180 onwards…
1** 2* 3^ 4* 5* 6* 7* 8 9^ 10* 11* 12* 13* 14 15* 16^ 17* 18* 19* 20* 21* 22* 23 24* 25* 26* 27* 28 29* 30** 31* 32*
Snow Angels The Billionaire's Proxy Thirty Days Key Witness Based on a True Story Family Ever After All Hallows' Joy Taggart's Bride Hot Target The Boys' Club The Forgetful Fiancee Lightning Strikes The Ledoux Curse Husband Material A Little Mischief The Honest Truth Return to Tyler: A Hero for the Holidays Hope in a Handbag To the Edge Seduced by the Season Evidence of Desire Storm Reaper Desire Calls One Night Only Rafferty's Romance Manhattan Cinderella The Cinderella Valentine French Kiss Something Old, Something New The Wolfe and Three Little Griggs Fast and Furious The Italian Billionaire's Bride
By Barbara W. Klaser By Yvonne Lindsay By Lilian Darcy by Terri Reed by Brenda Janowitz By Linda Goodnight By Christine Merrill By Allison Leigh By Suzanne McMinn By Amanda McIntyre By Kara Lennox By Tracy Wolff By Debra Cowan By Melissa McClone By Kasey Michaels By The Honest Truth By Jacqueline Diamond By Annie Jones By Loreth Anne White By Merline Lovelace By Debra Webb By Jeri Smith-Ready By Caridad Pineiro By Ann Christopher By Teresa Southwick By Trish Wylie By Liz Fielding By Lori Wilde By Marisa Carroll By Tanya Michaels By Lori Borrill By Trish Morey
2 177 203 234 261 284 305 325 348 366 392 412 436 462 484 508 534 546 570 609 630 696 727 745 778 804 830 843 873 891 947 975
Till 211…
* eHarlequin, US
^eHarlequin, Aus
** others
rest of them Mills and Boon, UK
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SNOW ANGELS Barbara W. Klaser
Prologue ELEVEN YEARS AGO "You should've turned there, to get to my house." "I know." The young man in the driver's seat kept his gaze on the road. "Where are we going?" "My place." He shot her a grin full of straight teeth. "It's early yet." He was incredibly good looking. Why couldn't she like him? That would make her parents happy, and make this not such a wasted evening. She wouldn't feel guilty about agreeing to go out with him in the first place. It had been dishonest to accept his invitation merely to please her parents, in an attempt to make them less suspicious of her. Why, to gain their trust, did she have to commit this lie? She glimpsed the name on the mailbox as he turned into an asphalt driveway. This must be his parents' house, this grand structure at least four times the size of her own home. There were no other cars in the driveway. "Are your parents here?" "They're out of town with my sisters." He shot her another grin, this one clearly intended to be seductive, an implication of shared conspiracy. A conspiracy she didn't share, or want to. "I live here." He parked in front of a guest cottage, a hundred feet or so from the main house. It was a miniature replica of the larger structure. "Do you have a telephone in there? I need to check in with my parents. They wanted me home by ten." She didn't like that he'd brought her here without asking her first. "Your dad said eleven." He narrowed his eyes. "I don't think my mom knew he said eleven. I should call, and I have to get home soon." When they entered the little house, he put his keys on a table by the door and pointed her toward the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable in here, while I get us something to drink." She put her purse down next to his keys. "No soda or caffeine for me, please. Maybe ice water." She headed for the phone on the desk in the front room.
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He paused in his kitchen doorway and pursed his lips. "How about a glass of wine. Don't tell me you've never had alcohol? You're nearly eighteen." She shrugged. "I have to be up early for work tomorrow." Besides, she was sure her parents hadn't urged her to go out with him so she could drink. That was the last thing they'd intended, and if this was a test she intended to pass. While he was in the kitchen she quickly phoned her mother and let her know where she was. Then she phoned a friend. "Do you have the keys to the van tonight?" "Yeah. Why?" "If I page you from this number, will you come get me? This doesn't feel right." She gave her friend the number and directions. "Okay, but you're the only girl I know who wouldn't be thrilled to go out with him." When he returned with their drinks she was seated on the sofa staring at the painting over his mantle, a particularly gruesome hunting scene. He brought her a tumbler of ice water and a glass of red wine. "In case you change your mind." He nodded toward the painting. "Like it?" "It's not my kind of thing. Do you hunt?" She had friends who hunted, but she'd failed to ever understand their attraction to the sport. "Since I was a kid, every chance I get." He sat beside her and leaned over to kiss her. She turned her cheek to meet his lips. "I don't kiss on the first date." He stared at her as if she'd spoken a foreign language. "My dad gave me the impression you were a wild child, that I was supposed to tame you." "He said that?" "Not exactly, but my mom heard your parents are worried that you're hanging out with a bad crowd--some kind of Satanists who always dress in black?" She sighed, tired of how people twisted things. "I've been dating a guy who's a Pagan. That's not the same thing as a Satanist. He believes in a God and a Goddess, and in following the cycles of nature. My parents don't understand anyone who doesn't believe the same way they do. He wears black a lot because it's his preference, not because of his religion. He's an artist. So am I." Her date nodded, but the vacant look in his eyes made her pretty sure he didn't understand. "I thought you'd at least give me a kiss after I bought you dinner. Just following the cycles of nature." He grinned. "If you wanted me to pay for my dinner, you should've said so. I'll pay my share now." She started to get up for her purse.
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He chuckled and took her hand. "Will you relax? I was joking. Sit here with me, have a sip of wine. We'll just talk for a while if you want." She sat back, thinking maybe she wasn't being fair. She resigned herself to an hour more of his company before it would be polite to insist he take her home. The water glass looked cloudy and she wondered how good a dishwasher he was. She decided a sip or two of the wine wouldn't hurt, and she picked it up. "Cheers." He raised his glass and clinked it against hers, then sipped his. "You're a senior next year, right? What will you do when you graduate?" It was the first time tonight he'd shown any interest in her plans. He'd spent most of the time talking about himself. The wine was bitter and astringent. She took a sip and put it down. "I'm going to college on the East Coast. After that I want to travel, see the world outside Cedar Creek. I'll come back eventually and open my own business here, maybe a bakery." He shook his head. "Once I leave I'm not coming back." "Not even to visit your family?" He didn't answer. He stroked her forearm and studied her face. "You're pretty. I never noticed you when we were younger. I wonder why. What if I just kiss your hand?" He raised her hand to his lips. She giggled, she couldn't help it. Was he serious, or mocking her? He made a low, growling noise, his eyes darkening. He kissed her hand again, then the inside of her forearm. It made her tingle inside, in spite of herself. He stroked her hair, and a moment later her cheek. He gently raised her wine glass to her lips, and she sipped again, then again, deliberately taking the smallest possible sips, deciding he could be charming when he made the attempt. She took the glass from him, and only pretended to sip after that. She was beginning to relax. In fact she thought the wine must be stronger than normal, because it made her fuzzy headed after a few sips. She'd risen early this morning to work in the kitchen at the resort, and it was near her usual bedtime, maybe that was why she felt drowsy. She yawned, and when he got up to put on some music, she leaned back on the sofa. She found herself looking at that painting on the far wall again. Still finding it revolting, she closed her eyes. It took her several seconds to realize he had his arms around her, and was kissing her lips forcefully, his tongue in her mouth, and one hand inside her blouse. He'd rearranged himself and eased her back on the couch. She was lying under him. He started unbuttoning her blouse. She couldn't get enough air.
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"Wait." She started to sit up, feeling lightheaded, though she was certain she'd only had a few sips of the wine. Instead of listening to her, he yanked her blouse open, tearing it. "No. Stop!" He dove his hands inside her bra. Alarm spread through her. She tried to fight his hands off. "No! I said no!" She tried to move away, but he was strong and heavy, with nearly his full weight on her. She struggled harder, and he grasped her wrists tightly, his legs pinning hers to the couch. "No!" He wasn't listening, or responding to her words, and he was stronger. He removed her shoes, pulled up her skirt and tugged at her panties. "Relax," he said, his tone short, urgent, demanding. "Let me go!" She fought him. It hurt now to struggle. He gripped her wrists tightly with one hand above her head. "Should've had more wine," he snarled, breathing fast. His phone rang, and he ignored it, continuing to struggle with her. It rang again. "That's my mother, calling to check on me." He paused and glared at her. "She doesn't trust me, I told you. She'll keep calling, and if she doesn't reach me, she'll come looking for me." "She'll think I'm driving you home." Seconds later the phone had stopped ringing, and she knew he wasn't going to let her go. Not before he got what he wanted. She had to think. She stopped struggling and lay still. He looked her in the eye, suspicious. She made out to be drowsy, remembering how her baby brother looked when sleep overtook him. She let her eyes close, pretending to fall asleep. She was certain now that he'd drugged the wine, probably the cloudy water, too, and she hoped he'd think it had taken its full intended effect. He sat still, on top of her, with his grip loosening on her wrists. Testing her? She slackened every muscle in her body and felt drowsy again. Whatever the drug was, it was potent. She didn't remember drinking much of the wine, yet she had to grapple to keep her feigned sleep from drowsing into the real thing. He believed her act, finally, and let go of her wrists. She let one arm drop, then lay perfectly still, willing her muscles to relax. He lifted her skirt, and it was all she could do not to go rigid or fight him, as he took her panties off. Finally he moved farther away,
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until he wasn't touching any part of her but her legs. She took a deep, slow breath as she cracked her eyes open, feeling sleep tug at her in spite of her fear. He was turned the other way, slipping off his own shoes, unzipping his pants. Several seconds later he moved a foot or so away from her. He'd pulled a condom packet out and was opening it with his teeth. Now he had his pants down to his knees and was lifting a leg to remove them. She moved. He snatched at her blouse as she moved, tearing it more. She kept going. She ran to the door and grabbed her purse and his keys before he could catch his balance and move far. She ran. She had no idea how fast he would be, but he looked athletic and he could slip his shoes back on, while hers were still on the floor beside his sofa. She kept running, barefoot, wondering only briefly what objects her feet struck as she moved, running as fast as her legs and her newest surge of adrenaline could carry her. When she heard his car turn onto the road, she realized he must have had a spare key. A rise of alarm sent her into the woods, out of sight of the road. There she couldn't move nearly as fast, but she kept going, keeping herself out of sight of the road. He passed her. A moment later he'd turned around and was heading more slowly back in her direction. He shone a flashlight into the woods, first on one side then the other, as he moved slowly up the road. She stood out of sight behind a large tree and some brush, breathing hard, again fighting sleepiness. She gripped his keys so tightly they dug into the flesh of her hand. She kept the keys tightly balled so they didn't make a noise, and placed them on the ground near her feet, afraid to let them jingle, afraid to breathe too loudly. How long would it take her to get home on foot? Could she make it through the woods? How far was it to her house? She was too confused, her thoughts scrambling with her fear and the drug. How would she find her way in the dark? He passed her a second time with his light. She started through the woods in what she hoped was the direction of the resort, staying as close to the road as she dared, to avoid getting more disoriented. He must've given up, because after his second sweep with the light he didn't come back. Had he gone on into town? She walked, less panicked now, her adrenaline surplus gradually fading. Her feet hurt. Her wrists ached where he'd gripped her. She became aware that her blouse was ripped and wouldn't button. It hung open, exposing her lace bra. Her skirt was rumpled and crooked; her panties were back at his house. Her hair was a ragged mess, falling down
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around her face and neck, lopsided and tangled. Her hands shook whenever she tried to hold her blouse together. She gave up and concentrated instead on where she was going, and on blinking away the tears that threatened to blur her vision. Finally she heard another vehicle on the road. Not his car, but something big. Its headlights were higher off the ground and wider apart. She moved out and waved at it. It was the van from the resort. It stopped beside her, and she opened the door. Her friend was driving. "My God, what happened? Hurry and get in. I got to feeling weird about your call, and I called you back, but no one answered. I decided to drive out this way. There's a blanket in the back." Chapter 1 Success doesn't mean happiness. Tess Hunter read the words she'd written on the paper in front of her, and blinked at them a few times. They were a portion of her silent argument with a thesaurus in a computer program, this electronic listing on the screen of her laptop that ranked success right in there with words like satisfaction, contentment, happiness. Could the program be wrong about the meaning of success, or was she? Tess Hunter thought she'd found success, at a young age, but it didn't feel like happiness to her. It felt more like a trap. She sighed and swiveled her chair back to the drafting table, where the half-inked drawing of a Victorian tea party mocked her with its sterility. Tess glanced out the window to her left, focused through the brown band of smog above the horizon visible between hundreds of other structures, and imagined she glimpsed the pale glint of the ocean beyond. This was wishful thinking. She couldn't see it from here. She took a deep breath of the filtered, conditioned air of the building from which she and her partners ran their magazine and publishing business, then looked down at her drawing, and sighed again. "This isn't working." "It looks great to me." This came from the doorway behind her. Her secretary Debbie held a paper bag out to Tess as she entered her office. "I come bearing lunch. You looked preoccupied earlier, and I didn't think you heard my offer to bring you something, so I assumed you'd want the usual. Tuna salad on rye?" Tess thanked her and realized how hungry she was, as she took the bag. She removed the sandwich wrapped in white paper, along with a bundle of paper napkins. She unfolded a napkin, then unwrapped and picked up half the sandwich. "What don't you like about it?" Debbie was looking at the drawing again, her face placid. Tess paused to chew and swallow her first bite of tuna on rye before she admitted, "I wasn't actually thinking about the drawing. I was . . . muttering to myself."
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The drawing hadn't progressed since yesterday, and Tess had spent most of this afternoon sitting here daydreaming, caught up in her thoughts of escape, of rebellion-possibly total abandon. "Tess." Her partner Harry Ryker leaned his head in the doorway behind Debbie. He spoke in a clipped British accent. "Have you got a moment to meet with Paige and me about the name change?" Tess glanced down at her sandwich, in an inexplicable instant of panic. She put the sandwich down as Harry Ryker and their other partner Paige Chandler pressed into the office, and Tess's secretary Debbie was the one who escaped. "Oh, you're having lunch." Paige Chandler was a tall woman with chestnut brown hair and piercing dark eyes. Her glance moved from the sandwich to the drawing on Tess's drafting table. She moved into the room and sat in one of the chairs across from Tess's desk. Harry Ryker followed suit, maneuvering his lean frame into a chair in one swift movement. Tess sighed and wiped her hands with her paper napkin. "I'm sure we will eventually decide on a new name for the magazine. But today isn't a good day. I'm not making any progress at all on this." She waved at the drawing. "I doubt I'll be much more creative about a name." "We want to present you with an idea," Paige Chandler said, her face bright with enthusiasm. Tess wondered what they would both say if she told them she didn't care what they called the magazine because she was leaving. She was in fact making plans to go away for a few weeks to think through what she wanted to do with the rest of her life. She glanced at each of them, afraid she'd spoken those thoughts out loud. "Harry thinks we should add your name to the magazine title, something like Tess Hunter's Treasured Home. Only not Treasured Home anymore, of course. The point of this exercise is to get rid of that. We'd go from Treasured Home to Tess Hunter's Simple Pleasures, or Tess Hunter's Creative Living Magazine. You see?" Tess shook her head. She saw, yes. They didn't see. Hadn't they noticed how silent she'd been on many decisions of late? Couldn't they hear in her tone that she was backing away from the business, from caring about the business? That she'd been doing so for months? She didn't see how it could be anything but clear to everyone around her that she no longer had the passion about their magazine that a publisher should have. "You don't understand." Tess hesitated. They weren't just her partners, they were her friends--especially Paige, who'd been Tess's best friend since their first year of college. Tess dreaded letting them down, but she certainly didn't want the magazine named after her! Paige looked at Harry. "I told you she wouldn't go for it." She leaned toward Tess, "Look, just think about it. Now we do need to go over the names. Let's brainstorm. That doesn't take too much creative genius. Even Harry can manage that."
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"Thank you." Harry sent her a look. "I'm taking a vacation," Tess blurted out. "I don't want to make any decisions, about the name change or anything else, until I've had some time away." Her words halted Paige, who blinked. "You never take vacations." Then Paige narrowed her dark eyes. "What's going on?" "I want some time away, to think. I'm planning to visit my family in Cedar Creek, I haven't seen them in years. I've recently been needing to . . . well, to rethink some of my decisions about my career, about my place in the business." She'd said it. Paige looked as if she'd been slapped. Harry wore a blank expression, his eyes a bit glazed over. "Rethink?" Paige repeated. "Your career?" "Yes. I can't contemplate the name change--especially putting my name on the magazine--before I do that." Tess nodded toward her laptop computer. "I've finished up my columns for the next few issues, and I'm hoping you'll be able to do without me for a few weeks--until the New Year." Paige and Harry exchanged looks. Both leaned forward. Paige said, "Tess, why haven't you said anything before? You know we're serious about the name change. I mean, I know we go through this drill every year, but that's why I entertained the idea of using your name. Because we're serious about it this time. I thought we all were. You--" "I know, and I'm sorry I haven't spoken up before now. I should have, but I've been having a terrible time concentrating on anything to do with the business. I've been working shorter days for months. Surely you've noticed. Maybe I'm burned out, and the time off will help me re-light the fire in myself again, but for now I feel this need . . . to escape." Paige stood up. "Escape?" She wore the look of someone who'd been struck a blow. She looked at Harry. "I need to escape. Right now." Paige left the room. Harry stood and looked after Paige, then at Tess. "I thought we were the ones coming in here with a bomb to drop in the workings. I--well--I'll let you get on with . . ." He moved slowly, glancing at her sandwich, her unfinished drawing, and finally the surface of her desk. He paused and took on a sorrowful expression. Then he left the room. Tess looked down at the desk where he'd focused, and saw her doodle in the center of the paper blotter, where she'd scrawled in bold black letters with her Rapidograph technical pen, "Success doesn't mean happiness."
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### Tess spent Saturday morning trying to avoid all thought of the office, her business, or her partners' reactions to her announcement. The more she resisted thinking about it the more it preoccupied her. She hadn't intended her news to come out that way. She'd hoped to have a meeting with them and calmly lead up to the possibility of her leaving, for a vacation at first, an extended leave, and then discuss the possibility that her absence might become permanent. She'd hoped to take the first few weeks off to prove to them she wasn't needed. Anyone with some editorial and home arts background could do what Tess had been doing for the past five years. Any decent commercial artist could provide the same caliber of artwork. They didn't carry that many of her illustrations in the magazine and cookbooks these days, most of the time they used photographs. Theirs was no longer a struggling new business. They'd paid off their debts to Paige's father, the publishing business was growing, magazine circulation had increased, and most of the effort didn't directly involve Tess's culinary or fine arts background, or for that matter her ideas. She'd been thinking Paige and Harry could continue the business easily without her. They didn't see it that way, and now she'd blown her chance to ease them into the idea, by blurting out her escape plan in an inept and upsetting way. Tess moped around her little house overlooking a canyon near the beach. She fiddled around in a haphazard way in the room she'd set aside for painting, then in the kitchen. When she'd moved here months ago, she'd equipped it as a duplicate of the test kitchen at the office, so she could bring work home. She looked around at the appliances with their cold, slick surfaces and suddenly felt lost in her own house. ### Early Saturday evening Tess picked up the phone and called information, asked for the number of Stoneway Resort in Cedar Creek, and dialed the number. When the reservations clerk at Stoneway answered, Tess asked to speak to her former schoolmate Angie Norwood. From the time Tess had been eight years old until she'd left Cedar Creek at seventeen, Angie Norwood had been her closest friend. But Tess hadn't been in touch with Angie since she'd left home eleven years ago. She recalled her mother mentioning, during one of their infrequent phone calls, that Angie owned Stoneway now. "Tess?" A pause. "Tess Hunter? Oh my gosh! Where are you?" "Angie, I'll tell you my whole life's story since we last spoke, once I'm there, but I'm calling to make reservations to stay at the resort for a few weeks." Tess told Angie the date she wanted to arrive and explained that she planned to stay through the end of the year. "I'm hoping to surprise my family, so please don't tell anyone about my visit yet. I'm also wondering if you'll discreetly check with my parents to find out if they plan to be in town over Thanksgiving and the winter holidays."
