The Warner Family, Book 4
Deceit split them apart. Can love bring them back together?
After Jillian Warner’s much-publicized divorce from her ex-governor husband, Beau Taylor, all she wants is a quiet life—out of the political spotlight. And quiet it is: the heiress and single mom runs a quaint B and B in Atlanta.
But Beau is back, vowing to win her heart. With desire reigniting, Jillian’s more confused than ever. Her seductive ex betrayed her once. How can she ever trust him again?
A near-fatal accident has changed Beau in ways he never imagined. Now his number-one priority is becoming the devoted husband and father he knows he always should have been. He’s determined to atone for the sins of the past and build a new future with the woman he’s never stopped loving. Beau wants Jillian—and this time he’s doing it right.
What the Critics say
“Christopher takes a seemingly unredeemable rascal and transforms him into a hero readers will cheer for. Sometimes heart-wrenching, this story of redemption is masterfully done. Former governor Beau Taylor humiliated himself, his wife Jillian and his president brother-in-law by having extramarital affairs while in office. His drinking, partying and playboy ways come to an end when he nearly dies in an automobile accident. Jillian has made a new life for herself and her daughter as the proprietor of a BandB. She is being wooed by her accountant when Beau moves nearby. Beau, who is in therapy, still loves Jillian and wants his family back. Together they come to terms with the tragedy that started their downward spiral as they rebuild their love and trust.” — Romantic Times BOOKreviews
Read an Excerpt
Jillian meets her new neighbor…
Jillian and the dog walked up the lane and to his owner's driveway, where serious progress was now being made. Someone had lowered the ramp on the moving van, and there were various blankets and trolleys lying around, but no signs of human life. A discreet glance inside the van as she passed revealed several nice pieces, including a black leather sofa and an enormous entertainment armoire. A man’s furniture. Definitely a man’s.
They climbed the shallow steps and crossed the huge veranda, which crunched beneath Jillian’s feet. Hopefully the new guy had a rake and a broom because there were dead leaves everywhere. This baby needed a lot of cleanup. It was a beautiful house, though, with clean lines, exquisite woodwork, and beveled glass framing the open front door.
She knocked and waited.
She tried again, this time using the heavy brass knocker.
The dog looked up at her, and she could swear he raised his furry eyebrows in a What now? gesture.
Well, the door was open.
Stepping inside, she gasped at what had been a remarkable house and, with a little love, would be again. Several rooms spun off the foyer, the centerpiece of which was a wide staircase with a carved handrail, and every room that she could see was bathed in light from full-length windows. Ornate woodwork framed every doorway, and there was an enormous marble fireplace in what was unmistakably the living room.
No signs of life, though, and—
Oh, wait. Were those voices upstairs?
Turning back in the direction of the staircase–maybe she'd wandered a little farther inside that she should have–she opened her mouth to call out a hello, but a movement out of the corner of her eye stopped her.
A man's hand on the brass handle of a cane came into view, followed by one long khaki-trousered leg and a foot encased in an expensive loafer.
“Hello,” Jillian called. “Your dog wandered down the street to say hi and I was just bringing–”
The rest of the man came into view and Jillian's words stopped dead.
Oh, God. No. God, no.
Above the khaki pants was a lean, broad-shouldered torso in a white dress shirt. Above that was the face of the man who had destroyed her marriage, her heart and her happiness–the man she hadn’t spoken directly with for three years and who made regular appearances in her dreams to this day.
She staggered back a step, putting a hand to the wall for support.
Beau. It couldn’t be.
But no other man in the world had those amazing hazel eyes. No other man in the world had that beautiful honey brown skin, those slashing cheekbones or that lush mouth. No other man in the world had those silky-sexy waves of soft sable hair or that potent brand of masculinity that reduced her to a vibrating mass of overheated flesh every damn time, nearly twenty years since she laid eyes on him at the orientation at Columbia Law.
“Is it you?”
Stupid question, yeah, but she had to ask, just to be sure; her untrustworthy eyes needed confirmation that it really was him. That despite all the time and distance, both physical and emotional, that she'd put between them, this man was back in her life and would be living down the street.
After an endless wait, one corner of his mouth curled.
His face. Oh, God, his beautiful, ruined face.
He had a jagged, puckered scar that cut across his cheek, went past the edge of his mouth and ended at his chin. Yet he was still breathtaking, damn him, and that was unquestionably still Beau’s wry smile. Worse, those were Beau’s piercing eyes staring at her with such unwavering focus, and Beau’s delicious scent of fresh cotton and sporty deodorant she smelled.
“Yes,” he said, and the world spun out from under her.