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  “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  “It comes down to trust, J.T. And you didn’t trust me.”

  He nodded once.

  “It wasn’t just you I didn’t trust. I didn’t trust myself. I loved my ex-wife, but she made it clear when she left that the only thing she’d ever been interested in was my money. Since my divorce, I haven’t hurt for female companionship, but those women all knew me as Jonathan Lundy. I could never be sure if they liked me or just my money.” He snorted out a laugh. “Want to know what I liked about you from the start?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Your bluntness.”

  “That’s Marnie,” Mason agreed.

  “This is a private conversation,” Marnie called over. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.” To J.T., Mason said, “When I was proposing to Rose, she butted in throughout the conversation.”

  “Then turnabout is fair play,” J.T. replied, shocking everyone into silence when he lowered himself to one knee in front of Marnie.

  “As soon as you left Mexico, I knew I’d be coming after you, but that business with the Justice Department needed to be settled first. I love you, Marnie LaRue. You’re smart and funny and sweet.”

  “Is he talking about my sister?” Mason asked, then sucked in a breath when Rose elbowed him in the ribs.

  “And you have one hell of a right hook.”

  “Yep, that’s Marnie.” Mason muttered, but he was grinning now and so was Rose.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “What about a prenuptial agreement?” Marnie asked, raising her chin in challenge.

  “No need. I don’t just trust myself and what I’m feeling, I trust you. All that I have is yours.”

  Marnie swallowed hard. If she’d had any doubts about his feelings, they would have evaporated right then and there. He loved her. Her grin was slow in coming, though. Make him wait. That had always been her mantra.

  “Actually, when I mentioned the prenup, I was thinking about my business. Marnie’s Closet is going to be huge.”

  J.T. pinched his eyes shut. “Is there a ‘yes’ in there someplace?”

  “Yes!” Rose called out for her.

  “I think he wants to hear me say it,” Marnie chuckled.

  J.T. opened his eyes. “Well? Will you marry me, Marnie LaRue?”

  He pulled out a ring with a rock big enough to make the Hope diamond look like a mere chip. Marnie fanned her face and sucked in a deep breath.

  “Oh, my.”

  “Getting warmer,” he coaxed. Then he sobered. “Life doesn’t hold any guarantees. You probably know that better than anyone. But I can make you one. For every day we have together, I’ll love you and try to make you happy. Noah, too.” He lowered his voice so that only she could hear. “I’ll love him like my own, Marnie. I promise you that, too. He’s yours, so how could I not?”

  “Oh, J.T.”

  He caught the tears that spilled over onto her cheeks, brushing them away with his fingertips.

  “You’re a good man.”

  J.T. cocked up one sandy eyebrow. “And a patient one. I’m still waiting to hear that three-letter word.”

  “But my answer contains only two letters.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Two?”

  “Si.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Si,” she repeated, trying to tuck away her grin and failing miserably. “It means yes in Spanish.”

  “I know what it means.”

  “Well, then I think you should kiss me. That’s usually how these proposal things work. The man asks and once the woman gets around to saying yes, the man ki—”

  J.T. didn’t let Marnie get the rest of the words out.

  But Noah summed things up perfectly for everyone. “And then they all live happily ever after.”

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-6665-3

  THE BILLIONAIRE’S BRIDE

  First North American Publication 2005.

  Copyright © 2005 by Jackie Braun Fridline.

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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