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Angie agreed to help Tess plan her surprise. She reserved a room for her and said she'd call Tess back on Sunday about the Hunter family's plans. "Pack plenty of warm clothes. It's been snowing like crazy up here, for days. I can't wait to see you!" ### Tess arrived at work late Monday morning and found Paige Chandler and Harry Ryker waiting for her. She hadn't gotten a cup of coffee or put down her bag before they entered her office, ready to talk about her plans. "Okay, I'm over my initial shock," Paige said. "I want to know how long you've been feeling this need to escape. It hasn't been for the entire five years, has it? I know I have a forceful personality, and I tend to steamroll people, but I thought you knew me well enough not to let yourself get carried away by my crazy schemes unless you wanted to. Tell me you haven't been involved in this whole business just because I wanted it." "No, Paige," Tess said. "I wanted it too, but I've been doing a lot of painting, at home, since I bought the house. The drawings I've done for this book are lifeless in comparison. There's the test kitchen, working in an environment that isn't anything like a house, trying to feel inspired to nurture a nonexistent family. It's all become a sham for me. I don't feel anything nurturing or homey at all in this anymore. I look at all the magazines on the racks in the supermarket, and I think the people who put them together have no idea at all what makes a house a home. Including us, to a certain degree. I mean, look at the three of us. We're single, and we spend most of our time here." Tess stopped, because Paige wore a stormy look in her dark eyes. "There, you see? I can't talk about it without offending you. I'm saying what I feel, Paige." Tess looked at Harry. "I know it's business, that's what it's supposed to be. It's a good business. I'm just not certain I want it to be my business anymore. How can I, feeling this way about it? I'm hoping all I need is some time off, that I'll get over this--whatever it is I'm going through. But I might not, and I want you both to be prepared for that possibility. Can we call it a hiatus, for now, and try not to draw any conclusions from my need for it, until I've had some time away to get a grip on myself?" Harry and Paige both nodded in grim silence. "I know this couldn't come at a worse time. I know you're serious about the name change this year. I couldn't let you go any further without saying something." Tess took a deep breath and leaned toward them, over her desk. "What do you need from me before I take my leave of absence?" Paige met her gaze, her brown eyes still dark and troubled. "You're going home?" Tess nodded. "For the holidays, for a start. I've made reservations at an inn that an old schoolmate of mine owns, a couple miles outside Cedar Creek. I'm planning to be there in time for Thanksgiving." "That's week after next," Harry said with a renewed look of panic.
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"I don't see any reason to delay, now that you know. The sooner I get away the sooner we'll all be able to decide what direction we're headed." An hour later, they were conversing like partners again, like business people, Tess thought. They made plans to turn over Tess's work, but Paige stalled at Tess's mention of the book she was working on. "That's your project." "We haven't even named it. We keep calling it the tea party book," Tess argued. Paige nodded. "I know. It makes me think of the Boston Tea Party. More now than ever." She said this in a grim tone, with a pointed look at Tess. "But it's your project." "It's a vacation, Paige, not a revolution." "It feels like a revolution to me." "Tess." Debbie stood at the office door, wearing a tragic look. "You have an urgent call." "Who is it, Debbie?" Tess spoke with an uncharacteristic sharpness, annoyed by the interruption. She needed Paige to understand her. She turned back to Paige, prepared to continue their discussion. "It's Sheriff Les Kendall. From Wilder County." Debbie's voice was subdued but emphatic. "It's urgent, Tess." Tess paused and turned back to Debbie as the significance sank in, of receiving a call from the sheriff of the county where her family lived. She picked up the phone. "This is Tess Hunter." Instead of leaving as she normally would, Debbie walked over to Paige and Harry and spoke softly to them. On the phone Sheriff Kendall said something to Tess about a van going off a mountain road, over an embankment. Something about people killed in the crash. Tess couldn't absorb the sheriff's words. They jumbled in her mind. She wanted to change them around, to make this not about her family. Then he said the names of those who'd been killed: James Hunter, Catherine Hunter, and Spencer Hunter. Her parents' and brother's names. Killed. In the crash. Spence is only seventeen. The single thought resounded in her mind, and she was sure she'd said it out loud, but when she did try to speak, her voice broke, and she could only listen to the sheriff go on about what had happened and how sorry he was. His words hit her like a weight pressing against her chest, constricting her breath. Tess fought past that weight and stood up. She drew in her breath as though she'd been too long underwater. Her mind fought comprehension, wrestled with it. The hand that held the phone dropped to her side. Harry took the phone from her and spoke calmly, quietly to the sheriff. Paige put her arms around Tess, speaking in a comforting tone, words Tess didn't grasp.
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Some time later, Tess walked outside to a car under Harry's big black umbrella. She realized later it must have been raining when he drove her to her house overlooking the canyon. She didn't remember the rain, only the sheltering blackness of the umbrella.
Chapter 2 Cedar Creek, California, lay in a small mountain valley north of the Wilder County seat, surrounded by the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. Stars lit the sky at dusk, between the soft clouds of a late fall edging early into winter. The silvers, grays, and dusky blues of the sky and distant peaks were only a bit paler than the indigos of the nearer mountains. The blues of dusk enveloped the snowy mountains, softening them. A few bright stars shone like diamonds in the wintry nightfall. Tess Hunter drove through the town as its lights twinkled on in the deepening twilight. Autumn snow blanketed the ground. The old high school Tess had attended was gone, replaced by a new one half a mile nearer the center of Cedar Creek. Her brother Spence had attended this one, until he died. The thought struck at Tess in the dusk like a blunt object, but she shook off her grief for the moment, concentrating on the drive. Outside town, the road meandered around mountain slopes covered with trees. A layer of fresh snow lined the road. Tess cautiously rounded the tight curves, especially the one from which the sheriff had said her family's van skidded into the deep ravine only this morning. Farther up the road, Tess turned, and a minute after that she spotted the amber lights of her parents' house, where it stood alone, set off from the road, surrounded by meadow and backed up by forest, all currently buried under at least a half foot of snow. She parked the rental car in the long driveway beside a dilapidated old pickup truck. Smoke curled from a chimney. Another light came on in the living room, and Tess imagined her father bending to feed the fire, her mother turning on a lamp. "Stop torturing yourself." She pushed back the grief that stuck in her chest like a physical object making each breath a labor. Angie Norwood had said she would try to meet Tess here. It must be Angie who was warming up the house. Tess wondered about the old truck. It didn't strike her as something Angie would drive. She gathered one suitcase and an overnight bag from the trunk, hoping Angie wouldn't want to visit. Tess longed to be alone with her grief and to rest from the grueling drive. She paused beside the driveway and stared at the wooden ramp that had been added alongside the porch. A wheelchair ramp. The sheriff had said something about a wheelchair that Tess hadn't understood in her confusion and shock this morning. As she climbed the steps, the front door opened. A tall male figure stood in the foyer with the bright overhead light behind him. He was silhouetted against it. Tess paused again, vaguely alarmed, trying to think who he could be. He reached out to take her bags, and then she caught his profile as he turned to place the luggage on the floor. Recognition flickered in Tess's mind.
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"You'd better come in out of the cold." His voice was deep and resonant. He reached out and guided her into the house, and his firm hand on her arm warmed her. When he moved it away to close the door behind her she shivered. It was then that she got a good look at him. He'd been only seventeen when she'd last seen him. Now he stood at least six-foot-two, with wavy black hair and a thick, neatly trimmed moustache above sensuous lips. His eyes were dark green and glinted with gold flecks in the lamplight, their corners lined with tiny creases. His nose and jaws were sturdy and handsome. "I'm Tess Hunter," she said, in case there was any doubt in his mind as to who she was and why she was here. "You were only about twelve years old the last time I saw you, Tess, but I think I'd recognize you anywhere. The question is, do you remember me?" She relaxed. "Joseph Latimer. I used to follow you around everywhere when I was little." As she spoke she pictured the tall, lanky, athletic boy he'd been. She'd had a crush on Joe Latimer from the time she was seven or eight, until he went away to college when Tess was twelve. She'd cried, at fourteen, when her mother heard from his mother that Joe had married. "As I recall, at the time I rather liked it." He wore a sober expression. "Liked what?" "You following me around." He shifted his attention to her luggage on the floor, and motioned toward it. "Do you have more bags?" "The rest can wait." She took off her gloves and dropped them on top of her bags. "I expected Angie Norwood." "Angie called and asked me for the key, but I know she's busy at Stoneway this time of year, so I told her I'd open the house for you. I have a key for you, and I've brought in firewood. You'll find the pantry and freezer full. Everything you'll need." He started his last sentence with a vague half-smile that faded into regret. Tess thanked him and looked around the living room. Nothing here had changed except for the emptiness. The furnishings were the same ones she remembered, though the old couch and armchairs had been reupholstered. The wood furnishings gleamed, and the piano stood in its old place with the keyboard open as if her mom had just finished playing. Her family had been here just this morning, before that last drive. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted from the kitchen, and a small stack of unopened mail lay on the table near the door. Tess recognized the envelope on top. It contained a card she'd addressed to her family days ago. "I was going to visit them--" The words caught in her throat and threatened to choke her with the intensity of feeling they aroused. She had pushed her grief deep inside, to get
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through the flight from L.A. and the drive here in the rental car. Now it rose inside her like a great chunk of ice bobbing to the surface, refusing to be ignored. She took a deep, shuddering breath and turned at a movement beside her. Joe Latimer watched her with an indecipherable expression. "I was going to surprise them for the holidays." Joe's eyes narrowed and a frown deepened the lines on his forehead. "It's too late now, Tess." He spoke in a low voice, as if talking to himself, but he stood beside her so every word was clear, and resounded with emotion. "Why did you wait so long? What were you punishing them for?" His words hit her with a force that made her step backward. "I didn't--they--my parents-didn't want--" His look was fierce. A glint in his eyes disappeared when he blinked. His voice shook. "Don't you mean you didn't want to see them, even though your dad was sick? Even though your mother was one of the most nurturing people ever known? What about Spence? They missed you, Tess. I knew them, I loved them. Don't tell me they didn't want to see you. You discarded them, and it's too late to change that now." He turned toward the hall, cleared his throat, and grabbed a jacket off the rack. He pulled it on, keeping his face averted, then he said a gruff goodnight. He had his hand on the doorknob by the time Tess found her voice. "Wait. Joe. What was wrong with my father?" He shook his head and rumbled in a gravelly voice, "He had MS. I'm sure you knew that. He was forced to retire because of it." Then, clearing his throat again, he looked suddenly regretful. He drew in his breath as he opened the door, and uttered more calmly, "If you need anything while you're here, you can call me or Rose. We're in the book." He closed the door and was gone. Tess turned away, stunned by his words. She switched off the overhead light and stood with her back to the door, staring into the unlit foyer, at her bags on the floor beside the ceramic umbrella stand. The deeper darkness of her father's study yawned to her left. The stairs in front of her rose into a part of the house that seemed to both beckon and oppose her, from beyond the barrier of the stair railing. Joe Latimer's truck started outside, loud at first and then dropping to an idle as he warmed it up. Seconds later it moved, and eventually the sound droned away onto the road below the driveway. The chill of Joe's words hung in the foyer, and pushed Tess toward the warmth and light of the living room to her right. A door beside the living room fireplace led to the guestroom. To the left of that lay the open dimness of the dining room. Behind the wall that lined the stairs the kitchen-family room beckoned, reminding Tess of her mother. Tess moved in that direction, through the dining room, then abruptly to her left. Joe had lit a fire in the big family room fireplace. She threw another log on the fire. On the hearth lay a few copies of Treasured Home. At the sight of them Tess stopped, and her tears startled her, surfacing all at once.
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Long minutes later, Tess sat warming herself with a cup of coffee in front of the family room fire, still brooding over Joe Latimer's words, with her coat flung over the rocking chair where she'd removed it. She heard a car outside, and she wondered whether Joe had forgotten something, or if he'd returned to apologize. The vehicle didn't sound like a truck. Tess reached the front door as someone pounded on it. A young blonde woman stood on the porch, dressed in a long fur coat that looked like sable, with her fur-clad arms folded across her chest. One elegant brown shoe tapped impatiently. Her golden hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, while her striking face conveyed annoyance. Tess stared, amazed to see this glamorous-looking woman on her parents' doorstep. The woman brushed past Tess in a cloud of perfume. "I'm looking for Joe Latimer. Is he here?" She didn't ask. She demanded. She turned inside the living room and looked at Tess, her arms still folded. There was something both expectant and imposing about her. Tess closed the door against the cold. "Joe lives a quarter mile farther along the--" "I know where he lives. I was told he came here hours ago." The girl swept her gaze around the living room. "He just left. I think he was headed home." The blonde cursed and actually stamped her foot. "Can I help you? I'm Tess Hunter." Tess held out her hand. The young woman turned a cold gaze on Tess, and a curious expression entered her large brown eyes. "How could you possibly help me?" The brown eyes quickly dismissed Tess. That was enough for Tess. She moved into the living room, where she faced the blonde. "If you'll treat me civilly by telling me your name and asking politely, I might let you use the telephone. It could save you running around in the cold. If you can't behave, the door is that way." She pointed. The blonde looked startled, then thoughtful. Finally she shrugged, lowering her dark eyelashes. She murmured coolly, "I'm Jessica Laine." She spoke her name as though she thought Tess should know who she was. "I would like to use your phone. Please. I didn't catch your name." "Tess. Hunter. The phone is through there." Tess nodded in the direction of the kitchen, wanting the woman to hurry and leave her alone with her grief and her feelings still wounded by Joe Latimer's harsh words. "Do you mind if I take off my coat? It's nice and cozy in here." Jessica Laine, her tone suddenly sweeter, took off the fur and handed it to Tess, who couldn't help a second look at Jessica's dress. It was made of soft brown wool with gold threads woven through.
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"Do you like it?" Jessica asked as she noticed Tess's attention focused on the dress. "It's very becoming," Tess ventured objectively. "It's a designer original. I picked it up at a New York fashion show a few weeks ago," Jessica said blithely. "Really." Tess knew the dress wasn't haute couture. It was reasonably priced in the department stores. Tess knew because she owned the same dress. The coat, on the other hand, felt like real fur. Tess hung it on the rack in the corner beneath the stairs, a little loath to touch it. "The phone's through the dining room there, to the left, in the kitchen." She pointed. "Have you known Joe long?" Jessica removed beige kid gloves to reveal long, manicured fingernails. "Since we were children." "I see." The blonde nodded and left the room. Tess didn't follow. She simply waited, for what seemed an eternity, trying not to hear the sugary tone of the voice in the other room and unwilling to make out what it said to Joe Latimer. "Joe's at home of all places," the blonde said when she returned to the front room minutes later. She donned her coat. "He was supposed to be up at my place an hour ago. We're having dinner with my uncle tonight. Thank you for the use of your phone, er-Teri?" "Tess." Jessica shrugged. "Nite-nite now." With that she left Tess to close the door behind her. "Nite-nite," Tess mimicked her with a grimace. "You've got to be kidding!" ### Daisies. Tess held a bunch of white daisies, in the dream, and looked into the deep green eyes of the older boy, Joseph. Tess wakened, and realized the dream was a memory of something that had actually happened when she was seven years old. Joseph Latimer had given her flowers. He couldn't have been more than twelve at the time. She recalled his smile, his kindness, and her affection for him in those years past, when they'd been neighbors. It was only a dream, brought on no doubt by seeing Joe as soon as she arrived home last night. Tess shrugged it off as she looked around the cold room in which she'd slept, the downstairs guestroom at her parents' house. She hadn't wanted to go upstairs at all, last night. Even so, she hadn't avoided her family's things, because she'd discovered that her father had been sleeping in this room. The bathroom was fitted with hand grips, as well as other amenities clearly intended for someone with a disability. Tess hadn't
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found any of her mother's things in the bathroom, dresser, or closet. She could only conclude that her parents had been sleeping apart. Tess had been too tired to puzzle long over these discoveries last night. She'd unpacked only her nightgown and robe and had gone to bed, there to toss and turn on the unfamiliar mattress and wake up at every creak of the old house. The room was freezing now. Tess got up and quickly put on her robe, turned on the heat, built up a fire, and then crawled into bed with her robe on and pulled the quilt back over her to wait for the room to warm up. She had forgotten how cold mornings could be up here. The kitchen phone was the only one in the house. Once Tess had dressed she sat on a stool at the counter near the back door, and phoned the sheriff's office in Wilder. After that call she searched for her parents' address book, and found it in a kitchen drawer. It was held together by a rubber band, with old addresses scratched out and new ones entered wherever space permitted, in her mother's neat, elegant hand. Tess finally came across the listing for a Dr. Peter Lloyd in neighboring Wilder. She wanted to know more about her father's illness, which Joe Latimer had mentioned to her, the illness behind the ramp out front and the wheelchair the sheriff had mentioned. Tess planned to drive to Wilder this morning to see the sheriff and to make funeral arrangements. She called the doctor's office. Dr. Lloyd answered the phone himself. He knew about the accident and offered his condolences at once. He confirmed that he'd been her father's primary care physician, and he agreed to meet with Tess this morning. "I've been hoping for a chance to speak with you. Did your father call you sometime in the last day or two before his death?" "No. Why?" Her parents had rarely called her, and when one of them did it was usually her mother. "We can talk about that when you get here." Dr. Lloyd gave her directions to his office. As Tess hung up, she glimpsed a pair of beige kid gloves on the counter beside her, and she picked them up. They were Jessica Laine's. She must have left them here last night when she used the phone. Tess finally found the number for her parents' attorney. When she phoned his office, she learned he was out of town on a tour of Europe and wouldn't return for weeks. She left a message, hoping, as his secretary suggested, that he'd check in sometime during the next few days. Next she called the sheriff, then looked up the mortuary in Wilder, and the small weekly newspaper there. Tess had her coat on and was about to leave, when the phone rang. She hurried back to the kitchen to answer. Angie Norwood spoke before Tess could say hello. "Joe Latimer was just here to look at one of our horses. He started grilling me about you. He asked if you'd planned to visit for the holidays. What's going on?"
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Tess wondered the same thing. "What did you say?" "I told him you'd planned to stay here at Stoneway and surprise your folks for Thanksgiving. I didn't like his attitude, though. Was he there last night when you arrived? Had he warmed up the house? He told me he would." "Yes, he was here." Tess heard an engine out front, and thought it sounded a lot like the old truck Joe had driven last night. Tess thought she'd never get out of the house in time to meet Dr. Lloyd. "When you're ready, let me help you go through your family's things. Remember, I went through all that when Granddad died. I know how hard it can be." The doorbell rang. "Thanks, Angie. I will. I have to go. Someone's at the door." Tess hung up, and shrugged on her coat as she went out to the foyer. It was Joe Latimer. Tess started to speak, but paused as her gaze followed the lines of the cables in his pale blue Aran sweater down his broad chest to where they met the V of the ice-blue jacket he wore partially zipped over it. Good grief, he was magnificent, she thought, seeing him for the first time in daylight and without fatigue clouding her impression as it had last night. "Good morning, Tess." Tess lifted her gaze to meet his deep green eyes. He smiled, and she recalled her dream, of the boy Joseph handing her a bunch of daisies. She couldn't help a baffled smile in return. "May I come in?" She nodded, and he moved past her, turning to face her as soon as she'd closed the door. He stood so near that Tess could feel his warmth in the cold air left by the briefly open door. "I asked Angie this morning about your plan to visit home. She told me it was true." Joe wore a serious expression now. He was so close that his words blew the warmth of his breath onto the top of her head, and she felt light headed as she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry you needed proof." She was determined to keep her cool. "It didn't fit your pattern." "My pattern?" "Your pattern of staying away from here." He watched her intently through narrowed eyes.
