Her Sister's Secret (Mills & Boon Vintage Superromance) Read Online Free PDF

place?
    “Well, it’s a nice name. I like it.” She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I suppose you’ll pass the name on to your children, too.” Gah! How lame was that? She put the book back where she’d found it, cringing at the pathetic segue.
    Somehow she had to get him to talk about SaraJane. “Or not. I guess it wouldn’t be a very good name for a girl, would it?” She drummed up a coy smile.
    His back went ramrod-straight. “You said you’re photographing motorcycles.” His tone was suddenly sharp.”
    She must’ve hit a nerve.
    “How can I help?” He folded bronzed arms over his broad chest, signaling the end of any small talk.
    Whitney noticed how the short sleeves of his shirt revealed well-defined biceps, reminding her how rock-hard his stomach muscles had felt under her fingers.
    Heat rose to her cheeks.
    She cleared her throat.
    “Well, like I said, I’m doing a book—a coffee-table book on motorcycles. Mostly photographs.” Her voice sounded weak and uncertain to her ears. Where the hell was her usual barrel-ahead confidence? It all sounded reasonable last night when she’d planned what to say, but now she wasn’t so sure.
    He nodded for her to continue.
    “Because I haven’t delved into the research end of it yet, I really don’t know much about them.” She paused. “Not that I need to know a whole lot to take photographs, but I always find the more I know about my subject, the more interesting the photos are. And last night, as I mulled it over, the possibilities seemed endless.”
    She pushed a loose strand of hair from her face. When he didn’t respond, she continued telling him about her ideas, ideas she’d used before on other books. And amazingly, while she talked, her own interest took flight.
    She paced a few steps in one direction, then back again, hands waving in tandem with her words.
    “I could go with a historical perspective or maybe concentrate on one particular kind of motorcycle—or include the old with the new! I could do the people who ride, who they are, where they ride, what kind of groups they belong to, the clothing they wear—”
    She came to an abrupt halt when she noticed his amused look. “Well, there are several options,” she concluded.
    “Guess you don’t have it all worked out yet. Who did you say this book is for?”
    “Uh, actually, it’s still in the beginning stages. That’s why I’m not entirely clear on the focus. I proposed the book to my editor and now I’m starting the research,” she lied. “And I came here because I’d heard in Phoenix that Estrade is a popular stop for bikers.”
    She shrugged, raising her hands palms up. That part was sort of true, although it was the guy at the gas station outside town who’d told her. “Coming here was rather a spur-of-the-moment decision.”
    “So you’ve done other books?”
    She nodded. “Four. One on the children of Belfast, another about the rooftops of Paris, and—” She stopped. It was obvious he didn’t recognize her name. No big surprise. She’d been shown in major galleries in New York and abroad, her work regularly featured in a couple of national magazines, but her name wasn’t exactly a household word. Her fifteen minutes of fame had come several years ago when People magazine had done an article about her.
    Certainly no one in Estrade, Arizona, would’ve heard of her or her work. “But nothing you’d know about.”
    Rhys’s dark eyebrows snapped together. “Yeah? Guess we’re too primitive out here in the boonies, huh? We couldn’t know all those important things that go on in the big world out there.”
    She winced at the sarcasm in his voice. She’d obviously insulted his intelligence, and it was rapidly becoming apparent that intelligence wasn’t one of his deficits. In fact, she was taken aback by his whole manner. Today he didn’t seem at all like the creep Morgan had described.
    She studied the faint lines on his face. She’d done enough portraits to be