HOW TO: Bare Your Bride, Book #2

• Marriage of Convenience
• Small Town romance
• Steamy
• Workplace Romance

Six sexy Italian-American brothers, ready to win their soul mates.

The Salvatore Brothers will charm, tempt, seduce … or even wed and bed. They’ll do whatever it takes to find their bride.

And when they say whatever it takes, they mean absolutely anything!

Hanna Tyler is at her wit’s end. Everyone in the picturesque town of Hidden Harbor is intent on finding her a husband. It doesn’t matter whether she actually wants one. Thanks to all her hard work on their behalf, they want to ensure she gets her happily-ever-after.

Hanna’s solution? Attend the Beaumonts’ masquerade Cinderella Ball—where attendees meet and marry all in one night—and choose a temporary husband. Maybe that will resolve her problem.

Matteo Salvatore, who is visiting the Beaumonts on business, has no interest in their Cinderella Ball, let alone meeting and marrying, especially in one night. It’s a ludicrous idea. Or so he thinks right up until he sees a beautiful, feathered swan princess and realizes she’s his soul mate.

What Matteo doesn’t anticipate is that his beautiful bride believes more in practicality than love. Can he strip away her barriers and convince her that true love does exist and can be found in his arms and in his bed?

Matteo watched his pretty redhead flee her circle of admirers. They might not realize she was running away, but he knew it with a bone-deep certainty. He didn’t hesitate. Snatching up the belt and sword Shayne had provided, he secured it to his waist. He took the stairs leading from the balcony to the ballroom floor, arriving in time to see his swan princess dart down the next flight of stairs leading toward the dining area. A woman dressed in a stunning black gown blocked his path. He couldn’t quite place which romantic figure she represented, but it didn’t matter. She had something he needed.

For the first time, he blessed his father for the Italian lessons Dom had insisted were a vital part of his sons’ education. “Signorina,” he said, executing a graceful bow. “I believe your costume is the most beautiful I’ve seen so far tonight.”

The accent worked like a charm. She blushed, deep dimples flickering to life in her cheeks. “If I hadn’t already found the perfect man, I’d ask you to dance.”
“A shame. For if I had not found the perfect woman, I’d have happily accepted.” He hesitated. “May I make one small suggestion in regard to your dress?”

A tiny frown puckered her brow. “Sure, I guess.”
He caught the end of the black scarf encircling her neck and gently pulled the strip of silk. It slipped along her throat like a lover’s caress. “This is an unnecessary distraction. You should not hide such a neck and shoulders.”

She swallowed. “Do you really think so?”

“Senza dubbio. Without doubt.” Actually, it was the absolute truth, or he’d never have said such a thing. “Would you mind if I kept your scarf?” He shrugged. “I’d claim I wanted it for a memento, but the truth is, I wish to use it as a mask for the ball.”

She offered him a sympathetic smile. “Did you forget yours?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Take it. I’m happy to help.” She turned to go, then hesitated. “Oh! And good luck with your lady.”
Matteo smiled. “And you with your man.”

He didn’t waste any more time, but darted down the steps to the banquet room. A quick scan of the crowd confirmed that his little redhead wasn’t among the diners. Selecting a steak knife from one of the tables, he swiftly slit holes in the scarf and tied it around his head. Simple, but effective, he decided. Between the mask and the sword Shayne had provided, he could pass as Zorro or some similar type romantic swashbuckler.

Now to find his swan princess.

It had gotten late enough that the gardens were fairly deserted. He roamed the paths with swift efficiency, finally slipping up on a splash of white silk and feathers on a bench tucked well beneath a large sycamore tree. She was crying, he realized in alarm. Nothing bothered him quite as much as a woman in distress and for some odd reason this woman’s distress disturbed him more than normal. No doubt it had something to do with his attraction for her. He sensed this wasn’t a woman easily reduced to tears. Not giving himself time to think, he edged toward the far side of the tree, grasped the lowest branch and swung himself upward.

Easing the sword from its scabbard, he grasped one of the trailing ends of his black scarf and sliced off a square. To his amusement, he noticed that a bit of dainty lace decorated the end. Perfect. Skewering the improvised handkerchief on the tip of the sword, he slowly lowered it toward his weeping princess.

“For you, Signorina,” he said quietly, hoping he wouldn’t startle her too badly.

Her head jerked up and her breath hitched in surprise. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

“No one of importance,” he said with a shrug, flavoring his words with the gentlest of Italian accents. “Just a man sitting in a tree watching a beautiful swan leak tears all over her feathers.”

A smile trembled on her lips and she reached for the scrap of silk and lace. “Thank you, but I’m not crying,” she lied with an outrageousness that defied argument. “I never cry.”

She fell silent for a minute, no doubt struggling to regain her composure and control her nonexistent tears. He didn’t mind. He was a patient man, one of the few Salvatores who could claim such a virtue. A good thing. He sensed he’d stumbled across a woman who found control a vital component when confronting those entering her world.

