A Valentine from Harlequin

I said goodbye.” He pulled over onto the shoulder and turned to her. “I meant what I said. I wanted to put a new memory over the old one, but I also needed to know whether you still loved me.”
    “And what did you find out?”
    “You wouldn’t have gone to bed with me last night if you weren’t still in love with me.” He reached forward and took her chin in his hand. “Last night wasn’t just sex. Was it?”
    She shook her head.
    “We were making love.” She didn’t nod, but her tearing eyes must have spoken for her. “I love you, Charlotte. But we’re at a crossroads, quite literally.” He smiled at her and pointed to the highway exit ahead. “I can take that exit and have you back home in half an hour and we’ll say goodbye.”
    “Or?”
    “Or you trust me with your heart. Pay the ransom and spend your life with me.”
    His logic was a little faulty, but she didn’t call him on it. Absently, she rubbed the ring finger of her left hand where his engagement ring used to sit. “You mean you want to get engaged again?”
    “Oh, no. I’m not being a chump twice. I made an appointment at city hall. We get married today.”
    “But I…” She glanced down at her sweats, thought of the designer wedding dress she’d never wear, the 200 invitations she’d never address, the relatives and business associates she wouldn’t dance with at her wedding, the lunches, dinners, and brunches she wouldn’t eat, the thank-you notes she’d never write—and it was like an elephant stepping off her chest.
    She gazed into those beautiful gray eyes, drawn as always by the streaks of gold. Who needed a designer dress? She grinned right back at him, and threw herself into his arms. “I’m in.”
    And at that moment, as her pulse pounded, her heart felt so light that it might indeed float over to lodge in John’s chest for safekeeping.
    * * *
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Charlotte’s Angel
    By Catherine Spencer

Chapter One
    Charlotte winced as an inebriated party-goer stepped on her foot, but she kept moving determinedly toward the doors that led to the balcony. The Duncans would be delighted with their party; it was clearly the event of the season, and their daughter had been successfully launched into society.
    Unfortunately, the noise, the heat, and the crowd combined with Charlotte’s pounding headache to make her want to escape for a breath of fresh air. Reaching the balcony doors, she opened them to find two people engaged in a passionate kiss.
    “I’m sorry.” The words escaped her mouth before she realized it would have been better to make an exit without being noticed. The couple jumped apart.
    Charlotte felt the blood drain from her face as she stared at her fiancé. “John! I thought you were dead!”
    Seeing her own horrified fascination mirrored on his face, she groped for the nearest object—anything solid enough to keep her from keeling over—and found herself grasping the edge of one of the spindly wrought-iron tables scattered the length of the balcony.
    Clearly, he hadn’t heard the sound of the balcony doors opening, which wasn’t surprising, given the amount of heavy breathing he’d been enjoying. As for noticing a third party had arrived, he’d only had eyes—not to mention lips and hands!—for the dimpled blond pressed so snugly against him that, for one briefly hysterical second, Charlotte wondered if their bodies were held together by a strip of Velcro.
    Tearing himself free, he spun around and squinted disbelievingly into the light blinding him from the room behind Charlotte, the winsome brown eyes she’d once thought reminded her of an eager puppy seeming now more appropriately likened to a shortsighted troll. “ Charlie? Is that you?”
    “Who else?” she said, rallying her pride. “Unless, of course, false rumors of your death have been broadcast to a host of other fiancées, too?”
    He opened his mouth to reply, then apparently finding himself completely at a loss, snapped it closed again. Of the two of them, he, it appeared, was vastly more taken aback. Just as well, Charlotte decided. There was nothing like the element of surprise to startle a man of limited wit into spilling out the truth—and John, she belatedly realized, didn’t have much to offer in the way of sparkling intellect.
    “Fiancée?” Dimples adjusted her cleavage, pulled the neckline of her dress back where it belonged, and fixed him in