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Informationen zum Autor Jo-Ann Power is the author of romance novels, historical fiction, and mysteries. She lives in Texas. Find out more at Jo-AnnPower.com. Klappentext American millionaire Skip Brighton takes a tour of Europe in hopes of unraveling some suspicious business dealings and matching his independent daughter, Ann, with a noble British man. But Ann is determined to cling to her freedom--until a handsome stranger crosses her path. "Never Before" is the first book in Power's new "American Beauties" trilogy. Chapter 1 "The world is his who has money to go over it." Ralph Waldo Emerson Dublin, Ireland March 1875 He had lost her! He beat his hat against his thigh as he emerged from the clubhouse stands. Lost her! For the sake of money! Broad chest. Strong legs. A lustrous mane and gorgeous tail. To have mated her would have brought him the greatest delight he'd had in a decade. And for want of fifty more miserable pounds, she now belonged to another. Ah, hell. Why was he surprised? In the last ten years, he had lost his savings. His hope. But not his friends or his determination to lead a respectable existence. He couldn't lose those, too. He plowed a hand through his hair and plunked his derby back on his head. Such silliness to expect intelligent people to wear stuffy day clothes to horse trials and sales. In a fit, he yanked the damn hat from his head and sent it sailing across the yard. Missing milling members of the crowd inspecting the next set of horses for sale, the black felt spun toward the nearest trash barrel and dropped in. Rhys Kendall grinned. His expression died as he spied the new owner of the horse. She emerged from the other side of the clubhouse, fishing in her reticule, no idea she stood beside him. He bent close, the fragrance of magnolias sweetening the acid of his disappointment. "Congratulations." His words held more sarcasm than cheer, and she startled. "I hope you enjoy her." "Thank you." She took a better look at him, while her hand paused inside her purse. Wary, she registered that he had been her opponent in the bidding. "You gave me a hard run for my money. She's beautiful." She walked off, taking his breath away with her. "An understatement," he muttered. She marched over to the bursar and pulled open her reticule. From its abyss, she brought forth two eyepopping items. The first was a pistol that looked like an American derringer. Its partner was a roll of bills so large he would have trouble putting his fist around it. But she was more arresting. He had suspected she was a woman of consequence when he'd seen her across the show ring. During the ten-minute auction, she had become increasingly animated as their contest over the Irish draught horse dwindled to a battle between the two of them. She'd cast him an evil eye when he'd upped her bids -- and doubled his raise. He admired her pluck. Women of class allowed men to do their bidding. Not this one. He noticed, too, that she was unescorted. Oddly alone. A bright sprig of green amid a somber plain of men, she was attired sensibly for the sale in a riding habit, as if she intended to mount her purchase immediately and ride off into the sunset. Most ladies came to the Dublin Spring Horse Trials and Sale dressed to impress, unless, of course, they were unmarried, and then they came dressed to lure. He wished this one had not dressed at all. He scanned her lithe body, mentally snipping every stitch she wore. She had without a doubt the noblest conformation he had seen on any track or off. Nor did she walk, but floated. Her height and leanness gave her presence. Her curves granted elegance. Her legs would match his in length, but he was certain that when he lifted her an inch and pressed her close, she would fit him, tight and moist. He shifted, his appet...
