes, and she could use the exercise. It was warm in the house so the night air would be refreshing. There was no harm in taking a look. She frowned, recognizing the rationalization for what it was. Nevertheless, she stuck her cell phone and the house key in the pockets of her jeans and headed out into the night.

The darkness was broken by pools of light from old-fashioned style streetlamps. The sky stretched endlessly, and the moon was bright. She breathed deeply of the fresh clean air, overlaid with the scent of honeysuckle, roses, and new-mown grass. While she’d been inside unpacking, the music had changed. It was still loud, but Bob Seger’s Katmandu was more to her taste than Van Halen.

A few houses down, the street curved to the right then sharply left. She passed the driveway on the left and stopped abruptly. Her jaw dropped. She’d had no expectations about the evening, but if she’d had any, a loud raucous party at the house she’d come to spy on would not have been one of them. Pickups, SUV’s, and small cars lined both sides of the street. She walked slowly and stopped at a point opposite the house. A curving path led from the street to the house set at the top of a small slope. She leaned back against a small white car and studied the house.

The first thought Alex Martinez had when he saw the woman was curiosity about why she stared so intently at his house. His second thought was that she had nice curves. From where he sat on a bench under the spreading branches of a live oak near the flagstone path to his house, he couldn’t see her features well, but her blond hair caught the light. A tee shirt and jeans hugged her curves.

A blonde with curves in all the right places walked in.

He smiled. That sounded like a line from a novel. Maybe he should try writing a noir mystery after he finished his book on the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Who was she? Maybe she was visiting one of the neighbors? No. All of his neighbors had come to the party. None had mentioned having a houseguest.

Of course, Louisa Crampton hadn’t been at the party. Some of the neighbors called the retired English teacher Miss Cranky because she had a tendency to take them to task if she felt they weren’t taking proper care of their yards. If the blonde was from Louisa, it was probably to lodge a noise complaint. He should have told the kids to lower the volume rather than escaping to the street to save his eardrums.

To his surprise, the woman turned abruptly and started walking back the way she’d come. Alex didn’t question his impulse. He jumped off the bench and went after her. When he was a couple of feet from her, she stopped suddenly, whirled around, and literally bumped into him. For an instant, he felt the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest. His breath caught. Heat swept through his body. She lurched backward. He reached out and grabbed her arms to steady her. Her skin felt smooth and silky beneath his palms. His sudden arousal caught him by surprise.

A gasp escaped her, and he released her quickly. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.

Wariness and something else flickered in her eyes—big deep blue eyes. He couldn’t help but stare into their depths.

Her voice was unsteady. Where did you come from?

For a moment, Alex couldn’t find his voice. He rubbed his fingertips together as if the touch of her skin had burned him. He could only stare into her startled eyes, wondering if she too felt that intense physical awareness. Now he could see her features quite well, and he liked everything he saw. She wasn’t a twenty-something, thank God, but a woman in every sense of the word. An unexpected shaft of pure desire stabbed him. Belatedly, he pointed behind him. I live across the street, up there. I was sitting on the bench under the tree over there when I saw you. He pointed at the tree near the flagstone path.

Constance didn’t look to either place. She couldn’t. She was too busy trying to resist the desire to reach out and touch him—to see if another wave of heat would flash through her when her skin met his. His voice made little chill bumps rise on her skin, as if the sound had been a swatch of velvet brushed across her skin. She frowned at the fanciful thought and stepped back, needing some space between them, but his dark eyes held hers prisoner.

Neither spoke, but something flowed between them that quickened their breathing. Maybe it was some kind of magnetic field, pulling them toward each other, she thought, when he closed the gap between them. She could feel her nipples tighten. Her pulse began an erratic beat. For a crazy moment, she contemplated turning and running away. But something—insanity maybe?—kept her rooted to the spot. She shivered despite the warm June evening and rubbed her arms. Desperate to break the connection between them, she nodded toward his house. Nice house. I would have expected a Texas prairie-style, not a stone and cedar contemporary.

Thanks. I designed it myself.

The rich timbre of his voice made her pulse thud. I didn’t know.

He laughed. Why should you?

The sound of his laughter went through Constance, making her shudder with awareness. Then she realized what she’d said. Snap out of it, she told herself. Get control of your emotions. Of course she wouldn’t have known anything about his house. What she knew about him had come from a private investigator’s report. She’d better have her wits about her before she said something she shouldn’t. She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. I love all the angles and the huge windows. With all the lights on, the outside is nearly as bright as the inside.

That was better. She sounded intelligent and interested just as a new neighbor should be.

He laughed. Yeah, I get a thank you note from the power company every time I let my son have a party.

His son.

With those two words, the rest of what she was going to say in idle conversation evaporated.

The silence between them swelled just as the erogenous parts of her body moistened and swelled. No words were needed to communicate what they were thinking as they gazed into each other’s eyes. Constance’s pulse sped up. She knew what she felt. Judging from the heat in his eyes, he felt the same.

His online photo showed his eyes to be brown. Brown was too plain a word—too simple to describe the dark gleaming eyes that raked her with a heated gaze. The photo she’d seen on the internet didn’t do justice to Dr. Alejandro Martinez or to the sculpted line of his jaw or his unruly dark wavy hair that brushed the collar of the colorful Hawaiian shirt he wore. Khaki cargo shorts showed off his strong muscular legs. He didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a history professor. Not with those broad shoulders, lean waist, and carved biceps. Unexpectedly, a wave of pure heat flashed through her. Damn her libido! She had to get a tight rein on her overactive imagination—not to mention her libido which had been dead for two decades and suddenly had come back to life.

This would never do. Where was her authoritative voice—the one some people called ball-busting? She needed to break the spell he was weaving so effortlessly just by looking into her eyes. Say something else about the house, she thought. The house had a swimming pool, and farther back on the property were a dock and a small lake. Your yard is huge. Is it about a five acre lot?

Good guess, he said. He took a step closer to her.

She retreated a step. So much for keeping the conversation going. His eyes on her made her body respond in ways foreign to her. Shouts and laughter from his house brought a reprieve. Sounds as if you’re having a party.

His soft laugh made her think again of velvet sliding over her skin. Maybe her naked skin.

Right again, he said.

Thinking about naked skin had her face burning.

The Bob Seger song ended, and a rap song began. The booming bass beat of it made the car windows vibrate.

A slow easy smile lifted the corners of his mouth. His smile was as mesmerizing as his voice. Constance found herself smiling in return.