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"Look, I was about to leave. I have an appointment in Wilder." She needed to escape the sphere of his magnetism, or whatever it was that disoriented her. Joe remained where he stood, so close she felt cornered between him and the door. She reached up to straighten the collar of her coat. She was too warm in it, with him so near. What did he want? If he'd come to apologize, he hadn't done so yet. He kept looking at her, his expression unreadable. She silently cursed his masculine presence, and its unmistakable effect on her. She wondered how he could make her feel this way, so many years after her silly girlhood crush. She was a businesswoman. She didn't habitually fawn over every good-looking man she met. A bang on the door behind her made Tess jump. Joe put a hand on her shoulder. She relaxed, leaning into his touch without thinking about it. He was closer now, and his gaze drew her in. The pounding on the front door continued. Tess turned to open it. Jessica Laine, the blonde visitor from last night, stood there wearing a silver fox fur jacket over a gray suede dress. Her liquid silver necklace shone in the morning sunlight slanting under the eave of the porch. "Joe, darling, what are you doing here?" She skimmed past Tess into the front hall, without a glance in her direction, and it was suddenly far too crowded with all three of them there in the foyer. "You're supposed to be on your way to meet Uncle Ned. Don't you ever want to get this project off the ground?" Jessica put her arm around Joe's neck and reached up to kiss him. He turned his cheek to meet her lips as she crooned, and Tess squeezed past them into the living room. "Jessica, we're guests in Tess's home." Joe pulled away from the blonde with a bemused smile. "Why are you here?" "I left my gloves here last night when I came looking for you." "You came here?" He glanced at Tess, then again at Jessica. "When?" He was the one who looked disoriented now. "I called you from here, silly." Jessica turned an insolent look at Tess. Then she smiled. "How are you holding up? When I lost my father, I was devastated, but I understand you weren't that close to your parents and, being older, perhaps you're better able to handle your loss. My cousin Trent asked me, last night, about what happened to your family." "Trent?" An alarm rose in Tess's mind at mention of the name. "Trent Cambridge. He's my cousin." "Your--Trent is here, in Cedar Creek?" "Of course he's here, he lives here. His father is my Uncle Ned." Jessica turned to grasp Joe's arm. "Joe, we have to go."
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"I'll get your gloves." Tess rushed back to the kitchen for them, and returned to find the blonde clinging to Joe's arm, leaning up to murmur in his ear. As soon as Joe saw Tess he sidled away from Jessica, guided her toward the front door, and opened it. He took the gloves from Tess and placed them in Jessica's hand. "Go on ahead." "But Joe." "I'll follow you in a few minutes." He held the door for her and she went out wearing a petulant look. Joe closed the door and turned to Tess. "Sorry, I have a breakfast meeting with Ned Cambridge to ask for his help financing a project of mine. Jessica's . . . part of the project." "I have to leave for Wilder," Tess said with a glance at her watch. "I'm running late myself." She grabbed her purse off the coat rack and went to the door, hoping Joe would follow her and leave, so she could as well. He touched her shoulder. She turned and found herself once again between him and the door. "Were you all right here alone last night? Do you have everything you need?" "Yes." Everything she could want, except her family. She met his gaze, and again he had that mesmerizing, warming and arousing effect on her. She didn't understand it. She told herself to turn away, to open the door and say goodbye to the man. Did she have to shoo him out of the house? Instead she stood there gazing into his eyes, the warmth of his body affecting her like the pull of a magnet. Joe leaned nearer, with a serious, wondering look in his eyes, and kissed her lightly on the lips. Tess felt a heat from his kiss that she could neither ignore nor explain. She moved back, into the door. Joe's expression altered. "I shouldn't have done that." He moved around her and she squirmed to one side as he opened the door. He closed it behind him, leaving Tess standing there stunned once again by his behavior, and this time by her own as well, for letting him kiss her. For liking it. She decided to wait until he drove away before going out to her rental car, and she peered out the sheer curtains in the living room--in time to see him locked in an embrace with Jessica Laine. Joe and the stunning blonde stood between his truck and Jessica's yellow sports car, kissing. They appeared oblivious to anything else including the cold. Tess could only watch for a split second before she turned away, flushed with humiliation and anger that she'd allowed him to get a physical reaction from her with that
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single light kiss, when the object of his romantic preference was clearly the glamorous, fur-clad Jessica Laine. Tess reminded herself why she was here, of her family's deaths, only yesterday, and the arrangements she needed to make, the questions she needed to answer. She couldn't believe she'd let herself get so carried away by Joe Latimer in the few minutes he'd been here. It must be grief, bringing all her emotions close to the surface, that made her react this way. She shook off her lingering images of him, and shifted her thoughts to the unappealing tasks ahead. Chapter 3 In spite of being the county seat, Wilder wasn't a much bigger town than Cedar Creek. From the main street where Tess parked, the peaks overlooking the town appeared to loom close, obscuring a large expanse of sky. Sunlight brightened patches of deep green and a few thickets of deciduous trees clad in fall color peeked from under their coats of snow on the timbered mountainsides. Conifers marched, straight and tall, down to mingle with the historic streets, shading the false fronts of buildings from an earlier era and filling the sun-warmed air with their resinous perfume. Tess had arrived a few minutes early, after all, so she stopped in at the diner next to the doctor's office and bought coffee in a paper cup. It turned out to be so bitter and thick it was undrinkable. She took only a couple of sips before she paused to pour the dark liquid into the gutter in front of the doctor's office. Dr. Lloyd opened his door. "You must be Tess Hunter." He chuckled when he saw what Tess was doing. "I should've warned you about that. I've made us some decent coffee inside. I honestly don't know how they stay in business." He held the door for her. The doctor was tall and lean, in his late thirties. He was a good looking man, with pale, blue-gray eyes, a largish nose, and golden tanned skin. His hair, possibly once the darker shade of brown still evident in his eyebrows, was bleached by the sun to a flaxen shade. He must spend a lot of time outdoors. In fact he appeared ready to spend today outside, for he was clothed in casual clothes and boots suitable for hiking in the snow. Tess spotted what appeared to be a tackle box on the reception desk. She followed him through the tiny front waiting room lined with windows and furnished with threadbare chairs, and she recalled this had once been a barbershop. He led her into the reception office, where a coffee maker gurgled its last few drips into a glass carafe. Dr. Lloyd busied himself pouring their coffee, and Tess asked him how long he'd been here. "In Wilder about four and a half years. In this office, if I may be so bold as to call it that, only about three months. How do you take your coffee?" He smiled, a relaxed, easy grin that made her feel at ease. Tess thought his patients must like him. He exhibited none of the distant coldness too many doctors adopted as a professional demeanor. Even her father had been a bit brusque, and frequently too serious to invite open conversation. Eventually they both sat in the back office space, which was separated by a thin wall partition and privacy curtain from the single small examining room Tess glimpsed as
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they walked through. Dr. Lloyd brought out a file folder, and Tess sat in a chair forced too close to his desk for comfort in the tiny office. She sipped her coffee and delayed asking her questions, by inviting his. "Why did you want to talk to me, Dr. Lloyd?" He shook his head. "That can wait. First, I understand you have questions about your father. Joe Latimer called me last night. He said you didn't know your dad had MS?" "MS." She repeated the acronym, wondering why her mother had never mentioned it to her. Of all the things she'd kept from Tess over the years, that made the least sense of all. "Multiple sclerosis." She nodded. "I know what MS is, and the sheriff mentioned a wheelchair, but I didn't know my father was ill. I only learned about it after I got here last night--from Joe. My family never mentioned his illness." Dr. Lloyd's face registered deepening concern. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I had the impression you and your family kept in touch." He placed the folder on the desk and focused his attention on her. "We exchanged cards and letters, and occasional phone calls, but I haven't actually seen them in years. My parents didn't want to see me." Dr. Lloyd's troubled look intensified, but he said nothing. "You see, something happened, when I was seventeen." There was a kind acceptance in his silence that made her feel comfortable enough to explain. "There was an auto accident that I was blamed for. I'd stayed home that night to baby-sit Spence. He was six years old. They said later I took off in my mother's car and smashed it into a shop at the bottom of the first hill heading into town. I was injured, and they found alcohol and barbiturates in my blood. I don't think my parents ever forgave me, or believed me about it." She stopped because of the look on his face. Dr. Lloyd's pale eyes remained intent on her. "What do you say happened?" "I don't remember. I recall baking cookies and playing a board game with Spence, then getting him ready for bed. I don't remember getting into the car, or having an accident. I wouldn't have gotten drunk at all, let alone while I was watching Spence. I didn't use drugs--I never have--and I would never have gone off and left him alone in the house. My parents believed I did, though. They had . . . mistaken ideas, about my friends and me. They thought we were getting into trouble, but we weren't, and I've never understood why they thought that. I kept up my grades, and I had a part-time job. I wasn't an angel, but I was basically a pretty good kid. I'd stopped going to church, and I know that upset my mother. My newer friends from my art classes wore clothing my parents didn't like. We explored different spiritual paths. My boyfriend at the time was a Pagan, and he gave me a pentacle necklace. My mother found it in my room along with some books he'd loaned me to read, and, well, she had a fit. She and I had a horrible
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fight, and my parents made me stop seeing him. That was a few days before my accident." After forcing her to break up with Alan Stewart, her parents had set her up with Trent Cambridge, a local banker's son whose father her father knew socially. Tess recalled Trent with a shudder, and she avoided that memory, focusing on the night of her accident. "Something happened, that night, something I don't remember. I was unconscious for a couple of days, in the hospital. When I woke up, I learned the sheriff believed I was at fault for the accident. My parents did too, I'm sure. They sent me to live with my greataunt in Seattle, after I got out of the hospital, and I stayed with her until I left for college. They kept me away. I've always suspected my parents were afraid to have me around Spence after that." Tess went on. "That's not why I'm here, Dr. Lloyd. There are things I need to know, about my family's recent lives. Can you tell me how long my father had MS, and do you know when he retired?" Dr. Lloyd was silent, his gaze now on the far wall, a frown darkening his pale blue eyes. He seemed to have withdrawn from her. "You don't want to talk to me now," Tess said, her old feelings of rejection coming to the fore, easily taking hold of her. She started to get up. "Wait. Yes, of course I want to talk to you, Tess. I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone else for a minute. I had no idea there was anything like this--mistrust, or the distance you describe--in your parents' relationship with you. They spoke of you affectionately. I understand your need to gain some closure." He took wire framed eyeglasses from his pocket and put them on. Then he read from the file he'd opened on the desk in front of him earlier. "Let's see when your father first reported symptoms." He read off the date, a day in April, the spring following her accident. Tess had been living with her great-aunt in Seattle then. Aunt Christine had been her father's aunt, surely she'd known about his diagnosis. Tess blinked tears from her eyes, but they kept coming. Dr. Lloyd put the file and his glasses aside and produced a box of tissues. He remained silent, letting her cry. "Dr. Lloyd," she finally said, folding her hands in her lap. "My name is Peter." When she hesitated, he added, "Your parents called me Peter. Your father wasn't only a patient. Jim was a friend, and a source of sound advice. I arrived in Wilder with a lot of misconceptions about this type of medical practice, and I shared several dinners at their house with your parents and brother, while Jim brought me up to speed." "Peter, when did my father retire?"
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He consulted the folder again. "I helped him with the documentation. He applied for disability retirement four years ago." "Can you think of any reason why they would keep all of this from me? Should I know about anything else? Could they have intended not to worry me?" She felt disgusted with herself. It seemed self-centered to worry about what they'd thought about her all these years, or what they'd kept from her, more than about the course of her father's disease. But her father was gone now. She dried her tears and sat up straighter. "I've always hoped they had other reasons, besides the ones I've suspected." Dr. Lloyd shook his head. "I don't know of anything else. I was your father's primary care physician. You might want to talk to the specialist he was seeing." He gave her the name and phone number. Tess thanked him. "You had something you wanted to ask me." Dr. Lloyd's eyebrows bunched together. He hesitated. "Your father didn't call you the day before his accident?" "No. It was usually my mother who called, but she hadn't recently. I'd called her a couple weeks earlier. Why?" "Your dad told me during our last meeting, the day before he was killed, that he planned to contact you, to approach you about a problem here. I hesitate to ask you now. This is a bad time for you, but it is pressing." "Tell me. I can always say no, right?" She was curious to know what her father would've wanted her help with. "He was going to ask if you'd be willing to talk to someone about Trent Cambridge's attack on you eleven years ago." Tess went rigid, and felt a sudden, intense need to escape. "No--" She stood up. "No. I can't tell you anything about that." She left his cramped office, moving quickly out to the waiting room. He got up and followed her. A sheriff's car pulled up out front as Tess reached the front waiting room. She paused, looking out the front window. A uniformed officer got out of the car. Tess turned back to Dr. Lloyd. "Why? Tell me why." She glanced outside again. The officer appeared to look in the front window at her, then leaned against the car, his back to the office. "Is that who you wanted me to talk to?" Tess gestured at the uniformed man. Dr. Lloyd stood with his hands on his hips, looking resigned. "Duane Prescott, yes. He's investigating the sexual assault of a teenage girl a few days ago." Tess turned fully around to face the doctor. "By Trent?"
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"He's not sure, but he thinks so. She says so. Tess, I'm sorry I've upset you with this. I thought maybe you could help. Your father seemed to think you might be willing, but I realize this is the worst time to remind you of that." "There's nothing I can tell him, in any case." "Are you certain? They don't have anything but the victim's word to go on about who assaulted her. No DNA evidence." "They wouldn't--" Tess froze, looking at Dr. Lloyd's eyes but not seeing them. Remembering. She shook her head. "No. I'm sorry, I truly am, but I have to go." She went outside, where she looked only briefly in the deputy's direction. He met her look and nodded. Tess started up the sidewalk in the opposite direction. She hazarded another glance back as she continued in the direction of the county building, and she saw the deputy had walked over to talk to Dr. Lloyd, who stood outside on the sidewalk. Tess walked past her car, and entered the county building a short ways up the block. She told the woman at the desk that she needed information about the Hunter family's accident. She identified herself, and the woman said Sheriff Kendall would speak to her himself. Tess sat on a hard wooden bench in the outer office and fidgeted for the next two minutes. Her dad had wanted her to talk to the sheriff about Trent. Why? Her dad hadn't believed her about anything, back then, including her accident. Now she was about to talk to the sheriff about her dad's death in an accident. "It's too late," she murmured, and realized she was repeating Joe Latimer's words to her. It's too late now, Tess. Tess dreaded walking into the sheriff's office. If he planned to ask her about Trent, she wasn't prepared to answer. How could she think about that when she still hadn't digested the news about her family, still hadn't convinced herself they were gone, hadn't begun to fathom the depths of her grief? Sheriff Kendall came out of his office wearing a grim expression. He appeared to be in his mid fifties. He greeted Tess in a subdued manner, clearly conscious of her loss. He led her into his office and offered her coffee, which she refused. She wanted to get down to business, to get this ordeal over with. His office was larger than the doctor's, but stark and cold, with a frosted window reinforced with chicken wire and no blinds. Tess found herself gazing at the blind window, feeling as trapped as she had in her office in L.A. As it turned out, Sheriff Kendall didn't mention Trent Cambridge at all. He spoke only of the accident that had killed Tess's family. He told her there was unusual tire damage and his department was still investigating the crash. "When we spoke on the phone, you mentioned the possibility that ice caused the crash?"
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He shook his head. "It was a fair assumption to start with, and there was patchy ice on some roads that morning, but the witness who saw the van go over reported no ice on that stretch of road. It had been plowed the afternoon before, and the van left skid marks. We found damage to one tire--" "There was a witness? Were other cars involved?" He shook his head. "The witness saw the van roll down the bank from a distance away. She also spotted a snowmobile in the area, but whoever was riding it hasn't come forward. They may not have seen anything. These things can happen in an instant." He went on to describe the exact location of the accident, a curve Tess easily recognized from his description. She shivered involuntarily. "Can you explain the tire damage?" "It appears to be from a sharp object. It made a clean cut in the sidewall of the tire. The forensics people have it now. We didn't find any hazard in the road." "If it wasn't an accident, then it was. . ." Tess hesitated, trying to think of another alternative. "Foul play." Sheriff Kendall said this with a concerned frown. "For now we're considering all possibilities, including that of an accident. We haven't drawn any conclusion yet. We're still examining the evidence." "You mean murder?" She had trouble wrapping her thoughts around that notion. Who would want to kill the three of them? Why? He nodded. "That's one possibility." "Who was driving?" Her question brought back a flood of memories for Tess, and they seemed to hang in the air. The sheriff's silence made Tess imagine for a moment that he remembered, too, but if he did remember another accident, eleven years ago, it would've been hundreds of accidents ago for him. Surely it wasn't as memorable to him as it was to Tess, who'd been blamed for it. The strange thing was, she knew less about her own accident than she knew about the one that killed her family. Sheriff Kendall's expression grew more grim. "Your brother Spence was driving. I'm truly sorry for your loss, Ms. Hunter." He gave her the information she needed to have her family's remains moved to a mortuary. "We'll release their personal effects to you as soon as we're finished with them." Tess got up to leave, then turned to the sheriff at the door. "Who was the witness?" "A neighbor. Rose Latimer." ###
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Tess went from the sheriff's office to the mortuary, where she arranged for her family to be cremated and scheduled a simple memorial service for Thursday. At the newspaper office she wrote up an obituary. The paper was a Sunday weekly, so it wouldn't appear prior to the funeral. She had a lot of calls to make, to ensure people knew about the service. Tess returned to her rental car, still parked in front of Dr. Lloyd's office. The doctor came out to get into his truck, carrying the tackle box she'd seen earlier. He nodded to her. "I thought I'd fit some fishing in while the sun's out." His expression reminded her of a boy sneaking out of school midday. She paused beside his truck. "Peter, you mentioned you ate dinner with my family a few times. Do you have any idea who might be a good choice to offer a eulogy? The funeral director suggested it should be someone who was close to all of them." The doctor sobered and thought for only a few seconds before he said, "What about Joe Latimer? He was a frequent visitor at the house, and his sister Rose was a good friend of your mother's." Chapter 4 Tess returned to her parents' house and went to the kitchen, where she built up the fire and then set to work, cooking. Her trip to Wilder had left her feeling fragmented, and cooking had often made her feel whole again. She hoped it would do the same for her now. She needed to use up the perishables in the refrigerator, and there was enough food stored away in the pantry and freezer to feed the entire family for a year. That had always been her mother's way, Tess recalled. She'd spent many a hot summer day helping her mother can and freeze the abundance of fruit and vegetables from their home garden and from local growers. Tess had no idea what she would do with all this food before closing up the house and leaving Cedar Creek. With her family gone there was nothing to hold her here. She kneaded whole grain dough for rolls and left it to rise on the warm counter near the stove, where she started a pot of chicken stock simmering. Then she sat down to review the food on hand and decide what to prepare for a gathering here after the funeral. Midmorning she made a quick call to Paige, to ensure all was going well at the office. "Harry and I plan to fly up for the funeral. What's the name of the resort you were going to stay at?" "Stoneway, but you can stay here with me. There's plenty of room." Tess had sensed a distance widening between herself and Paige, ever since Tess had announced her decision to take a leave of absence. She wanted to bridge it somehow. She'd lost her family. She couldn't stand to lose her best friend at the same time.
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"We don't want to impose, but it will only be one night." "Stay with me, please. When we were in college you and your family put me up plenty of times for the holidays," Tess reminded her. After the call, Tess adjusted the seasonings in the chicken stock and left it on the lowest heat to simmer. Finally she ventured upstairs and looked through those rooms. She'd avoided coming up here at all since her arrival last night. The bedroom Tess had occupied as a teenager remained as she'd left it, furnished in pale ivory, with eyelet ruffles on the sheets and curtains, and old fading art posters on the cream colored walls. Old sketches she'd drawn as a girl were still tacked up on the wall above the small desk. She turned around, wondering why her parents had left the bedroom this way, when they'd so often given her the impression they wanted to forget her. Why had they allowed her to have the largest room in the house in the first place? It was immense, taking up the entire space over the two-car garage. Tess opened drawers, knowing they'd be empty because she'd taken all her things with her when she left home. But inside the night table she found two necklaces, and she held them up to the light pouring through the windows. One delicate silver chain held a Celtic cross her mother had given her, and the other held a pentacle given to her by a boy named Alan Stewart, whom she'd dated shortly before she left home. Both were sterling silver, simple in design and close to the same size. Seeing them brought back one of the worst arguments she'd ever had with her mother, and Tess hurriedly put them away, but on a second impulse she removed them again from the drawer and held onto them. She turned to look around the room. She didn't want anyone else to sleep here. She felt a need to reclaim this space where she'd first begun to grow into adulthood, to learn her own likes and dislikes, her own way of being. It was here she'd first dipped a brush in paint. This big room had served as a sanctuary where she could explore her creativity during unbroken hours of solitude. She looked at the big windows facing east, north, and west, and the entire wall of built-in cabinets, and she thought what a nice studio the room would make. The light was good, there was plenty of storage, and a large work table. She could use the typing table from her father's study for her laptop computer. Next she went into Spence's room, where the sports-theme wallpaper reminded her of the boy Spence had been when Tess was seventeen. At six, he'd been emerging from babyhood, eager to grow up. Tess sat on the bed and looked around at the room where she'd read to Spence that night, eleven years ago. Her memories of that evening converged. Tess sat on her brother's bed and wept, remembering their last game, the last cookies, and the last bedtime stories they'd shared.
