At the Billionaire’s Wedding by Caroline Linden EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Caroline Linden
- Language: English
- Genre: Billionaire Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Arwen Kilpatrick steered the world’s smallest car along the world’s
narrowest road, peering through the swishing windshield wipers and
praying she wouldn’t meet another vehicle. Not daring to use her phone
while driving on the wrong side of the road—especially a road so narrow it
possessed only one side—she made a mental note: helicopters. Duke and
Jane’s wedding guests couldn’t be expected to arrive in cars smaller than
the smallest Chevy ever. A nonstop helicopter shuttle would add cachet and
each passenger would be presented with a miniature picnic basket: a split of
Dom Perignon, Brazilian brigadeiro chocolates, and maybe little pots of
caviar. Too messy: tiny caviar-stuffed blinis. Did they make blinis in
England? If not, she’d fly someone in from New York to do it. Or Moscow.
Drunk with the power of an event planner with an unlimited budget, she
barely jammed on the brakes in time to avoid a head-on collision and
promptly stalled the engine. When the airport car rental place had only a
stick shift available, she had dealt. She’d driven a tractor on her parents’
farm until she’d run over a pig at the age of fifteen and they took away the
keys. She knew gears and clutches. Sort of.
A man in a mud-caked Jeepy-looking vehicle waved his hands. From
his gesticulations she gathered she was supposed to back up to let him pass.
She messed up the clutch and stalled again, twice. Assaulted by waves of jet
lag she leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, then jerked backward
when the horn blasted.
The other driver had left his vehicle and banged on the side window, his
temper no doubt exacerbated by the rain dripping off the brim of an ancient
rain hat. She let the window down six inches.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, reeking exasperation.
“I’m having trouble shifting with my left hand,” she said, refusing to
admit it was the clutch—and her four-inch heels—giving her grief.
“American,” he replied as though it explained everything and not in a
good way. “Look here, you’d better get out and I’ll back your car to the
Not wishing to arrive at Brampton House looking like a drowned rat,
she scootched over to the passenger seat, getting her pencil skirt caught in
the gear stick. “Get in,” she said sharply when he appeared mesmerized by
the sight of her thighs. Dirty old man.
Okay, not old. And wet rather than dirty. While he folded a long body
into the tiny car, started the engine, and traveled a hundred feet backward
with effortless competence, she observed that he was in his early thirties
and handsome in a hunky, James McAvoy kind of way.
“You were driving too fast in the lane,” he said. “You should slow down
and look out.”
“I was doing twenty.” Arwen crossed her fingers. She hadn’t been
watching the speedometer, neither was she sure if they used miles or
kilometers in England. “It shouldn’t be legal to have roads this narrow.”
“Try talking to the County Council about it,” he said.
“I suppose it’s why your cars are so tiny.”
“They get the job done and don’t waste petrol.”
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