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Lee Wilkinson writing career began with short stories and serials for magazines and newspapers before going on to novels. She now has more than twenty Mills . Kay Thorpe was born on in England. An avid reader from the time when words on paper began to make sense, she developed a lively. The Iron Man By Kay Thorpe - FictionDB. Cover art, synopsis, sequels, reviews, awards, publishing history, genres, and time period.
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There are a lot of scenes with the h and brother. Brother tells the h that the hero is sleeping with the OW. He wants the h to marry him after she gets an annulment. This all comes to a head at the family Christmas where the hero sees the h and his brother kissing in the middle of the night. Hero rapes heroine who is mad at him - not for taking her without consent, but for not making it pleasurable.
Hero is sorry and they have a grand old time that night and the next morning. Heroine has to explain to the brother she's getting some. All is well for a few months until the hero's dad dies and the hero resigns his banking position to move to Hawaii and run the family plantation.
The hero likes Hawaii, but the hero is working a lot. Still they are having sex like bunnies, until the brother shows up with the OW. Heroine has morning sickness, but doesn't tell the hero because she's afraid he'll reject her and the child now that the OW is around.
Brother keeps trying to get the heroine to run away with him. Finally, at a party, the heroine falls down some steps and miscarries. Hero is upset and accues the heroine of planning her accident.
Heroine sees that they have no more ties to each other. She'll leave with the brother. As they are boarding the plane, the brother realizes the heroine is in love with the hero.
He tells her the truth about the H and the OW. They weren't sleeping together. The H loves the heroine.
She goes back into the airport where the hero is waiting to see their plane depart. Pulling into the roadside, she took a look at the map laid open across the passenger seat.
If her calculations were correct, the collection of red-slate roofs and single-bell tower some mile or so distant had to be Vernici. Smaller than she had imagined, though big enough to offer some kind of accommodation for the short time she was likely to be spending in the vicinity. This close to her destination, she still had doubts as to the wisdom of what she was planning to do.
Twenty-five years was a long time. It could be that the Carandentes no longer even resided in the area.
If that turned out to be the case, she would put the whole thing behind her once and for all, she vowed. If nothing else, she would have seen parts of Europe she had never seen before.
Surrounded by olive groves, the little town had an almost medieval air about it, its narrow streets radiating from a central piazza. There was only one way to go, and that was straight through a flimsy barrier protecting some kind of road works, finishing up tilted at a crazy angle with her offside front wheel firmly lodged in the deep hole.
Held by the safety belt, she had suffered no more than a severe shaking up, but the shock alone was enough to keep her sitting there like a dummy for the few moments it took people attracted by the screeching of brakes to put in an appearance. Her scanty Italian could make neither head nor tail of the voluble comment.
All she could do was make helpless gestures. Eventually one man got the passenger door open and helped her clamber out of the vehicle, all the time attempting to make himself understood. The only word Gina recognised was garage.
She simply had to hope that repairs could be effected without too much trouble. Her helpmate disappeared up a side street, leaving her to lean weakly against the nearest support and wait for succour.
It was gone two, the heat scarcely diminished from its midday high; her sleeveless cotton blouse was sticking to her back. An elderly woman addressed her in tones of sympathy. Assuming that she was being asked if she was feeling all right. It might have been an idea to learn at least enough of the language to get by on before setting out on this quest of hers, she thought wryly, but it was a little late for if onlys.
She was in Vernici, and quite likely going to be stuck here for however long it might take to get her car back on the road. Straightening, she walked round the vehicle to view the uptilted front end, in no way reassured by what she saw.
The wheel had been crushed inwards by the impact, the whole wing and a corner of the bonnet badly crumpled. It was some small consolation that the car itself was Italian. If new parts were needed that surely had to help. Hindered more than aided by the all-too-ready helping hands and eager advice, it took the two men who eventually arrived in a battered tow truck almost half an hour to drag the car free.
It was, Gina saw with sinking heart, in an even worse state of disrepair than she had thought. The wheel was buckled, the wing a total write-off, the bonnet probably salvageable but unlikely to look pristine again without a lot of expert hammering and filling. The happy-go-lucky manner employed by both mechanics gave little rise to confidence.
One of them, who spoke some English, indicated that it would be necessary to send to Siena, or perhaps even to Florence for a new wheel and wing.
When asked how long that might take, he spread his hands in a gesture only too easily recognisable. Perhaps a week, perhaps even longer.
Who could tell? And then, of course, there would be the work. Perhaps another week. The possible cost? Once more the hands were spread. The cost would be what the cost would be, Gina gathered, by then in no fit state to press the issue any further. Declining an offer to squeeze her into a seat between the two of them, she followed the truck on foot to a small backstreet garage, to see her only means of transport tucked away in a corner to await attention.
The parts would be ordered at once, the younger man assured her. In the meantime, he could supply a good place for her to stay. Faced with his overt appraisement of her body, Gina gave the suggestion scant consideration. For the first time she turned her mind to the car that had caused the accident. The driver had been female not male, and young, the car itself big and blue. With faint hope, she described both car and occupant to her mechanic friend, to be rewarded with a grinning acknowledgement.
You make them pay! She was covered by insurance, of course, but claims for accidents abroad were notoriously difficult to get settled. The more she thought about it the angrier she became, her object in coming to Vernici in the first place temporarily pushed to the back of her mind. She was stuck out here in the back of beyond because of some spoiled teenager with nothing better to do than tear around the roads without regard for life or limb. The question was how to reach the place.
If that was the only vehicle available that was the one she would take.