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Their parents had gone out with friends. Her mother had left a note on the refrigerator with the phone number. Tess was to stay home and baby-sit Spence, who'd turned six that summer. As soon as they finished eating dinner and cleaning up, Tess got out his favorite board game, and she and Spence played it there at the kitchen table. As promised and expected on a night the two of them spent at home together, Tess baked cookies. Chocolate chip, Spence's favorite. It was a hot August night, so she kept all the kitchen windows and back door open, with only the old-fashioned, wooden screen door closed against the night and mosquitoes, so the oven wouldn't overheat the house. Alan Stewart called. He was the boy Tess had been dating, until her parents had pressured her to break up with him a few days earlier. He wanted to know if she'd changed her mind and would see him. She told him no, and ended the call, while an impatient Spence waited to continue their game. Then a girl from her mother's church called, inviting Tess to a social event. Tess wasn't interested and again ended the call as soon as she could. Her other friends all knew she was babysitting tonight and didn't want to be distracted. Spence was growing fast, and Tess planned to go away to college the following year. She had decided to savor this evening, make it an oasis of childhood for both of them. So they played, and she baked. She sipped lemonade, and she let Spence eat warm cookies with a glass of milk while they played his game. He got chocolate all over his face, and had a milk moustache, and he was laughing and prattling happily because he'd won the game, when they finally went upstairs for his bath and pajamas. Once he was in bed Tess read to him. Then there were new smells and sounds, white sheets, people in white lab coats. Pain. A bright light in her eyes, and her mother crying. "Why? Why would you go off and leave Spence all alone in the house? What were you thinking, driving off like that? You could've been killed. You nearly killed yourself. Do you understand?" Tess didn't understand her mother's words, or how she'd wound up in the hospital. Her mother broke down in tears, and Tess didn't understand much else she said that day. Later a sheriff's deputy questioned Tess about an accident he said she'd had with her mother's car. Tess didn't remember an accident. She didn't remember taking her mother's car anywhere. She only remembered reading to Spence, baking him cookies, putting him to bed. Her father told her she'd had alcohol and barbiturates in her blood. He told her she'd taken her mother's car and driven it through the front of the Masons' flower shop at the bottom of the hill. She'd been unconscious for two days. She'd nearly been killed. He said Tess had gone off and left Spence alone in the house. Tess didn't believe any of it. Why would she do that?
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Her father demanded to know what she was thinking, what was going on with her. Why she'd stayed out all night two nights before she left Spence at home alone. That was when she finally told him about Trent Cambridge trying to rape her and her narrow escape that other night. That night she remembered with crystal clarity. Her father listened, silent. He nodded as she spoke, but didn't say another word. Neither of her parents spoke to her much after that. They were quiet, somber, reserved. They took her home and told her to rest. They spoke in low voices in another room. School was supposed to start that week, but they didn't encourage her to get ready. Instead they called Aunt Christine, who drove down from Seattle and packed Tess, her clothing, books, and art supplies back to Seattle with her. Tess had spent her senior year of high school and the following summer in Seattle. She'd stayed with Aunt Christine until she went away to college in New York the following fall. She hadn't set foot in her parents' house or seen her family since the summer of her accident. ### Tess decided to use her mother's bedroom and give Harry the downstairs guestroom her father had recently occupied. Paige would sleep up here in Spence's room. Keeping Tess's old bedroom available to her as a studio posed a minor problem, since it was the only room with an empty closet and dresser, and she dreaded the task of going through her family's things to accommodate guests. Tess spent the next few minutes transferring her luggage up to her mother's room. She then packed the contents of her brother's and her father's dressers and closets into empty cartons she found folded in the garage. She marked each box according to where its contents came from. Instead of going carefully through their things and making decisions about what to do with them, she blindly packed items into boxes, unwilling to make decisions or examine them today. In the midst of this task, while cleaning out the bedside tables in her father's room downstairs, Tess found some of her mother's personal things tucked away in the nightstand on the side of the bed farthest from the door. Tess paused for the first time in her packing and looked at them. Her mother had spent time here, possibly had slept here every night. Her father would've needed the downstairs room because of his need for a wheelchair. Finally Tess packed her mother's things away. She didn't pause until she came to the bookcase above the old writing desk near her mother's bedroom door. The titles on the top shelf included a set of Jane Austen novels, two Thomas Hardy novels, and a book of poems by William Wordsworth. A row of smaller, clothbound volumes on the bottom shelf caught Tess's eye. They were all covered with the same printed cloth, in different colors. Tess took one out for a closer look. It was a journal, filled with her mother's handwriting. Each journal was marked with a different year inside the front cover and on the outside binding. They were arranged on the shelf by year.
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They more than filled the bottom shelf, with a few stacked horizontally on top of the others. Tess opened the first one, and glimpsed her mother's name in the first line of the inscription on the front page: "To my beloved daughter Cathy on your wedding day, from your mother, Sara." Tess's mother Cathy had mentioned these journals to her when Tess was younger. Tess's maternal grandmother had given them to Tess's mother as a wedding gift. Tess counted twenty-eight of the journals on the shelf, all filled with her mother's writing. Her parents had been married less than twenty-nine years. There was no book with this year's date on the shelf, so Tess went to the bedside and opened her mother's nighttable drawers. She found more of the books tucked inside the bottom drawer, but they were all blank. There hadn't been one among her mother's things in the downstairs bedroom, either. The current year's journal was missing. Tess returned to the bookcase and the completed journals. They'd obviously been important to her mother. She was curious to know what her mother might have written about her in these books. They might contain answers to why her parents had kept her away. She wanted desperately to believe it wasn't because they thought her guilty of abandoning Spence on the night of her accident, or because they suspected she'd been using drugs, or was otherwise unfit to be around her younger brother any longer. Tess found the first journal Cathy Hunter had started after she married, and placed it on the bed, intending to start reading it that night. ### For the remainder of Tuesday morning Tess wore a grim track through her parents' address book, making phone calls to tell her family's friends and acquaintances about the funeral service on Thursday. She sat at the kitchen counter, and took deep breaths between calls to regain composure and steel her nerve. At first she had thought the task would grow easier as she went along, but each person she called expressed either shock at the news, or grief of their own. They related memories that fed the intensity of hers, until Tess felt drained. When she came to the listing for the Latimers, Tess considered making a quick, polite request for Joe Latimer to offer a eulogy, but she remembered his words last night, and she dreaded speaking to him again about her family. She marked the page and continued with her other calls, saving that one for last. By afternoon Tess was emotionally exhausted, and she still hadn't called the Latimers. She opened the address book to their number, and looked at it for a minute. Finally she dialed--and was infinitely relieved when a woman answered. "Rose Latimer? This is Tess Hunter." "Oh, Tess. I'm so sorry about what's happened. I was planning to call you to ask if you need help with anything. The funeral arrangements, or--?"
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"Thank you. I'm actually calling to tell you about the service and to ask Joe if he would be willing to offer a eulogy." "Oh. Well, I'm sure he won't mind, but of course you'll have to ask him. I'll have him call you when he gets in. He should've been home half an hour ago for lunch." "He works near home?" "He has a veterinary clinic in town." When he was a boy, Joe Latimer had always had his dog following after him, tail wagging lazily, and its mouth open in a smiling expression. He'd had pets of all kinds. Once he'd allowed Tess to hold a baby rabbit, instructing her how to grasp it so it didn't jump away. She smiled as she recalled that tiny rabbit, sitting warm and furry in her hand. She supposed it made sense that Joe had become a veterinarian. "When is the funeral?" Rose's voice brought Tess back to the present. She told her the time and place, and her plans for a buffet lunch at the house afterward. "Let me bring the beverages. I can contact people you may not know, about the services." "That would be a great help. Thank you." Tess was stunned by Rose's warmth, after Joe's demeanor last night and his puzzling behavior this morning. Tess tried to remember what she could about Rose Latimer, but it had been Rose's brother Joseph who'd commanded Tess's attention when they were young. Tess recalled his kiss earlier, and her face warmed with the memory--then with a different emotion, as she pictured him kissing Jessica Laine less than a minute later. Rose was saying, "Your mother was a good friend. I'm going to miss her a lot." "I understand you saw the accident happen." Rose was silent for a few seconds. "I was on my way to work, at the school. I was some distance away, but I saw the van go over. I used my cell phone to call for help." After another pause she said in a quivering voice, "Yesterday was the worst day of my life. Joe's too. He came along right afterward, on his way to work, and he helped get them out." After the call, Tess felt restless. She checked her chicken stock, still simmering on the stove, and then decided to take a short walk outside. She pulled on a jacket at the front door. The sun had slipped behind clouds in the early afternoon, and now the wind was rising. The fresh, vigorous feel and scent to the air energized Tess and reminded her of snowstorms she'd experienced growing up in these mountains. She used to love to hear the wind sing and bustle in the trees as it did now. Her mother had once told her that trees gave the wind its voice.
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Tess walked briskly down to the mailbox at the end of the long driveway and pulled out the mail. There were ads, bills, envelopes that she guessed contained sympathy cards, and one business size envelope with no stamp and no forwarding or return address. The envelope was sealed, but completely blank. It caught her interest at once, because whoever left it had driven some distance to place it in the box without ringing the doorbell--unless they'd come up this morning while she was in Wilder. Tess stood by the mailbox and opened the blank envelope. She pulled out a single sheet of paper folded in thirds, a typed letter without salutation, signature or date. "You don't know how lucky you are to find success in your business at such a young age. A magazine and cookbooks. How nice for you. But that can change. If you don't leave town and pay $50,000 cash, newspapers and television stations all over the state will learn that the publisher of Treasured Home ran off and left her baby brother alone while she ploughed her mother's car into the florist's shop. They'll learn about the drugs and alcohol, and we'll see how successful you feel then. Don't go to the police, and don't ignore this! Start packing your bags and putting together the cash. Instructions for payment will follow." Tess stood there in the cold wind, and read and reread the letter, trying to understand, to think what to do about it. She wanted to wad it up, throw it away and pretend she'd ever seen it. She wanted to ignore it. Who would do this? Who here knew about her business? She hadn't mentioned it to Angie Norwood during their brief phone calls over the past few days. The only people in Cedar Creek she'd ever spoken to about it were her family. She recalled a phone call from her mother after she'd seen Tess's first slender, plumcolored cookbook in a Sacramento bookstore, with Tess's watercolor painting of a threetiered dessert tray crammed with pastries reproduced on the dust jacket. Cathy Hunter had purchased the book for herself and called Tess the same evening. "Recipes and illustrations by Tess Hunter. I can't tell you how proud I was when I saw a whole stack of those books in that store. I wanted to tell everyone in the store that my daughter wrote them. They're beautiful. We're so proud of you, Tess." Tess's eyes filled as she remembered her mother's words. The day of that call had been the first time in years that she'd thought either of her parents could be proud of her. Now she felt empty, and incapable of doing anything but going to sleep. She trudged through the snow, up the driveway, and into the house. She returned to the kitchen and went numbly through the motions of preparing food for the funeral gathering. She didn't know what else to do. She couldn't do anything about this letter, now, except go to the police, which the blackmailer had warned against. She thought of calling Paige and Harry, since it was a threat to them as well. Instead Tess worked in her mother's kitchen. Cooking had always been a balm for Tess, as it had been for her mother. She tried to lose herself in that familiar activity, but it didn't work the same magic for her this afternoon that it had in the past. A dark, onerous cloud hung over everything. As if the weight of her grief hadn't been enough, now fresh fear for her business, friends, and employees--in addition to a new and profound loneliness--weighed her spirits.
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Late that afternoon snow fell. Chapter 5 Early in the evening Tess chopped leeks and sorrel from her mother's supply in the refrigerator and used them, along with her chicken stock, to make soup. She added potatoes and let them soften enough to mash with a spoon. Finally she added cream, and chopped roast chicken from the refrigerator. She adjusted the seasonings as the thickened mixture reheated to serving temperature. Then she ladled herself a bowl of the soup and sat at the kitchen table to eat it with a hot buttered roll and a simple lettuce salad, attempting to regain some semblance of peace from the silent, solitary meal. After dinner she bathed and put on her warmest nightgown, then crawled under the electric blanket in the upstairs bedroom that had been her mother's. She picked up her mother's first journal, and soon found herself caught up in events that had occurred years before her earliest memories, seeing them vividly from her mother's point of view. She read of her own birth and her mother's first blissful, if tiring, days of parenthood. The early worries and joys of watching an infant take her first steps into childhood unfolded with the turn of the pages. It touched Tess deeply to realize those loving words had been written about her. Could this be the same woman who years later made transparent excuses to keep her daughter from coming home for semester breaks and holidays? Tess dozed off while reading, and the ringing of the doorbell wakened her. The bedside lamp was still on, and the journal she'd been reading lay open beside her where she'd dropped it. It was eight o'clock. She got up and put on her fleece robe and slippers and hurried down to answer the persistent ringing, brushing hair back from her face with her fingers as she went. Tess left the chain lock fastened and inched the door open. "Who is it?" she called against a gust of freezing air that nearly compelled her to swallow her words. Joe Latimer peered through the opening at her. "It's Joe. May I come in?" Tess slid the chain off the door and opened it. Joe game in with a gust of cold, and quickly closed the door. "Whew! Thanks. It's a mess out there." He turned around, took in Tess's appearance--her robe and fuzzy slippers--and grinned. "Uh-oh. I thought you city people stayed up later than this." Snow clung to his hair and eyebrows, quickly melting in the warmer air of the house. "I guess I'm still a country girl at heart." Tess watched him coolly, hiding her bafflement. Why had he come here on a cold, snowy night, when he'd made it plain he thought badly of her? Why had he kissed her this morning?
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"I don't suppose you have a fire going?" Joe glanced toward the darkened living room, then turned his gaze on her again. The warmth in his eyes was an embrace. They held her attention, and Tess took a moment to register what he'd said. "A fire. No, but--here, you'd better take these things off." Without thinking she reached up and took his knitted hat, while he removed his gloves. He smiled again at her familiar action, then unzipped his jacket, and sat down on the nearest living room chair to unlace his boots. "Do you mind if I make us both some hot chocolate?" Tess stared at him curiously. Then she looked down at his hat in her hand. He took it from her with a quick "Thanks," and strode toward the kitchen in his socks, carrying his boots. Tess followed. Joe placed his boots, hat and gloves on the family room hearth and started to add wood to the coals. "Let me do that," Tess said, and took over. When she turned away from the fire a minute later, Joe already had the milk heating, and as Tess watched he took cocoa and mugs out of the cabinets. He was obviously as familiar with the kitchen as she was. Tess sat in the old rocking chair near the fireplace to watch him. He looked up with a sheepish grin. "I got used to making myself at home here. I never did get to eat dinner tonight. I was hungry, and I found myself pulling into your driveway out of habit, thinking about your mom." Tess stood up. "You haven't eaten? I have soup and some bread I can warm for you." He watched her with a half smile lighting his eyes as she came over and joined him in the kitchen. She took out the soup and started it warming alongside the pan of milk and cocoa, then placed a couple of the whole-grain rolls in the toaster oven. Tess returned to the center island stove to find him still watching her. He abruptly looked away and gave the pan in front of him a stir. "What brings you out in this weather?" she said. "I had an emergency call this afternoon. I was on my way home. Visibility got bad below the turnoff to your place, and the heater's out in my truck. I used to visit your folks a lot. Sorry, it looks as if you were asleep." "I was reading in bed." A glance at him told her he didn't believe her. "I may have dozed a little." He gave her a slow, knowing smile. "You took a long time to answer." She grinned back at him. "Okay, I was sound asleep at eight o'clock. Stop looking so smug about it."
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He held her gaze for several seconds. "I was always fascinated by the way your eyes lighten in color when you smile. They're a pale blue now, a shade lighter than your robe." He continued to study her. "You look a lot like your mom." "Do I?" Tess's voice faltered. "That photo of you on the living room mantle deceived me. It made me picture this cool, savvy business woman in a suit, someone I've never met and never wanted to." His look turned solemn. "You know, I miss them a lot." She nodded and said nothing. She wanted to ask him about her family, but she was afraid he'd rebuke her again, or she wouldn't like the answers. Neither of them spoke again until the soup, bread, and hot chocolate were ready. Joe carried mugs over to the table for both of them while Tess ladled out his soup and arranged warm rolls on a plate with a pat of butter. She placed the food in front of him, sat down and picked up her mug. "This smells wonderful." He took a spoonful of the soup and made a pleased sound in his throat, his eyes half-closed. "It's potato leek with roast chicken." She sipped her cocoa and watched him take another spoonful, then quickly bite into the warm buttered roll. Joe was so intent on his food, she wondered if he'd missed lunch as well as dinner. Tess continued to sip her cocoa. Once she raised her eyes to find him studying her. Her heart gave a lurch as their eyes met. "Watch your cocoa," Joe said as she tilted it. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. Tess shifted her gaze to the fire, unable to still her thoughts with him watching her like that. His attention made something come alive in her, something that felt restless to answer. She was wide awake now. He gestured at his empty bowl as he put down his spoon. "I needed that. Did your mom make the soup?" "No, I did. With her roasted chicken." "That's right, you write cookbooks." He continued eating, finishing his second roll. She couldn't help noticing that he knew about her cookbooks, as did the blackmailer, but Joe hadn't lived here in Cedar Creek when she was hurt in that accident. Did he know about it? "You never married." He didn't ask it, he stated it. "No." "Too busy with your career?"
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Tess shrugged. "There's always been time to date. No one held my interest for long." "You had a crush on me for years. Has your attention span shortened since then?" Tess smiled. "I thought that was my secret. Was I so transparent?" "Remember how you used to follow me around, back then? You never guessed how enchanted I was by that. Other boys were falling for girls their own age, but I thought you were the dreamiest thing I'd ever seen. There, your eyes lit up again." She had paused, watching him. "I was thinking how it would have thrilled me, back then, to hear you say that." "I don't suppose it would give you the same thrill now." "I hardly know you now. Besides, we were children." Why did you kiss me today? Tess wanted to ask it, but she didn't. They finished in silence. Tess took their dishes to the sink while Joe went to the fire to put on his boots. He sat in the rocking chair to lace them while Tess washed dishes. She brought a sponge over to wipe off the stove, where she faced in his direction. Joe had his boots on now and stood watching her work. He moved closer. "How long will you stay?" His green eyes glinted at her. "I don't know. There are a lot of things to settle. I'd planned to spend a few weeks here, before I received the news." His glance slid away. He nodded toward the window. "It's coming down out there. At least I don't have much farther to go. Are you all right alone here?" "I'm fine, Joe. I live alone. I'm used to it." She turned and picked up the dish towel. She wasn't used to living in this particular empty house, surrounded by memories of her childhood, with no family here to share them, but she wasn't about to admit that to him. Then she thought of the blackmail letter. She felt a great need to tell someone about that, but she'd decided to wait until after the funeral. She wouldn't let the blackmailer drive her away before then. He turned to face her. "Do you need help making final arrangements?" "Um, yes. Did Rose mention I phoned your house earlier?" He shook his head. "I haven't been home since morning." "I called to ask if you would give the eulogy." His eyes darkened, but he nodded. "I have a lot I'd like to share about them."