“Why are you sitting in that tree?” she finally asked.
He’d been right. Gone was the vulnerable woman of moments before and in her place sat a woman of strength and determination. It made for an interesting contrast. “I quite like trees,” he said after a moment’s contemplation. “I always have. They make excellent places from which to swoop.”

A smile flirted with her mouth again. “Swoop?”

“Yes, swoop. Shall I demonstrate?”

Securing his sword, he grasped one of the larger branches and swung high over her bench. At the last instant, he released his grasp and executed a quick midair somersault, dropping lightly in a crouch beside her. The maneuver would have done Errol Flynn proud. He’d also broken his arm attempting to perfect it at the great age of ten.

She looked appropriately impressed. “You like how I swoop?” he asked, keeping his Italian accent intact.

“Very impressive.”

He continued to crouch beside her, balancing easily on the balls of his feet. “So tell me what has made you cry, Signorina. Perhaps I can help.”

She shook her head. “Thank you, but I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do for me.”

“You must have thought a husband and marriage would help or you wouldn’t be here,” he argued logically. “Now, why would someone as beautiful as you need to come to a Cinderella Ball to find a husband? I would think you’d have men lined up at your door.”

Apparently, he’d said the wrong thing. She withdrew into herself, her back stiff, her chin elevated, her eyes behind the feathered mask flashing a warning even the darkness couldn’t conceal. “What makes you think I’m beautiful?”

“You may wish you were not, carissima, but you can’t hide it.” Ever so gently he reached out and plucked the flamboyant mask from her face. “Not even with this.”

She was as lovely as he remembered. It was almost too dark now to see the exact shade of her eyes, but he recalled they were an intriguing combination of green and gold and glittered with intelligence and character. The clean, strong lines of her face also gave expression to her character. She possessed a straight nose with a firm jaw and high, broad cheekbones. In the absence of light, her ivory dress and pale skin shone with a translucent glow, like the rich texture of a black-and-white movie, her hair and lips glimmering with the only hint of color, a vibrant red that even the darkness couldn’t subdue.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she informed him in a steely voice.

Did she think he’d find her tone intimidating? She had a lot to learn. But she would. He’d see to it. Personally. “Why not? It’s after midnight.” He fixed her with a steady regard. “I suspect the time for fun and games is past. Don’t you?”

“I was never very good at games.” She shrugged. “At least, not the kind men and women play.”

“Why don’t we dispense with the games?” He dropped his accent, a fact she acknowledged with an uplifted eyebrow. Straddling the bench, he asked, “Why are you here?”

“To find a husband.”

“I assumed as much.” He put a hint of steel in his own voice. “You’re evading the question, though. Why did you come here to do your husband hunting?
”
“The usual reasons, I guess.”

“Ah, cara,” he murmured. “If you play games, so shall I.”
She held up her hands. “Okay, okay. You can drop the phony accent.”

“It’s not so phony. I’m first generation American, raised to take pride in my Italian heritage.” Unable to resist touching her, he hooked her chin and tipped her face up to his. “You strike me as a direct sort of woman. Tell me why you’re really here.”

“To find a husband.”

“And?”

“Look, maybe this would be easier if we knew each other’s names.” She offered her hand, forcing him to release her chin. “I’m Hanna Tyler.”

He took her hand in his, not in the least surprised by the firmness of her grip. “Matteo Salvatore.”

“I’d hoped learning your name would make me feel more comfortable.” Her mouth tilted to one side. “For some reason it hasn’t.”

“It’s the forced intimacy of the situation. You have one night to find a partner. You arrive masked so the participants appearances don’t distract and you can find personalities that mesh, rather than relying on physical appeal alone. On top of that, you’re expected to expose your most secret longings to complete strangers. Somehow I suspect you’re not comfortable with that.”

She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”

“It is to me.” He frowned in thought. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll leave my mask on for now and you tell me why you’ve come and the sort of man you hoped to find.”

“That hardly seems fair,” she commented drily. “You know what I look like, but I’m left in the dark.”

He smiled at her inadvertent pun. “If we’re able to reach an understanding, I’ll take it off and we’ll go from there. If at any point you want to end the conversation, say the word and I’ll walk away. You’ve opened up to a stranger, someone you’ll never see again and who will never reveal a word of what you’ve said. You can’t even be embarrassed if our paths should cross, since you won’t know it’s me. Perhaps it’ll be easier that way.”

She gave his suggestion careful consideration. “So I’m supposed to tell you my life story?”

“No strings attached. No judgements. No expectations. You’re in complete control.”

She looked directly at him and in that moment, Matteo knew he’d lied to his brothers. He had found love. He’d found it where he’d least expected and least wanted it. He was a Salvatore, destined to love only one woman for the duration of his life. And because of that, he’d do something he’d never thought a sane man would do.

He’d meet and marry a woman all in one night.