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Tess sighed, realizing what a weight that simple yet critical detail had been for her today. "I don't know how to thank you." He looked reluctant, but said, "There is one thing. Your father had a cane I gave him. It was a gift, an antique made of hardwood, with a brass handle. I'd like to have that, as a keepsake." Tess had to think for a minute. With all the packing she'd done of her family's things she'd never considered that her father might have used a cane. "I haven't seen it, but the sheriff still has their belongings from the accident." She still called it an accident, unable to get her mind to contain the idea that it might be murder. She recalled the sheriff had mentioned her father's wheelchair was found among the wreckage. "Would he have had the cane and his wheelchair with him?" Joe nodded. "He took the cane everywhere. He hated the wheelchair, and used it as little as possible. I bought him that cane because he detested anything that looked like it came from a medical supply." Joe was frowning now. He looked away for a moment. "Consider it yours. Tell Rose, too, if there's anything she wants, to let me know. I don't know what I'll do with all their things." "If you need help going through them, let us know." He faced her again with a pained look. Then he came around in front of the stove and faced her. "You know, Tess, I had my reasons for feeling the anger I expressed last night. I loved your family. I thought you did too, when you were a girl. I've never understood why you stayed away." She considered telling him why, but if he loved them as he said he did, she doubted he'd accept what she had to say. "It was between my parents and me." He looked incredulous. "What about Spence? He missed you. Did something between your parents and you have to affect him as well?" "I didn't want it to." Joe leaned forward and put his hands lightly on her shoulders. He looked into her eyes and spoke quietly. "But it did, Tess." "I can't change that now. I wish I could." Tears stung her eyes, tears she didn't want to shed in his presence. "Didn't you ever want to see him? Didn't you miss them?" "Of course I did." Tears stung her eyes. "How do you think I felt when--" Her throat constricted. She didn't want to cry with him so close, watching her this way. She cleared her throat. "I had reasons for not visiting, reasons I don't want to go into. That's in the past. Isn't it bad enough they're gone? Do we have to go over every wrong thing that ever happened?" Tess blinked back her tears and raised her chin to meet his gaze.
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"I've made you cry. I'm sorry." Joe raised a hand to her chin, touched it lightly. His touch, his nearness somehow warmed and comforted her. He looked into her eyes, his own brilliant, searching. His expression changed, softened. He moved closer, until his lips touched hers. She drew in her breath, and started to move out of his grasp, but then her hands met the hard expanse of his chest, and his lips touched hers, warm and supple. She let her lips linger on his for a few seconds, on the edge of surrendering in a single-minded response, before she backed away. Joe stood there looking after her, wearing a dark gaze that Tess couldn't read. Then he moved. "Goodnight." He uttered this in a low, raspy voice with an abrupt nod of his head, and he strode out of the kitchen. Tess followed and watched him pull on his jacket at the door. "Drive carefully," she said as he opened it. He glanced back at her, nodded again, and closed the door quickly behind him. Her lips still tingled from his kiss as Tess turned away. She touched them and listened to the sound of his truck as he started it. Upstairs, Tess nestled under the warm bed covers, picked up her mother's second journal, and opened it to where she'd left off. It took some time and effort to get her mind off Joe Latimer so she could concentrate on reading, but she eventually did with the help of her worries about the blackmail letter, which nagged at her with greater intensity as the hours passed. There was a chance her mother's journals could help solve that mystery, once she worked her way into the more recent ones. She was determined to read them in sequential order, to get a fix on when her parents had begun to change in their feelings, suspicions, and eventually their behavior toward Tess. She read late into the night, skimming over everyday events and seasonal celebrations. She skipped over the humorous account of how she'd lost her first tooth. She knew these things. She could go back to them later. She wanted to get to the bottom of her questions about her family. She wanted to have answers for Joe if he asked again. Finally, shortly after one in the morning, Tess put down the eighth volume and switched off the bedside lamp. As she lay awake, her thoughts kept returning to the last page she'd read. It was her mother's account of how seven-year-old Tess followed young Joe Latimer everywhere and never stopped talking about what Joseph had said, or what Joseph had done. Her mother described Joe as a "tall, lanky, black-haired boy with thoughtful green eyes. He never seems to tire of Tess tagging after him, and he brought her a bunch of daisies this morning. Tess's first flowers from a beau?" Tess tossed and turned that night, her dreams full of the boy Joseph Latimer, whom she'd sought out so persistently as a child.
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Later in the night her dreams changed. She ran barefoot down a road, away from a car that pursued her. The faster she tried to run, the slower she moved. Tess wanted to escape into the woods, but she couldn't make her legs move in that direction. Finally she stood still in the middle of the road, unable to move at all, while the headlights bore down on her. Closer. Tess woke with a start. Had that been a noise? An engine? She didn't hear anything now, but something had roused her completely from sleep a second ago. She sat up and listened, sensing a stillness in the old house that seemed remarkable, considering all the strange noises it had made to keep her awake her first night here. She listened for a few minutes, but heard nothing out of the ordinary. Still feeling anxious, restless, she attempted to reason herself into relaxing. The dream must have wakened her. Then another sound caught her attention, and adrenaline sent her heart racing. This sound had come from downstairs. Tess crept out of bed and listened, mouth open, as she made her way out to the stairs. She stood on the upstairs landing and waited. It was a rattle, like that of a doorknob. The front door. Someone was fiddling with the door lock. Trying to pick it? A scream rose in her throat, threatening to let loose along with her panic. She put a hand over her mouth. Whatever the person wanted, there was no good reason she could think of that they'd try to pick her lock in the middle of the night rather than use the doorbell. She had to do something. She switched on the light over the stairs, then continued down the stairs into the foyer, where she switched on the foyer and porch lights with one swipe of her hand across the wall panel. The rattle of the doorknob stopped abruptly. Then Tess was certain she heard movement on the floorboards of the front porch. She pictured someone darting down the porch steps. Silence, except for Tess's heartbeat pulsing in her ears as she imagined a figure running off through the snow out there, but she couldn't be sure unless she saw them. She turned off the two inside lights. Leaving the porch light on, she went into the living room and parted the drapes a crack to peer outside. A gust of wind whined in the trees or the chimney. Branches scraped the roof of the porch. The dark shapes of the trees outside danced in their snow blankets, shrouded by falling snow. The front door shook with the gust, and the doorknob rattled. Snow spattered against the big living room window in front of her, and Tess backed away from it with a startled cry. Finally she laughed, and berated herself for panicking at the wind. She returned upstairs to bed. She'd settled down again, gotten her pillow back into the right shape, her head
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into the right depression on the pillow, when she heard another noise that wasn't the wind. Somewhere outside, down near the road or up on the hill beyond the driveway, an engine started and whined away into the night, too quickly for her to get a handle on the sound. It was drowned out by another gust of wind. Chapter 6 Paige, Tess and Harry rode to the funeral together in Paige's rental car on Thursday. The mortuary in Wilder stood at the nearer end of town. When they arrived, Tess spotted Joe Latimer standing on the steps beside a woman, who thankfully wasn't Jessica Laine. Joe spoke to the woman, and she waved discreetly to Tess. Moments later Joe introduced her as his sister Rose. Rose Latimer was tall, brown-haired, and unremarkable except for her eyes, which were the same dark green and gold as Joe's. She wore a long beige coat, open over a sedate forest green dress of the type Tess's mother used to wear to church. She was a lot thinner than Tess remembered, when she was eventually able to recall her as a young adult. Rose had been two years ahead of Tess and Angie in school, and Tess recalled with an inner cringe the time Angie had made fun of Rose's round shape. Tess hoped Rose didn't remember--but how did one forget an experience like that? Tess introduced Paige and Harry. A smile transformed Rose's face, and she was suddenly beautiful. The transformation caused Tess to take pause. Joe held the door for all of them and they went inside. Tess sat through the ordeal of the funeral, conscious of the sea of people seated in the large room. She hadn't expected so many. The minister from her mother's church officiated, and Joe offered the eulogy, which ended too soon, leaving the gathering in a silence broken only by sniffles and low murmurs. At the conclusion of the service, the minister announced on Tess's behalf that those in attendance were invited back to the house for a buffet lunch. Tess returned to the house with Paige and Harry, where she went directly to the kitchen, to stress over the amount of food she'd prepared. Harry pitched in, helping to set the food out in the dining room. They heard cars drive up, and Tess was filled with unaccountable panic at the prospect of running out of food within minutes, when Paige answered a knock at the back door. Joe and Rose Latimer had arrived with the beverages, as promised, and more food, which they carried in the back door. Lots of food, Tess realized as she watched them carry in one dish after another from Rose's car. Stunned by the sudden and miraculous abundance, Tess stammered her thanks as the first guests arrived and filtered into the living and dining rooms. Rose and Joe set to work, arranging the buffet as though Tess had given them detailed instructions, when she hadn't said a word. They turned to find Tess watching them, dumbfounded by their generosity, and Joe said simply, "We realized you wouldn't know how many people to expect. Rose wanted to help."
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"Thank goodness for you and Rose." It was all Tess had time to say. More guests were arriving, and she turned her attention to them. Within a short time two dozen or more people were gathered in the big country kitchen and family room, where they'd visited with Tess's mother Cathy numerous times through the years. "This was her favorite room," Tess heard someone say. "Tess," a familiar voice called, and Tess turned as Angie crossed the living room to hug her tightly. They spent a few minutes talking, and Tess promised to come out to Stoneway to spend time with Angie while she was in town. Then another guest approached Tess with a story about her father. Another to talk about something her brother had done. This went on, and finally Paige brought Tess a plate of food and suggested she sit for a few minutes. Tess's head spun with her own memories, mingled with the kind words and memories of her guests, and she suddenly wanted some time alone to cry. She hadn't realized the funeral would have this impact on her, and she told Paige so. Paige sat in a corner with her to eat and they kept their backs to the crowd, allowing the other people to fade into the background for a few minutes. Tess was in the dining room a short time later when a male voice beside her said, "I'm so sorry, Tess." She turned, and took a moment to realize who the man was. "Alan." Tess hugged him tightly. This was Alan Stewart, whom she'd dated for several months before she left home that last summer. "I wasn't sure you'd recognize me." Alan had been a skinny eighteen year old. Now his shoulders were broader, and he was taller than Tess remembered. His hairline was receding, and he had given up the immature goatee he'd worn back then along with the black clothing. Today he wore a neat gray suit and tie. He was clean shaven, with short brown hair. His face, once babyish, now appealed with a kind of reasonable, adult sensitivity. His hazel eyes lit up as he regarded Tess. "I'm relieved to see you here, looking so well. I wish it wasn't under these circumstances. Will you be in town long?" Tess nodded. "I'm taking a leave of absence from my business. I'd planned to be here next week, and I was going to stay through New Years. I haven't changed that plan, it's just changed itself, dramatically. It's hard to take it all in." She found herself dipping toward tears again, and shook them off. "How are you doing, Alan? Are you painting?" Tess and Alan had met in art class, during high school, and they, along with a few other students who'd considered themselves budding artists, had formed a tightly knit group, encouraging each other and learning together. "I spent a few years working as a graphic artist, doing some web design on the side. Now I work part time at a local print shop, in addition to my metal sculpture and painting.
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I've opened a gallery in town. You should come see it while you're here. Did you ever open your bakery? And more importantly, do you still paint?" "No bakery, but I have been painting. In fact, I'm turning my old bedroom upstairs into a studio to work in while I'm here." "You'll have to come see my gallery. Laura Reynolds is one of the contributing artists. So is Ed Greene. They're a married couple now, you know. I'm renting the space for the gallery from Joe Latimer. Laura has a bookkeeping service there, too. It's an old Victorian house where Joe used to have his clinic before he moved into his new building across the street. Jessica Laine is opening a bath products boutique there. Only I think she's in it for fun, and to have an excuse to be in contact with Joe on a regular basis. Joe's sister Rose is opening a bookstore. Here are Laura and Ed now." Tess turned alongside him to greet her old friends. Ed Greene and Laura, who was now his wife, had been a part of their informal artists' circle when they were teenagers. Both of them greeted Tess enthusiastically, subdued at first over her loss. Soon they were deep in conversation about their artwork. Laura, Ed and Alan were excited at the prospect of having Tess in town for at least a month, and they all agreed she needed to get some of her work into Alan's gallery. Angie Norwood joined them, and turned the conversation with Alan and Ed to skiing and hunting. Angie's attention suddenly focused on a teenage girl who stood in the buffet line, and Angie went over to bring the girl, her plate half full, over to meet Tess. The girl looked reluctant, troubled. "Tess, this is Karen Jensen, Spence's girlfriend. Karen worked for me at Stoneway until a few days ago." To Karen, Angie added, "Tess and I were best friends when we were girls." Karen sent Angie a sideways glance, but greeted Tess with her hand extended. "Karen, I'm so sorry to have to meet you like this." Tess hadn't known Spence had a girlfriend. The girl nodded shyly and turned away. Tess thought she was headed back to the buffet, but instead she brought two adults over and introduced them to Tess as her parents, Margaret and Hank Jensen. "Spence's sister, Tess." Karen appeared close to tears. A few minutes later Angie had to leave, to see to her guests at Stoneway, and Tess excused herself to walk her out. "I'm sorry we didn't get to talk more, Angie." "You'll have to come out and spend some time with us, like we planned, before you leave. You will, won't you?" Angie turned at the door to face Tess. "Of course."
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"I have some old photos I'm dying to show you. Oh, and my brother Kevin's birthday party is in a few days. I'm sure he'll want you to be there. Remember Kevin?" She made Tess promise to attend the party. After Angie left, Tess remained in the foyer for a minute, savoring the moment to herself before heading back to be with her guests. She overheard two women talking in the living room, just the other side of the partial wall that divided the living room from the foyer where Tess stood. "I don't see any alcohol here," the first woman said, arguing with her companion. "No drugs, no weird religious symbols, not even a stick of incense." "Of course you wouldn't, after that funeral, with the minister from their church and all," the second woman said. "She hasn't lived in this house for years, but if she'd been here when the accident that killed them all happened, you'd wonder if she was the one driving. Nearly killed herself that other time. They were sued because of it. She tried to blame it on someone else, but the drugs were in her blood. I think she may have served time in jail, or a juvenile detention center. They said she was staying with relatives, but if so why didn't she come back to visit, after she was an adult? She left and never came back, until now." Tess walked away in the other direction, through the study, to avoid seeing who it was who said those things. She knew they were talking about her and her accident, the reason she thought her parents had sent her away. It crossed Tess's mind that it might be one of her guests today who was blackmailing her. She stood in the study, stunned for a moment by the idea that they might have the nerve to come here, eat, and pretend to grieve with her, while they harbored such diabolical motives. Tess returned to the kitchen and visited with the people there, trying to forget, trying not to wonder whether everyone here had heard gossip about her, trying not to believe she had an enemy here among all her family's friends. By late afternoon, nearly everyone had gone home. The weather had turned stormy again, and people wanted to get home before driving became difficult. Rose Latimer collected her clean, empty dishes, and Joe helped her load them into her car. Tess hugged Rose gratefully, thanking her again for her help. Then Paige went to the door with Harry. Both had their suitcases in hand. "Thank you both for being here. I wish you could stay another night." Tess wanted to beg them to. She hadn't mentioned her prowler of two nights ago to them, or the blackmail letter, afraid they'd insist she return to L.A.--as if that were a safer place. Now she dreaded sleeping alone in this house. Paige shook her head. "We'd better get to a lower elevation before we get snowed in here." She didn't miss Tess's look of disappointment. She hugged her tightly and gave her a sisterly kiss. "Take care, sweetie."
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Harry followed with a hug and kiss for Tess as well. "We've a magazine to get to the printer, but we'll call you soon. Take care." Then he was out the door behind Paige. Tess held the door, noting theirs was the last car remaining out front, besides her rental. She closed the door, locked it, and went to the kitchen to check the back door. She locked it, and looked around the kitchen. Rose and Paige had cleaned so well that Tess couldn't tell anyone had eaten a meal here today. Leftovers were packed neatly into the refrigerator, so Tess wouldn't have to cook tonight. A stack of firewood was freshly heaped on the floor near the fireplace. Tess was about to turn off the kitchen light when she heard a thump at the back door. She hesitated to open it, but when she peered out the window there was Joe, with another load of wood, his breath steaming. She let him in and he deposited the wood on top of the stack already there. Tess remembered now that he'd parked out back when he arrived with Rose and the food and beverages. "With a storm coming you can't afford to be without enough fuel in the house. The wall heaters aren't enough when the cold sets in." He brushed his hands and sleeves off, watching Tess. "I overheard you say you're staying on through New Years." He smiled mildly. "I'm glad to hear it." "I can't thank you and Rose enough, for all your help today, and for the words you shared at the service." "Will you be all right here tonight?" He seemed genuinely concerned, which touched her. She paused, wanting more than anything to ask him to stay a little longer, but she feared allowing herself to learn to want his company any more than she already did--and she only now realized how much she did. "I'll be fine." "Storms don't frighten you?" "Storms don't frighten me. I find them exciting. Honestly, I'll be fine." She lifted her chin and met his gaze. "I'm sure you will." He buttoned his overcoat. "I'd better get home before this gets any worse. It's blowing up already out there. Remember to lock up." With a curt goodnight he went out the back door. Tess moved through the rest of the house, closing up, drawing curtains against drafts. She stopped at the upstairs hall window and listened to the wind in the trees behind the house, their branches rattling against the roof. She looked down when a bright light made her realize that Joe was still there, seated in his truck behind the house, starting his engine and turning on his headlights. He let the engine warm up for a minute before he eased the truck around to the driveway.
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On her return to the foyer downstairs, to turn on the front porch light, Tess noticed an envelope on the hall table addressed to her. Her name was typed on the outside. If not for the shape of the envelope she would've expected it to be another sympathy card, but this was a long business envelope, like the blank one she'd found in the mailbox yesterday. She opened it and unfolded the single sheet of paper it contained. It was another blackmail letter, a printed copy, identical to the first. Tess stared at the page, wanting to laugh, to believe it was someone's idea of a sick joke, a joke they felt they needed to repeat because no one had laughed the first time. Yet she knew this was serious. She remembered the gossips she'd overhead hours earlier, and felt sure everyone in town was aware she'd been blamed for that accident years ago, although she'd never been charged. If word of who she was in the publishing world got out, along with the story that she'd left her little brother at home alone that night, what would it do to her business? What would it do to Paige and Harry, and all their employees? Tess carried this second blackmail letter over to the sofa and sat down to think. She got up, after a few minutes, and went to the study for paper and a pen. She sat at her father's desk and made a list of everyone she remembered being here this afternoon. One of those people had left this letter. She realized after a few minutes that she didn't know all their names. She would need to ask Rose and Joe to tell her who some of the guests had been. Meanwhile the wind howled outside, and the snow didn't fall, but drove against the windows. Eventually Tess went upstairs and got ready for bed. Again she felt exhausted, and she wondered if this was depression, seeping into her bones, cold, slogging and hopeless. That would be natural, a part of the grieving process. She shrugged. This was more than grief, it was grief combined with blackmail, grief combined with the possibility of murder. She'd never felt so alone in her life. She resolved to call Paige and Harry tomorrow, give them a heads up about this letter, and offer to dissolve her part in the partnership right now. Somehow she'd make things right. Tonight it would be enough to sleep through this storm. She wondered again if her mother's journals would have an answer to this blackmail question. Would she find information in them about her accident? Something Tess herself didn't remember? Something her parents learned after Tess went to live in Seattle with her aunt? Then her thoughts turned to Dr. Lloyd's words, to his mention of her father planning to call her. Tess searched through her mother's journals again for the current year's book. Of course it was futile. Nothing had changed. It still wasn't there. Chapter 7 Friday morning revealed a world layered with a new accumulation of white. Snow had fallen all night long, the storm easing up toward dawn. Now the sky was clearing, and
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the sun reflected off snow, blinding Tess when she first opened the west-facing front door. Snow had drifted onto the porch and steps, so she had to take a broom out with her and sweep it out of her path. She shoveled the walkway and driveway. Then she watched the snow removal service's red truck labor up the road with a snowplow on the front of it. She was heading back into the house when she again noticed the smooth, virgin blanket of snow on the front yard. Tess couldn't help herself, it filled her with the same urge she'd felt as a girl when faced with new snow. She ran over and plopped down in the cold stuff, and moved her arms and legs to make a snow angel. She got up and repeated her action twice more, once on each side of the asphalt walkway. Three snow angels soon graced the yard, beckoning her back to the house, where she changed clothes and ate a hot breakfast. When it came time to plan her day, all Tess could think about were the blackmail letters. She took out her list of the people who'd come to the house yesterday and looked it over. She needed more information before she broke the news to Paige and Harry. She dialed the number for the Latimers, but got their answering machine. Frustrated, Tess drove into town. She planned to visit Joe at his veterinary clinic and request his help with her list. On the drive, she slowed as she approached the curve in the road where her family's van had gone over. There was a pullout across the road from the spot, on the inside of the curve. On an impulse, Tess parked there, got out, and crossed over to the outside curve, which edged a steep drop off into a ravine filled with rocks, brush and trees, under the fresh covering of new snow. She had to watch her footing, because snow had been piled at the side of the road by the snowplow, and she couldn't tell for sure where the shoulder ended and the drop off began, beneath the dirty ridges of cleared snow. She kept her distance, and peered over into the ravine where the van had rolled into a stand of trees, way down there near a creek bed. It was a long way down. She'd been told the van had rolled a few times before it hit the trees and rocks below. She wondered if her father's missing cane was somewhere down there, buried under snow. If it was wood, it could have been thrown from the wreckage and landed among tree branches where it had been virtually invisible to the sheriff's people. Tess found herself shivering as she visualized the crash scene. She scrambled back into the car, cranked up the heater, and drove on into town. Cedar Creek's main street was a fantasy scene this morning. Everything was frosted with new snow, and Tess drove through with a feeling of being inside the pages of a fairy tale. She'd joked, while living in L.A., about shoveling snow and the cold, and the long winters in a mountain climate, while secretly she'd missed it. Downtown Cedar Creek was quiet. It was early for shoppers to be out. Tess slowed in front of a big white Victorian house, and spotted a sign across the street for Cedar Creek Animal Hospital, which must be Joe Latimer's veterinary clinic. She parked nearby, got out and looked around. Joe's office was still closed. Across the street from it, the old Victorian's front yard sported a crude, unfinished plywood sign.
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"Sierra Lights--Fine Arts Gallery L. R. Greene Bookkeeping Coming Soon: The Boudoir--Fine Bath Products Fabled Rose--Books and Gifts Retail, Business, Restaurant Space Available 555-2392" Maybe she could get a look at Alan's gallery before Joe arrived at his office. She crossed the street to the majestic old house and tried the front door. It opened with the jingle of a string of bells that hung inside the door. "Be right with you!" a voice called from somewhere inside. It sounded like Joe. "Take your time," Tess called. "Tess?" Joe appeared in the far doorway, clothed in a plaid shirt and faded, paintspotted jeans. "You're out early this morning." "A lot of city people rise early too, you know." He came toward her with a claw hammer in one hand, his smile wide. "Are you remodeling?" She nodded at the hammer. He glanced at his hammer. "I'm building display shelves for Jessica's shop. The Boudoir," he added with a wry grin. Tess recalled Jessica's mention of her cousin Trent, and she shivered. "Cold out, after L.A., isn't it? You're not used to this." "I'm fine. How many businesses are you going to house here?" "So far, there are four. Alan Stewart's gallery, Jessica's bath products shop, Rose's books and gifts, and Laura Greene's bookkeeping service, but we have space for at least five more. I thought I'd leased the kitchen and dining space for a restaurant, about two weeks ago, but that fell through." As he said this, he headed toward the kitchen and dining area, and she followed. It was a large, old-fashioned kitchen, partly refitted for commercial use. The dining room and parlor had been opened up to make room for seating. "This used to be a veterinary office?" Tess noted the crown molding, wainscoting, and hardwood floors that must be vintage oak. The decorative detail on the arched entrance to the parlor was exquisite, the work of craftsmen of an earlier era. Joe's gaze moved affectionately over the rooms. "I used to live here, along with my business. It took up the front rooms on the other side, and the back of the first floor. I lived upstairs, but used this as my kitchen. It wasn't ideal for my purposes, and it's too
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big for one person to live in, which is why I built the new place. This is perfect for several small businesses. Laura and Alan are already open for trade." Tess turned to him purposefully. "Is Rose here at her shop this morning?" "No, she's been working weekday mornings at the high school library. She'll be here later, if you try back. Did you need something?" "I'm hoping you and she can help me recall the names of everyone who attended the buffet at my house yesterday." Tess pulled her list out of her purse. "I've made this list of everyone I remember being there, but I didn't know some of the names, and I'm sure I've left some out." Joe said nothing. He appeared to wait for a reason she would want to do this. She handed him the list and he scanned it, nodding his head a couple of times. Then he reached into his breast pocket for a pen, and went over to the kitchen counter to add some names. Finally he handed the list back to her. "That's all I remember. Why the list?" It was an innocent question, but Tess wasn't prepared to explain. She hadn't spoken to Paige and Harry yet about the threat. She felt she owed it to them to let them know before she told anyone else. "Tess! Hey, you made it." Alan Stewart stopped in the front hall, looking into the kitchen. He came in, hugged Tess, and kissed her cheek. "I knew you'd come see the place. Let me show you around. The gallery is upstairs." He took her hand and drew her out of the room, saying over his shoulder, "Did you ask her yet, Joe?" "No," Joe replied. Alan started up the stairs, with Tess in tow. "Ask me what?" "If you want to lease his kitchen for your bakery." "What?" She stopped and stared at Alan. "That's what you always wanted, isn't it?" "But I--" "You used to say you wanted to come back here after college and open a bakery. Did you ever change your mind?" "Yes. I mean, no. I--" Tess realized she'd never changed her mind at all. It had been changed for her, by her parents, by the magazine, by circumstances beyond her control. Or had they been beyond her control? Ever since hearing of the crash that killed her family she'd been asking herself why she hadn't come back to visit years ago, regardless
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of what her parents wanted. What would they have done, thrown her out of the house? At least then she would've known how they felt about her. She wouldn't have this big, empty, gnawing question left unanswered by the suddenness of their deaths. "Well which is it?" Alan grinned at her. She studied his face. "You look so happy. You didn't used to smile all the time like this. You must love putting your gallery together." "I'm having the time of my life. Come on." Alan continued up the stairs. "It's risky, finally putting all my ideas to the test, investing my savings. Still, I had to do this sooner or later, or die wondering if I could've made it work." Tess felt an odd sensation and looked over her shoulder. Joe Latimer stood at the foot of the stairs watching them, his face a mask of--what? Anger? Bitterness? She couldn't read it, and Alan was above her on the stairs, urging her to follow. The gallery took up most of the second floor, including the hallway and balcony overlooking the entrance below. The walls weren't filled yet, but Alan was steadily working his way in that direction. "A lot of what's here so far is Laura's, Ed's and my work, but I'm finding other artists in the area. Rose's shop is on this floor too. We thought artwork and books fit well together. The Boudoir, Jessica's bath products shop, is up in the garret. You'll have to meet Jessica later. I think she rises at the crack of noon." He chuckled. "I've already met her." "Yeah? Why don't you take a look around here, while I go down and talk to Joe for a minute. He looked about to spit nails a minute ago. I'd better make sure my rent check didn't bounce or something." Tess wound her way through the gallery, following the walls. There were pieces on display in the walkways as well, out of the path but viewable from all sides. These were mostly metal sculptures of plants, their leaves shaped into receptacles for water fountains. They must be Alan's work. Tess took it all in, but her mind kept returning to Alan's mention of a bakery. Her bakery. She couldn't get it off her mind. Finally, when she'd absorbed as much of the artwork as she could in one visit, she ventured back down to the kitchen, interrupting a joke between the two men, who both laughed. Alan appeared to be having more fun, of the two. Joe's laughter was forced, and he didn't look all that happy. He glanced at Tess as she entered, and he sobered at once. He'd been leaning on the counter, but now he stood straight, facing the other way, appearing not to want to meet her gaze. "Well?" Alan entreated Tess's opinion, looking eager, hopeful. "What do you think?" "It's incredible. You have something special here. It's a beautiful house, Joe. What are you going to call it?"
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Alan looked at Joe. "We were discussing that." "Why don't you hold a contest? Have people submit name ideas. Are you going to have a grand opening?" Joe turned and looked at her. "Are you interested in leasing the kitchen and dining space for a bakery? Alan seems to think you'll jump at the chance." She looked at Alan, but Joe was the one putting the pressure on. She felt the weight of his gaze. His deep green eyes were lit up like a forest on fire. "I'll consider it, but I'm only on a leave of absence. I'm not making any decisions now, just--well--drifting a bit, getting back in touch with myself." "You sound like a teenager, talking like that." Joe turned away. "When you decide to be serious, give me a call." He stalked out the front door. Alan watched Tess. "What is it with you and him?" Tess looked after Joe, wondering the same thing. "He's grieving too, you know. He was closer to my family than I was in recent years." She couldn't believe she was making excuses for him, but it was true he'd been closer recently. Maybe that explained his behavior. "Why did you stay away so long?" Alan asked the question quietly, with no accusation in his tone. His eyes flickered. Tess wasn't sure she wanted to answer, or could. She headed for the front exit, and Alan walked beside her. "You know what you could do. It would be a great help to us, and give you a handle on what you want. Sell baked goods at our grand opening. That would help you gauge what it would be like to run the business, as well as what the customer traffic would be. Decide what you want to do after that. Maybe you can get Joe to give you an ultra-shortterm lease for the opening. He doesn't have any new prospects for the space, that I know of. That might be why he's acting so peeved at the moment. He's not normally a wet blanket. Why don't we go ask him what he thinks. He's right across the street." "Not this morning, Alan. I have some things I need to take care of. Let me give it some thought." ### At home, Tess placed her call to Paige and Harry. She got them on the conference phone and read the blackmail letter to them. "Oh no," Paige groaned as soon as Tess finished reading it. "Look, I have some savings. Twenty thousand or so--"
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"Paige. Wait. We're not going to pay them." "What do you mean? It says you have to pay them and leave, or they'll go to the press. They haven't left you any option, Tess." "They're breaking the law! Extortion is a crime. I'm not going to pay them. I'm not going to leave, either, until I'm ready. I've received two of these letters now. I'm taking them to the sheriff. I've made a list of everyone who was here yesterday when the second one was left." "What if they go to the press as soon as they find out you've reported it? It could ruin us. Harry, aren't you going to say anything?" "I'm afraid I agree with Tess. If you pay this person, they'll simply come back later and want more. Then what do you do? It does no good to try to save our business from bad press, if we're going to the poor house by way of blackmail. There's not a lot we can do aside from go to the police. It's not a perfect answer, but there it is." "There's nothing we can do, once they go to the press," Paige argued. "Then the damage will be done and there's no undoing it. Then we're dead!" Tess thought she could hear, between the lines of Paige's words, that Tess was responsible for this. "I'm sorry." Tess's past shouldn't affect their business this way, whether she was at fault or not. "You know, Tess," Paige said, "if I could reach through the phone line I'd strangle you right now. Don't you dare apologize for this. It's not your fault!" "I'm going to the sheriff as soon as I hang up." "No. Wait. Let's give this more thought. They said they'd contact you again, with instructions. Give us time to think this through. Maybe we'll come up with an answer." Paige said those last words with much more conviction than Tess felt. Tess hung up the phone, frustrated. Who was doing this? Why? She felt certain there was more to it than an opportunistic grapple for money. It was someone who knew her, someone with an axe to grind. Could it be someone who resented the damage from her accident? The owners of the flower shop? The women gossiping yesterday had mentioned a lawsuit, but Tess's parents had never told her about any lawsuit. Had there been one? Tess had no memory of her accident, and too little knowledge of the events after it. She still felt certain she would never have done what the sheriff and her parents and all the gossips thought she had done that night. What had really happened? What would happen to her business, her magazine, if word got out? What could the sheriff do about it?
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She could only think of one thing to do if the blackmailer went to the press, and that was for her to leave their partnership. She'd been considering doing that, but she didn't want to be forced out this way. What about the next business she chose to enter into? Would that be jeopardized as well by these kinds of threats? She wanted to clear this up once and for all, but how? The doorbell interrupted her thoughts. Spence's girlfriend Karen Jensen stood on the doorstep, with her hand raised to press the bell again. She smiled mildly at Tess. Karen was curvy, for a sixteen-year-old, slightly plump. She wore her thick, chestnut brown hair long, with feathered bangs surrounding her lustrous brown eyes and long lashes. "Hi. Do you remember me?" "Of course. Come in, Karen. How are you?" Karen followed Tess into the living room, where she paused, looking around. "Are you staying on here at the house?" "Until the end of the year. I've been planning to get back in touch with you, to ask if you'd like to have anything of Spence's." Karen's eyes widened, and she glanced around the room. She shook her head with a sad expression. "I can't think of anything right now." She reminded Tess alarmingly of how she herself had felt a few hours ago, when she'd peered over the side of the road at the crash scene--traumatized and lost. Tess urged Karen to sit down, and Tess took the armchair next to the sofa. "How long had you and my brother been dating?" "About two years, but we weren't really dating at first. My mom wouldn't let me until I turned sixteen. We hung out together, and saw each other at school activities. We've known each other all our lives. We just started dating this past summer." "Well, give some thought to whether you want any of his things, and let's make a date for you to come over for lunch one day next week, or after the holiday, when we're both better recovered from the shock." Karen nodded. "I'd like that. I came to ask if you found a key that Spence was going to return to Stoneway for me." "A key? No, but I haven't gone through his things yet. I'll keep a lookout for it. Do you need it back right away?" Karen chewed her lower lip. They both heard a vehicle park outside. Tess recognized the sound of Joe's truck, and mused over the fact that she knew it as she got up. "Excuse me."
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Joe started talking as soon as she opened the door. "I'll only take a minute of your time. I want to give you something to think about." He glanced back toward the driveway where Karen's car was parked. "You have company?" Now he looked at Tess. "Karen Jensen is here." Tess moved aside and invited him in. Karen got up to leave. Joe greeted her in a relaxed and friendly manner, while he'd been nothing but tense with Tess a few seconds ago. Karen said hi to him and continued to the door. "I'll look for the key, and I'll call you," Tess told her as she left. Then she invited Joe into the living room, but he refused. "I'll only be a minute. I came to make you an offer. Alan mentioned his idea of letting you bake for the grand opening as a trial for a possible business. He told me you're thinking of moving back here." Joe looked away for several seconds. "I'm not putting this well. I want you to consider doing that. Staying, leasing the bakery--er, restaurant space. If you decide you want to lease the place, I'll do whatever modifications you need, to make it work. I'd like to do business with you." He met her gaze, his own eyes stormy with tension. Tess wasn't so sure Joe would feel the same desire to do business with her if he knew her current business was being threatened by blackmail over her past, but she nodded. "I will consider it. When is your opening?" "In two weeks. We wanted to open the weekend after Thanksgiving, to catch the first holiday shoppers, but we're running behind, so it will be the following weekend. It would mean a lot to us to have you there, Tess. I asked Rose to come by later and talk to you about the plans for the opening. Is that all right?" "Yes, of course." After all, exploring her dreams was the whole reason she'd decided to come here, before tragedy intervened. "Good." Joe held out his hand. Tess shook it. He was keeping his distance now. She wondered at the change. Tess stood on the porch and watched him drive away. As he was turning out of the driveway, another car turned in past him and pulled up out front. A blue sedan. Alan Stewart got out and waved at Joe, a big smile on his face as he approached the door, and Tess. "I wanted to come with Joe, to help persuade you, but he was on his way home for lunch. I forgot to send these with him. They're just a couple of flyers for you to take a look at." He handed her a few sheets of paper, with an ad for the grand opening of his gallery printed on them. Tess thanked him, and couldn't help seeing his glance toward the door. He was hoping she'd invite him in, but she wanted a little time alone.
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The phone rang, its sound muffled by the door. "Um--I have to get that. It's business." She nodded over her shoulder, her hand on the doorknob. "Oh. No problem. I need to get back. I'll . . . see you soon." Alan turned back toward his car with another wave, no longer smiling, and Tess hurried inside to answer the phone. Chapter 8 Tess made two more snow angels that afternoon, one on either side of the front walkway, in an attempt to release tension. A car turned into the driveway while she lay on the ground pushing snow around. She felt foolish, but she finished the second snow angel before she stood up to find Rose Latimer leaning against her car, smiling at her. Rose waved. "That's a fine troupe of snow angels." "I suppose it looks silly, but I needed to unwind." Tess looked down at her clothes caked with snow and lifted her hands. "Now I need to change. Come on in." She led the way into the house, and headed for the stairs. "Make yourself at home. I'll only be a minute." "No problem, and I like your idea of how to unwind," Rose called after her. When Tess returned downstairs she found Rose in the kitchen. The fire had been fed, and Rose was carrying the teapot over to the table, along with a plate of cookies. "I hope you don't mind, I made us some tea." "Not at all. It will warm me up." Tess brought cups over to the table and sat down. "I want to thank you again for helping with the food yesterday. I don't know what I would have done without you and your brother. I was a bit lost over the whole business. I'm still--" "In shock? So are we. We were so close to your family. Your mother was a great source of support to me. I miss them a lot." Rose poured the tea. "Joe asked me to bring you up to speed on our plans for our grand opening." "First tell me about your bookstore." "It's a book and gift shop, actually. Books, small gift items, greeting cards. Books are my passion, but I'm told they don't bring in a lot of trade these days, so the other items are there to entice people to take a walk past the books." "I love books. I can't walk into a bookstore without spending money." Rose laughed. "I'm hoping there are lots of your kind here, more than I know about. You know, I have three of your cookbooks, and I subscribe to your magazine. What are you working on now?" Tess sighed and sipped her tea. "I'm not working at all right now. I'm trying to decide what to do with the rest of my life. I may leave the magazine and book business
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altogether. I don't know yet. Right now I'm taking it easy, reading Mom's journals, trying to figure out the mysteries of my own family." Rose took this in with a nod. "She mentioned to me that she kept journals. You might learn new things about her." "That's what I'm hoping, but she wrote mostly about us--the family. She didn't talk about herself when I was growing up. Did she to you?" "Not much. Cathy was one of those people who focused on others, to the exclusion of herself." Tess nodded. Yet someone may have killed her. Why was that? "How could anyone not love her?" "Why--" Rose stopped, but her face asked the question for her. "Why didn't I visit?" Tess wasn't sure she wanted to break the spell for Rose, any more than she wanted to for Joe. They believed her mother was no less than a constant source of support for her family, as she had apparently been to Rose. Tess shook her head. "I won't go into that. I don't know all the reasons, for certain, and my parents aren't here to tell their side of the story. Do you know about my accident, eleven years ago?" Rose nodded, looking down at her teacup. "Yes, I'd heard about it, but I hate gossip." It was all she said, and it made Tess wonder. "So you didn't hear about it from my family. What did you hear about it, and from whom?" "I don't want to repeat it." Rose wore a look of distaste. Tess dropped the subject, frustrated, wondering how she would ever figure out who was blackmailing her. The culprit wasn't likely to volunteer the information, but who would? She took a cookie and offered the plate to Rose. Rose stiffened. "No, none for me, thanks." "Would you look at a list of the guests who were here after the funeral yesterday, and tell me if I've left anyone out? I already showed it to your brother." Tess got up and retrieved the list. Rose looked it over, and added a few names, mostly people who attended the same church she and Tess's mother had. She shook her head eventually. "I don't recall anyone else. What's the list for?" "It's--to jog my memory. Tell me about the grand opening." Tess and Rose spent hours, first talking about the grand opening of Joe's business center, and then visiting. Rose brought up the subject of Tess's artwork in her
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cookbooks. "I've always envied that kind of creative talent. Of course I see cooking as an art, and I do love to cook." Rose glanced at Tess with longing in her expression. Then she smiled shyly. Tess nodded. "Any pursuit can be artwork. It's embracing what you're doing, and forgetting yourself completely while you do it. I've seen people make a dance out of directing traffic." She took Rose upstairs to show her what she was doing with her old bedroom, turning it into a studio to work in while she was here. "Oh, did you get to see Alan Stewart's gallery this morning?" Rose hesitated then. "Your mother told me you used to date him." It amazed Tess that her mother would share that information with Rose. Alan was the boy her mother had insisted she break up with, right before her parents set her up on her ill-fated date with Trent Cambridge. "How interesting." Rose picked up the two silver necklaces, the Celtic cross and pentacle, which Tess had left on the typing table beside her laptop. Rose blushed as she glanced at Tess and put them down. Tess thought she could see the wheels turning in Rose's mind. Was she wondering about the pentacle? Did she understand its significance? Tess waited for her questions, but Rose never asked them. "Your mother and I went to the same church," she said quietly, and that was all. Tess took a deep breath and didn't reply. Rose was different from anyone she'd ever come across, but Tess understood shyness in a way that more extroverted people likely couldn't, and she found that she liked Joe's quiet, understated sister, in spite of her awkward pauses and unspoken questions. "It was a gift," Tess told Rose. "The points of the pentacle represent earth, air, fire, water, and spirit, to Pagans. At least that's my understanding." Rose nodded, silently taking in her words. "My mother gave me the cross." "She gave me one just like it." Tess felt a powerful tug of envy, in that instant, for Rose and her closeness to Tess's mother. She hated the feeling, and immediately wanted to turn it around. "Rose, Joe told me about a cane he gave my father, that he'd like to have as a keepsake. Would you like anything of my mother's? Let me know, because I have no idea what I'll do with all their things. I'm overwhelmed by the prospect of cleaning out this house, if I decide to sell it, and I--" Rose turned abruptly with a gasp and a surprised look that made Tess pause midsentence. "What is it?"
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"I--that's kind of you. I'll think about it. I can't think of anything right now. Maybe--" Rose shook her head, blushing again. "Maybe you should wait until after the funeral, until after you have a chance to--" She broke off again and appeared not to know what to say. "Until you have a chance to straighten out all their affairs." Rose looked at the door of the studio then, as if seeking an escape. They were on their way down to the kitchen again when the doorbell rang. Rose looked at her watch. "I should be going. I didn't realize it was so late." Tess opened the front door, and Angie Norwood nodded in the direction of the snow angels. "I see you've been playing in the snow. That's a healthy sign. I was able to get away for a few hours, and I wondered if you could use some company. Oh, hi Rose." Angie's voice took on a note of humor and a look of amusement entered her eyes. Rose greeted Angie quietly and put on her coat, saying she had to go. Angie looked after her as she closed the door. Then she turned to Tess. "What did she want?" "We were visiting." Angie shrugged and clamped her lips shut as if changing her mind about something. "I didn't think you knew her that well." "No, but she and my mother were good friends. Come into the kitchen. I'll make us some fresh tea." "I'd love some coffee." They sat in the kitchen and nibbled at the plate of cookies. The conversation started out slow, as the two women warmed up again after years of separation. It gave Tess an opportunity to take in the physical changes in her former schoolmate. Angie and Tess had been told numerous times when they were girls that they looked like sisters. They looked less so now, but both had blue eyes and dark brown hair. Tess's eyes tended more toward cerulean, while Angie's were aquamarine. Tess's taller, slender frame contrasted with Angie's more robust, athletic build. Tess wore her hair longer, and it waved naturally. Angie's was thicker, and she wore it in a short, straight style that curled under right at her neckline. "Your partners mentioned yesterday that you're on a hiatus." Angie bunched her eyebrows. "How is your magazine doing?" "Oh, it's coming along." Tess regretted that they'd talked about the business at all yesterday, because now she wouldn't be able to discern who'd already known about it and may have left her that first blackmail letter two days earlier. The coffee finished burbling, and Tess got up to pour it. "Angie, do you still hear much gossip about the accident I was hurt in years ago?"
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Angie didn't say anything at first. When Tess sat down and looked at her she shrugged. "It's old news, and most of the people I talk to are from out of town, so they wouldn't know about it. I heard some old biddies talking about it yesterday, comparing it to your family's accident. That was right before I left. Why?" "I heard what must have been the tail end of the same conversation." Angie's eyes flickered. "I was worried you'd overhear and it would upset you." She studied Tess's face. "How are you doing? It has to be some shock, losing your parents and brother all at once." Tess shrugged. "I'm doing about as well as you'd expect." "How are you planning to spend your time here?" "There's plenty of work to do, settling my family's affairs. I'm thinking of helping Joe and Rose with their grand opening, too. Have you seen what they're doing with that old house?" Angie made a face. "They don't know what the hell they're doing. We have two restaurants at Stoneway, and a gift shop. What do they think we need that place for?" "It will be nice to have a bookshop so close, won't it? You're not worried about the competition, are you? I'm thinking about getting involved with it myself. You know how I always used to want to open a bakery here." Angie's eyes opened wide. "Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to discourage you. They came up with this so suddenly, I don't get the impression they've put much thought into it. I'm not convinced they have a lot of business sense between them. They're sinking a lot of money into inventory and renovations. I guess I've become cynical about such things." Tess had heard from others yesterday that Angie had done a lot of renovations at Stoneway, so this made her wonder. "Is Stoneway doing well?" "It takes up all my time, I barely have a private life anymore, but it's doing well." "So there are no money problems?" Tess had to ask. She hated to, but the blackmail letter weighed on her mind. Angie laughed. "There are always money problems with a business, you know that. Don't get me started. Oh don't look like that. Things are going okay. So you're staying? Maybe for good?" Her eyes were wide with interest. "I don't know. I planned to come here for some quiet time, to think things through. Now I have my family's affairs to settle, and a mystery to boot. I haven't had a chance to think. There's not a lot to hold me here with them gone." "What about old friends?"
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Tess returned Angie's smile. "Old friends are wonderful." "What's the mystery?" Tess regretted that slip. She didn't want to talk about the blackmail letter. She reached for a cookie, but only held it, thinking. "I'm reading through my mother's journals, trying to learn from them why my parents kept me from visiting all those years." "Your mom kept journals?" Tess nodded, looking at the cookie in her hand. "They discouraged me from visiting, you know. They sent me away, after my accident, and they found some excuse or another for me not to visit, whenever I told them I wanted to. It hurt me a lot, when I was younger. Then I guess my skin thickened, or I developed an attitude about it. I made my own life, and let them grow more distant as time went by. I feel as if I hardly knew them in the past few years. I hated that, though, and my surprise visit this year was intended to break through that. I was going to confront them and demand to know why they kept me away. I wanted to know if they thought I abandoned Spence that night, whether they still believed in me at all, after that accident." "You disappeared without a word." Angie's taught voice revealed more than her narrowed eyes. Angie had been hurt as well, and Tess had done that. "Your parents wouldn't tell anyone how to reach you." "I'm sorry I didn't contact you. They sent me away right after my accident, as soon as I got out of the hospital. They didn't want me to come home for the holidays. They were so distant after that, I didn't know about my dad's MS, or that he'd retired. When I was in college, they came up with any excuse they could for me not to visit during breaks or holidays." Angie got up and went to the window. She sighed. "You and I weren't very close that last summer to begin with. I was always busy at Stoneway--and with Granddad while he was sick." Tess had been too busy with her new friends, dreaming about her future, to realize Angie had been lonely and needed support through her grandfather's illness. Angie and Kevin both depended on their grandfather. Their parents were hopeless drug addicts, who'd been living on the streets in Sacramento and had essentially abandoned the two into their grandfather's care when they were children. Few people knew that about them, but Tess had known, and she'd let Angie down when she needed her. "I'm so sorry, Angie. I never meant to hurt you." "That was a long time ago." Angie returned to sit facing Tess. She picked up her coffee mug and reached for a cookie. "How long had it been, since you'd heard from your folks?" "I called them two weeks before the accident, to feel out the situation before the holidays without actually asking them about their plans. For all the good it did. I learned more
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from you than I did from them. Dr. Lloyd thought my father planned to call me, before their accident, which is odd because my dad never did. It was always my mom." "Why did Dr. Lloyd think your dad planned to call you then? I mean, how would he know? Was it about your dad's health?" "It was something to do with Trent Cambridge. Apparently he hasn't reformed." Tess shook her head. "I wouldn't have been able to help them." "Oh, I know about that. Trent's supposed to have raped a teenage girl. I heard there was no evidence though, only her word against his." "Still, the man she's accusing happens to be Trent, whom we both know to have done things like that in the past." Angie shrugged, then looked Tess in the eye and said in a quiet tone, "There was no evidence in your case either. You didn't report it. You didn't tell your parents." Tess puzzled over Angie's words. "I told my parents about it, after my accident. Didn't they ask you about it?" Angie wore a blank look. "Angie, didn't my parents ever ask you about Trent trying to rape me?" Tess had pleaded with them to ask Angie about it. It had been important to Tess that they believe her. Angie shook her head. "They never mentioned it to me. I didn't know they knew." Tess looked down at the cookie she'd absently crumbled into pieces. She got up, brushed the crumbs into her hand and carried them to the sink. "I was right then. There's not much point in feeling guilty for refusing to talk to the deputy and Dr. Lloyd about it." She wondered if there was any point in continuing through her mother's journals. Angie looked at her watch, then she gathered her jacket from the back of the kitchen chair. "I'd better run. I'll call you tomorrow and we'll set up some time for fun, all right?" Tess followed her to the door and hugged her. Angie closed the door behind her, and Tess looked around the front room, her thoughts returning to that curve in the road where her family's van had gone over. Tess put on her coat and walked down to the road for the mail. It was too cold to stay out, so she just grabbed the stack and hurried back inside to sort through it in the warmth of the living room. She sorted out the ads, sympathy cards, and bills. One envelope had no return address, no postmark, and no stamp. Tess paused, looking at it with trepidation. It was the same type of envelope the other blackmail letters had been in.
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She went to the kitchen and put on her mother's rubber gloves, then took a knife from the drawer to open the envelope. Inside, the letter was folded the same way as the others, and contained the identical threat. It looked like a copy, or a computer laser printout. Now she'd received three identical blackmail letters, three days in a row. Why? Was the blackmailer worried she hadn't found the others? Or did they think she wasn't taking the threat seriously enough? There were still no further instructions, only the promise of more to come. Tess placed the letter inside a plastic bag. She put on her coat and walked down to the mailbox again. It was a roadside box, larger than most, painted white with a red flag and a slot in front for the carrier to push the mail through. Anyone could have come along here and pushed the blackmail letters through the slot, anytime. When she was home she would've heard the car, but there had been at least an hour, this morning, when someone could've come here and not been seen. The driveway, and her rental car, were visible from the road, so they would see whether she was home or not. Who was doing this? Karen, Joe, Alan, Rose, and Angie had each been here, one visitor after the other, since she'd come back from town; but during the time Tess had been in town this morning, anyone could've driven up and placed this in the box. Surely that was when it had happened. The blackmailer wouldn't risk dropping this off when she was home, with all the visitors she'd had today who might see. Suddenly Tess wondered what would happen if her car wasn't visible, if it appeared no one was home. Would the blackmailer reveal him or herself--as they nearly had the other night when she'd heard the noise at her front door? Tess started up the rental car, and moved it around to the back of the house. She took a quick, surreptitious look around the yard, and then the house as she moved around inside, locking up and closing windows for the evening. What if she didn't turn on any lights, or used only small, dim lamps in the places where she needed them, with all the drapes closed? Would the blackmailer think she wasn't home? "I'm going nuts," she murmured with a shake of her head as she finished locking up. "They're driving me nuts." ### Early that evening Tess took a long hot bath by candlelight, trying to settle her thoughts. She realized afterward that all she'd eaten today was breakfast and a cookie, and she'd drunk way too much tea and coffee. She sat at the kitchen table in her robe, the room illuminated only by the light of the fire, and ate some of yesterday's buffet leftovers. Later she returned upstairs, closed the heavy bedroom drapes, and found the journal she'd been reading last night. She plugged in the book light she'd brought with her, turned it on and got into bed. Tess had started out intending to read all her mother's journals in chronological order, but as she reached over to turn off the bedside lamp she knocked the stack of journals
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off the nightstand. She groaned and got out of bed to pick them up. One had fallen open, and the date at the top of the page caught her eye. It had been written the first December she'd lived with Aunt Christine in Seattle, during her senior year of high school. She took that journal, got back into bed, turned off the bedside lamp, and started reading with the book light. "I felt awful telling Tess such a bald-faced lie. I wanted to see her at Christmas, we all did. I pray one day she'll understand. She sounded so disappointed, I can't believe she felt otherwise, and I can't understand why anyone would think so. Jim feels strongly about her staying at Christine's, and going off to college next year. Spence cried when he learned his sister wasn't coming. I couldn't help it, I cried too." Tess gazed at the page for a long time. It wasn't full of information, and it didn't explain why her parents hadn't wanted her to visit, but it somehow made her feel better to know her mother had cared enough to write what she had on this page. She should stop trying to read all these journals in chronological order, and skip ahead to the events that preoccupied her most. A noise outside distracted her. It was the sound of an engine, but not a car or truck. It was something like a lawn mower, maybe a motorcycle. She switched off the book light, then got up and moved the drapes aside, peering out the front bedroom window. A snowmobile, the white glow of its single light flooding over the snow in front of it, circled around on the yard below, as it chopped the snow with its track, obliterating the snow angels Tess had made there today. Tess stood absolutely still and watched the bizarre scene, wondering why and who would do such a pointless thing. The rider wore a helmet, and what appeared to be dark clothing. The snowmobile stopped and the rider raised his head and looked directly at her window. Tess froze, her heart pounding as she imagined he saw her. Tess closed the drapes quickly, and then chided herself for that movement, which the rider may have seen even if he hadn't seen her before. In something of a panic, now, and feeling too alone and suddenly blind and vulnerable in the cloying darkness, Tess went to the bedroom door and turned on the overhead light. She heard the snowmobile start up and speed away into the night. Then Tess remembered the sheriff's mention of a snowmobile seen in the area at the time of her family's crash. She went downstairs, turning on lights as she went, checking all the doors again to ensure they were locked. She called the sheriff's office in Wilder. Chapter 9 "We'll look into it as far as we can," the deputy who came out told Tess. He'd introduced himself as Duane Prescott then sat in the kitchen with her to listen and take notes about what she'd seen and heard. Now he gave Tess a long look. "You don't remember me, do you?"
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She nodded. "From Dr. Lloyd's office the other day." He shook his head. "I don't mean then. I was the officer who took your statement after your accident, years ago. Sheriff Kendall's concerned about you . . . with the questions we have about your family's accident and all." The way he emphasized "family's" made her take pause. "Should I be frightened? I mean, I am, obviously. That's why you're here. Do you mean I'm not being paranoid? Do you think there's a good reason for me to be afraid?" He looked apologetic. "Let's say we have questions. I don't mean to frighten you, but make sure you keep things locked up while you're here. Are you going to stay long?" She nodded. "Through the end of the year." "Then you might want to get Joe to install new locks on the doors. Have him check the window latches, things like that." "Joe?" "Joe Latimer." "Why would I ask him to change the locks?" "He owns the house." Duane Prescott cocked his head, watching her. Tess's open mouth must have clued him in. "Your parents sold it to Joe, a while back. They didn't tell you?" He went still, watching her for a few seconds longer. "Have you spoken to their attorney yet?" "No, he's out of town, and my parents didn't tell me anything." She bit her lip against her anger. "Neither did Joe." Now she thought she understood Rose's reaction today when Tess had mentioned the possibility of selling the house. "Maybe he assumed you knew already." She looked at him. "Do you know Joe?" "Sure, I've known Joe for years. He used to volunteer on our search and rescue team. We were rivals when we played high school football." "If someone caused my family's crash, that would be murder, correct? Could someone also have caused my accident, eleven years ago, and made it appear I was driving?" He watched her with a grave expression. "I've never been able to remember my accident." Tess got up and paced to the window and back. She turned to face him. Tess felt idiotic that it had never crossed her mind, until she'd overheard the gossip after the funeral yesterday, but she asked the question
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now. "Why weren't any charges ever brought against me? I had drugs and alcohol in my system, and I was found in the driver's seat." He didn't answer. "As for whether both accidents could've been caused by the same person, it's a possibility we haven't considered. I'd wonder about the motives. Your family's accident happened so many years later, if it's the same person I'd have to wonder why they waited so long." ### Tess was in her bedroom, with the bedside lamp on, searching through the journal she'd been reading, when the doorbell rang again. She pulled on a robe and slippers and went downstairs, but hesitated to open the door, even with the chain lock. She called out, "Who is it?" "Tess, it's Joe. Are you all right?" She opened the door and let him in without a word. He wore the same stormy look he had earlier today. "Duane Prescott told me he was up here tonight. Is everything all right?" "You never told me you owned this house." She was still miffed about that. Joe opened his mouth, but then looked to one side, his lips making a sideways halfgrimace. "I would've told you eventually. You'd lost your family. It wasn't the time to play landlord." Yet he hadn't considered it out of line to berate her for not visiting her family? Tess realized all at once that Joe hadn't been living in Cedar Creek at the time of her accident, so he couldn't have caused it, and he wouldn't have tried to break into her house, since he had a key. He may be one of the few people here she could trust. The idea surprised her by its suddenness. She didn't realize she'd been studying him with an open expression, trying to memorize his face and realizing how much she liked it, until Joe smiled. When he did, she blinked, and his smile grew. "Penny for them." She blinked again. "I was thinking that I can trust you." Joe looked wary. "Trust me with what?" "Nothing in particular." Tess turned away from Joe and walked into the dark living room. Why was she obsessing over his face all of a sudden, as if she'd only now seen it for the first time, as if she couldn't get enough of it? "Duane said you might want new locks on the doors. I'll take care of that for you."
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She turned around. "You married. When I was about fourteen. Your mother told my mother." Joe shrugged. "I was nineteen, and she was eighteen. We were married two years, and we had to strain to make it last that long." Tess moved on, into the kitchen. She sat in the rocking chair and curled her legs under her. Joe sat in the big overstuffed chair. He glanced at her and said wistfully, "I always think this kitchen needs a cat." Tess couldn't help a smile. "I used to want a cat. Mom would never let me get one." "I remember. I nearly gave you a kitten once, for Christmas." "You did?" She leaned forward to look at him, curious. "When?" "Let's see. I was twelve, so you must have been, what, seven? Your mom got wind of it, through my sister, and she told my mom. That put an end to that." Tess laughed. "I've been planning to get a cat recently, now that I have a house." She found him studying her. She could've melted into his gaze then. "Where are your parents now?" "They moved to Arizona after Dad retired. They wanted Rose to go with them. She wouldn't budge. She loves it here. She rented the house from them, until I came back and bought it. Now she and I both live there. Look, Tess, the reason your dad sold me this house--" "You don't need to explain. It's none of my business." He looked at her with an odd expression. "Of course it's your business. Your parents were so far in debt, your father was afraid if he died your mother would lose the house. He sold it to me for next to nothing, and I let them live here, also for next to nothing. Just enough rent to pay the property taxes and insurance. It was an arrangement strictly between your dad and me, intended to protect your mother and Spence. It gave your dad some peace of mind. He trusted me. I like to think he was wise to do that. I'd like to think you believe that, too." "What does it matter what I believe?" "It matters to me. I'll sell it back to you. Hell, I'll give it to you. It's only been a few months." She met his gaze, and fell into it. He was close, their chairs nearly touching. He leaned toward her, placed his hand on her arm. "We used to be friends. I'd like to think we can be again." She said nothing.
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"Why did you stay away all those years? I thought you loved it here, loved your family. I don't get it." "You never asked them? My parents?" He shook his head. "They avoided talking about you. I didn't know where you lived." "They never told you about my accident?" "Your accident?" "Joe, Rose knows about it." "I don't talk to Rose about you. She doesn't know how I feel. What accident?" "How you feel? You've wavered, these past few days, between acting as if you hated me, and being unexplainably kind." "I've never hated you. I was angry. I still don't understand why you stayed away. Why don't you explain it to me? And what accident?" She looked down. "I can't." He stood up, looking angry again. What was wrong with the man? Why did he have to know this? "I'll come by tomorrow and change out the locks. I'd better get going." She stood up too. "I'm sorry I can't explain, Joe. I loved my family. I wanted to see them. I missed them so much, I can't begin--" Tess stopped, close to tears. "Don't ask me to explain." "Then can you tell me why you decided to come this year? Why you needed to surprise them? They would've loved to know you were coming. Why did it have to be a surprise?" To tell him that, she'd have to tell him they didn't want her here to begin with, for all those years. He clearly loved them, and the information would either hurt him deeply or he wouldn't believe it at all. There was no right answer. "Believe that I loved them, that I missed them." She didn't know why it was so important to her for him to believe her, but it was. "Please." He turned away and didn't move for several seconds. Finally he took a deep breath and turned back to face her. "Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night, at the Gold Room?" "The Gold Room?" "Up at Stoneway."
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She nodded. "I know it." The Gold Room was the more upscale of the two restaurants there, and expensive. "A quiet, candlelit dinner for two." He watched her, his voice low. He stood close, and he put a hand on her arm, drawing her closer. It only then sank in that he was asking her for a date. She drew in her breath, then nodded, watching his eyes. "That would be nice, Joe." "I want to try this again." He kissed her, and they both lingered in that kiss. Tess responded with a feeling of urgency, of longing, that she'd never experienced kissing any other man in her life. She wanted more. She put a hand up to his thick black hair and let herself free-fall into his kiss until she was breathless. He backed away with a look of surprise. Then he smiled, his hands still lightly caressing her arms. "Tomorrow night. I'll pick you up at six." She leaned against the front door for a minute after he left, hugging herself. "Oh my God." She breathed the words in amazement. "Oh my God, oh my God." ### Tess returned upstairs and found the journal she'd been reading on the floor where she'd left it. She got into bed and picked it up. She stared at the page for several minutes before she could concentrate on the words again. The next several pages made no mention of Tess. They dealt with everyday matters, preparations for the holidays, people her mother had visited or spoken to, and Spence's activities. These things were important to Tess, but they weren't what she needed to read now. She skimmed through the pages, unable to focus, distracted by a jumble of other thoughts, until she thought of going back to the pages written a week or two before she'd gone away to stay with her great aunt. She doubted her parents had decided on the spur of the moment to discourage her from visiting home. In fact, it appeared to have been her father's decision. That decision must have been made long before Tess called to ask if she could come. The entries her mother made shortly after her accident might clarify her parents' motives. Tess turned back the pages. She came to one written two days after her accident that August, eleven years ago, a matter of days before her parents had sent her away to live with Aunt Christine. She read her mother's words: "I'm sitting in Tess's hospital room, praying she'll wake up, wondering what happened to the sweet little girl who used to help me bake on the weekends. "Where did my little girl go? Who is this stranger? Does she know what she's doing to herself, to us? She abandoned Spence to go party with those kids, and has now wound up here, injured and unconscious. She nearly killed herself, driving drunk. My God! Was
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she already drunk when she left Spence alone at the house? I almost hope so, because I can't imagine--don't want to imagine--her leaving her baby brother all alone when she was thinking clearly. "They tell me a head injury can change people. I hope I get my little girl back, the way she used to be." The page blurred as tears formed and shook Tess, becoming deep, inconsolable sobs. The confusion and dismay of those days after her accident returned, and made more sense to her now, a kind of sense she hadn't wanted, a sense that made her feel lost and utterly beyond comfort. She couldn't read any further. Her mother had believed all those horrible things about her. Things Tess couldn't remember. No wonder her parents hadn't wanted Tess to be around Spence after that. Tess couldn't read any further. She stuffed the journal under her pillow, and tried to sleep. Chapter 10 The ringing of the phone downstairs wakened Tess late Saturday morning. It took a moment for her to realize what the sound was. She tumbled out of bed and headed sleepily down the stairs in her nightgown, hugging herself for warmth as she went. The house was frigid. The chill of the kitchen tiles under her bare feet served to clear her head as she reached for the phone. She would've preferred coffee. It was Paige. "What took you so long to answer?" "I was asleep." Tess's voice cracked and she cleared her throat. "This phone is miles from the bedroom." "It's ten o'clock. You are taking a vacation. We're finishing up some things here so we can take a few days off to come up there. What's the name again of the resort you were going to stay at? Stonehenge?" "Stoneway. When are you coming?" "Tomorrow afternoon. I convinced Harry that you need some moral support and help looking into this blackmail business. Is there a turkey in your mother's freezer, by any chance? I promised him food." "If there isn't I'll buy one. I can't wait to see you." "Do you have a phone number handy for Stoneway?" "They're likely booked up by now. You can stay with me." "No, we want you to continue your retreat. I'm calling it a retreat now. We'll only be there a few days. You need your privacy, and we want to go skiing, but we do insist on a turkey dinner with all the trimmings, prepared by our favorite cook--you. What's the number for Stoneway?"
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Tess gave her the number. "Would you bring my cordless phone with you? And call me back if you can't get a room." "Sure. I'll call you back either way, tonight when I get home." "I won't be here tonight." "Oh?" "I have a date, with Joe Latimer." "Oh. Good. Have fun. We'll see you late tomorrow." Tess was shivering by the time their call ended, and she went to work warming up the house. Later she surveyed the snow out front where her snow angels had been obliterated by the snowmobile. She used a rake to smooth it, and then she made new snow angels. Yesterday she'd made them to relax. Today it was an act of defiance. After noon, Tess drove into town and parked in front of Joe's old house. She sat in her car and looked up at the white Victorian for a few minutes. It was a venerable house, built when the town was young and smaller than it was today. She'd rarely taken notice of the house, as a girl, even to draw or paint it, picturesque as it was. So why did it attract her now? Did that have everything to do with Joe Latimer? Or was it also the idea of a bakery, and of hanging her paintings in Alan's gallery? In spite of the loss of her family, possibilities had been opening up since she arrived back in Cedar Creek. She wanted to get past her suspicions of blackmail and murder, and past her grief as well. She wanted to get on to whatever it was she would do with the rest of her life. She needed to start something new. Tess got out of her car at the same moment Laura Greene came striding along the sidewalk. Laura called out to Tess, and when she was close enough she hugged her exuberantly. Laura wore a smart burgundy suit with a teal and burgundy silk scarf. She hurried along the sidewalk beside Tess, with no coat, her arms crossed and head bowed against the cold. She wore boots, but carried a pair of dainty burgundy pumps with three-inch heels in one hand, and a leather briefcase in the other. She wore her hair longer than she had as a girl, pulled back from her face by a single barrette. It curled in natural waves, goldburnished tendrils plotting escape in every direction. Princess hair, Tess had called it when they were girls. Laura's hazel eyes were perpetually filled with lighthearted humor. Her voice effervesced, her laughter bubbled to the surface at the least provocation, and she loved to talk, as she did right now. "I've been wanting to get together with you again ever since I saw you the other day. There wasn't enough time to catch up. Come in and take a look at my office. I'm hoping Joe finds enough tenants to fill the place up, because otherwise he's sinking a lot into this without making a profit, and if he's forced to close the place down we all lose. Ed would move in too, but this isn't suitable for his type of business. He sells sporting goods
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and outdoor gear, as well as snowmobiles, so he needs a lot more space for that, indoors and out. Alan told me you're considering opening a bakery. Wouldn't that be great? The whole gang would be back together again. Alan's ecstatic about you being here, did you know that?" Laura opened the jingling front door of the Victorian and held it for Tess, who followed her into the big front room. It was warm inside. A hammering noise came from somewhere, possibly the kitchen, and Tess turned in that direction. Laura followed. "So do you think there's a chance you and Alan will get together again?" Tess looked into the kitchen, with its spacious layout and big windows. The room appeared to be empty. Maybe the noise had been outside. Sunlight beamed in through the south facing windows of the dining room, warming the room and lending the woodwork a golden glow. Tess pictured the island countertop between the two rooms piled high with pastries and breads. "Well? What do you think?" Laura said. "You know, I'd love to jump right in and say yes, but I'm still mulling it over. I don't want to commit until I've given myself more time." "He asked you out already?" Tess turned and looked at Laura. Surely she couldn't know about Joe asking Tess out. He'd only done that last night. "Who?" "Alan. We're talking about Alan, aren't we?" "No. I wasn't. I'm sorry, I got distracted. I love this kitchen. What were you saying about Alan?" "He hinted yesterday that he's planning to ask you out. He seemed hesitant though. I think he's worried you'll break his heart again. You did, you know." "My parents made me stop seeing him. They thought he was a bad influence. They thought you all were. I don't know where they got the idea, but they acted on it. That was when they set me up with Trent." "I never heard what happened to you after your accident. I mean, except rumors. We weren't allowed to visit you in the hospital. Then my mom heard all the gossip about it and decided you were a bad influence on me. But you disappeared, Tess. Where did you go?" "My parents sent me to live in Seattle with my great aunt. Maybe they thought I'd lead Spence astray, or get him hurt somehow. They thought I ran off and left him alone that night. They didn't want me around after that." Laura made a sound of disbelief. "How could they think that? Didn't they know you at all?"
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"I don't know. They never spoke to me about it after those first days in the hospital. They just sent me away." "That's awful, Tess." Tess felt desperate to change the subject. She realized this was Saturday, and she turned to Laura. "Are you working today?" "Yeah, I'm trying to get caught up so I can take some time over the holiday." Laura looked at her watch. "I have an appointment at one. Want to see my office?" Laura led the way upstairs, and they met Jessica Laine on the landing. She slid a cold glance in Tess's direction. Then she asked Laura if she'd seen Joe. "No, but we just got here." "He said he'd be working right downstairs." Jessica's voice bordered on petulance. "He promised he'd come up and help me with these shelves as soon as he's done with the plumbing." "Which plumbing?" Laura glanced at Tess and shrugged. "I didn't see him. We just came from the kitchen." At a noise below, Tess glanced down the stairs, and saw Joe come out of the kitchen. He paused in the doorway with a pipe wrench in his hand and looked up in her direction. "I'll be another few minutes, Jessica." He nodded at Tess and Laura with a half smile. Jessica flipped her blonde hair over her shoulder as she turned and headed back up the stairs, heels clomping on the wooden stairs. "That woman drives me up a wall," Laura said in an undertone, shaking her head as she led Tess into her bookkeeping office. Tess tried to recall what she and Laura had said in the kitchen, because she was certain Joe had been there and overheard. He must've been working under the sink. The counter would have blocked him from their view. "Don't people have pets around here? What's Joe doing working on plumbing and shelves?" she said irritably. Laura laughed. "He actually has a pretty good business going at his clinic, and he has a second veterinarian working there now. He's been limiting his office hours so he can work on this project. It's a good thing for us, or we'd never get the place ready for business. Right now it looks more like a construction project than a business center. It puts people off. We're looking forward to the more finished look, and the publicity from the grand opening." Laura gave Tess a tour of her office. It was small, but pleasantly arranged and inviting, with big windows and plenty of light. When Laura's client arrived Tess returned downstairs, pausing to enter the restaurant space again, wondering if Joe was still there.
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Tess peered into the kitchen. "Hello?" "Hello." It was Joe's voice, the sound muffled. Tess heard other noises, a clink of a tool against metal. She continued in and rounded the island. Joe lay on his back under the sink, with only his long legs and torso visible. "You didn't warn me the plumbing needed work." "It'll be finished today. It's not a commercial kitchen you know, it's an old house." "I'm sick of commercial kitchens." He eased out from under the sink, stood up and grinned at her. "A plain old country kitchen is good enough? That's a relief." He looked down at the plumbing part in his hand, and a washer he was testing for fit. Jessica came to the door and reminded him again that he'd promised to help her. As she clomped away, he shook his head, looking beleaguered. "I'd better let you get back to work." Tess turned to leave. "Why didn't you tell me your parents sent you away?" Tess turned back. He studied the part in his hand. "Because you didn't want to hear that, Joe." He looked at her and shrugged. "So you tell people what they want to hear?" Was he deliberately twisting her words? "I didn't tell you anything. I never answered the question." She moved toward the door. He called after her, "See you at six." ### Tess decided to wear an ivory silk dress that she'd been saving for the holidays, for her date with Joe. Paige had brought it along with some other clothes when she came up for the funeral. Its plunging back showed a lot of skin, and the wrap that went with it was lightweight, so Tess worried she'd freeze on her way to the restaurant with Joe. Angie called while Tess was dressing, and Tess wore the wrap downstairs to answer. "Your partner Paige made reservations for her and Harry to stay here through the weekend," Angie said on the phone. "She mentioned you're going out with Joe tonight." "Yes."
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"What's going on, Tess?" "I'm not sure, actually." Tess hesitated to admit to anyone that she was falling for Joe. "Well my brother Kevin's birthday party is Monday night. I know he'd love to see you, and Alan Stewart asked me if you'll be there. He and Kevin are as free as birds." "Free?" "I don't relish the thought of Jessica Laine sinking her claws into you. She considers Joe Latimer her territory. Some people have placed bets on how long it will be before he marries her." Tess returned upstairs in a changed mood. She wanted to dismiss Angie's warning as gossip, to believe that Joe wouldn't have asked her out if things were that serious between him and Jessica. Minutes later Tess ran down to the door to greet Joe. He took in the ivory dress with smoldering eyes. "You look like a snow angel tonight." He took her hand and led her out to Rose's sedan, which he'd borrowed for the evening. "How did you fare with the plumbing, and Jessica's shelves?" she asked, nagged by the notion that he was cheating on Jessica to go out with her. "No shop talk tonight. I intend to show you a good time, not bore you with house repairs." He stopped at the car and slapped his forehead. "Your new locks." She laughed. "Are you sure you have time to be a veterinarian?" He wore a wide grin as he opened the car door. "Tomorrow morning, I promise." At the Gold Room, they ordered prime rib and shared a split of champagne. "I only come here on special occasions," Joe told her as he filled her glass. "What's the occasion tonight?" He filled his own and then met her gaze. "I'm celebrating the return of my first love, who grew up to be far lovelier than I could've imagined." Tess was taken aback and suddenly she didn't know what to say. "To first love." Joe held out his glass. Tess clinked glasses with his and drank to that thought. "When did you return to Cedar Creek?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "That's not the question I expected."
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"You expected me to be surprised that I was your first love? Are you forgetting the flowers? You brought me flowers when I was seven. You couldn't have been more than twelve." "You remember that?" His smile was warm and gratifying. Later they danced to the strains of a string quartet. Joe's hand in the small of her back drew Tess close, and he nuzzled her hair. Tess tilted her head back to look at him. He smiled, with a welcome deep in his eyes. "I don't want to let you go. I want to savor this as long as possible." I'm falling in love with you, Joe Latimer. She didn't dare to say it out loud. It was too soon, surely, to know her feelings so clearly. Was she being a fool? Joe drove Tess home and walked her up to her door. A light snow was falling, a gentle snow that didn't carry any storm threat. The shapes of her snow angels were blurring but not yet obscured under the fresh layer. As he took her keys from her and unlocked the door, she saw that snow had fallen on Joe's black hair. He bent his head to kiss her, but she stopped him. She hadn't been able to drive Angie's words from her mind. She had to know. "Joe, are you seeing anyone else right now?" His green eyes glinted under the porch light as he smiled at her. He shook his head and touched her cheek with his fingers. "Only the sweetest woman I know, who apparently doesn't want me to kiss her goodnight." "Kiss me!" Tess said hungrily. He chuckled, and held her in an endless kiss that warmed them both. He kissed her once more, and said goodnight. "I'll be here early with those locks." ### Tess tossed and turned, and finally got no more than a few hours of sleep. Toward morning she had a nightmare. Trent Cambridge pursued her through the woods. She ran, staying a few steps ahead of him, while Trent called to her, telling her she'd pay. She lay awake after that. She rose long before dawn and went down to the kitchenfamily room, where she built up a fire and brewed coffee. She sat in the dark by the fire, thinking about Trent, her accident, and the more recent one that had killed her family. Finally she went upstairs to her studio and turned on all the lights. There she worked out some ideas for paintings. She was on her fifth or sixth watercolor sketch when she jumped at the sound of the doorbell, and realized she was still in her nightgown, fuzzy blue robe, and slippers. It was Joe at the door. "I saw your lights and presumed it wasn't too early to start work. I decided to add deadbolts to replace those old chain locks. I had two on hand."
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"Have you had breakfast?" He shook his head. There was a new light in his eyes, something that made her feel incredibly at home with him this morning. "Let me fix you something." She led him to the kitchen, where she prepared to crack eggs into a skillet. She didn't get far before Joe came around the counter and took her into his arms. "It feels so amazing to hold you like this. I feel as if I've come home. Would you--" He didn't finish his sentence, but kissed her instead. A moment later Tess was breathless. She drew her lips away. "The food." "I don't want breakfast, Tess. I want you." She pulled out of his embrace just long enough to turn off the stove. Then she moved into his arms again, and this time she didn't let go. Before long they moved upstairs, to her bedroom. ### Much later, Tess made them both breakfast while Joe went to work installing deadbolts on her doors. He hummed as he worked, and she felt like singing, herself. She hadn't known this feeling of shared bliss before, and it made even the mundane task of preparing breakfast a rare treat. Ed Greene called, and Tess carried the phone over to the stove, away from the noise Joe was making. Ed wanted Tess to help him shop for a gift for his wife Laura, for her birthday next month. "I have a few dresses picked out, but I can't decide, and Laura thinks you have excellent taste." Tess agreed to help, and arranged to bring Paige and Harry along to shop with Ed for the gift in Sacramento tomorrow. "The glass in the back door still bothers me," Joe told her later, once he'd finished installing the locks. "I should replace it with a solid door, since you're not feeling safe. Is that why Duane was out here the other night? You weren't feeling safe?" She took a deep breath and sighed. "Tess?" "There was someone here that night, Joe. On a snowmobile. They tore up my snow angels." It sounded so idiotic now that she cringed at her own words, but Joe looked worried. He went through the house with her and checked all the window locks. When they came to her studio, Joe paused to look at the sketches she'd done that morning.
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"These are incredible." He picked up first one and then another. They were mostly of the scenes she could see from these windows, the trees thick on the mountains, the snow frosting everything. "They're practice." "You captured Cedar Creek, your house, the trees, the subtlest colors. These make me think you love it here more than you ever say." His gaze lingered on her sketches. "I suppose I do. This is home." He finally gathered his tools together. He had more work to do at the Victorian today. "What are you going to name that old house?" Tess asked him at the door. "I used to call it by its street number." He turned to her with a challenge in his eyes. "You name it for me. Give it some thought, and come up with a name. I'll have a sign made. By the way, what will you call your bakery, if you open it?" She surprised herself by answering at once, with a smile, "Cathy's." "After your mom. I like that." He kissed her again before he left. Tess stood by the door and watched him drive away. Tess knew she should start sorting through her family's things. Instead she went to the kitchen and baked. She stirred up a light, fluffy sugar cookie dough and formed it into snow angel shapes. She baked them to delicate, crisp perfection and let them cool. Shortly after noon, an insistent pounding on the front door roused Tess from the batch of cooled snow angel cookies she'd begun to dust with powdered sugar. Irritated by the interruption and more by the unnecessary racket, she paused to glance out the living room window. The yellow sports car parked crookedly in the driveway was Jessica Laine's. Tess groaned, and took her time wiping her hands on a kitchen towel as she headed for the door. "I do have a doorbell, Jessica," Tess said as she opened it. "The button is right there, and it's lit up all the time." If she was going to have to tangle with Jessica, Tess was going to do it on her own terms. She moved to block the doorway as Jessica tried to sweep in past her. "I don't believe I asked you in." "It's cold out here. It's snowing." "You're not going to freeze, in that fur, in the short time you'll be here." Jessica said, bristling noticeably. "I need to talk to you." Tess waited silently, her arms folded. She hoped this wouldn't take too long, as she hated to let much cold air into the house.
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"May I please come in?" "That wasn't too difficult was it?" Tess stepped to one side. "I'll say what I came to say quickly. I want you to stay away from Joe. You don't live here, you have nothing to gain from chasing after him. He doesn't have any money. He's sunk every cent he has into these rental projects of his. Leave him alone." "Shouldn't he be the one to decide that?" "My cousin told me she saw you and Joe together in the Gold Room last night." "Yes." "She said you were holding hands." "Yes." Tess met Jessica's gaze calmly. "I don't see what that has to do with you." "Joe and I are engaged!" Jessica raised her left hand and flashed a diamond ring in front of Tess's face. A huge diamond. Tess's heart caught in her throat at the sight of that ring. She'd assumed Angie had been exaggerating, gossiping, making assumptions. She'd never mentioned a ring. Jessica went on, and the name she spoke next caught and held Tess's attention. "Trent told me about you, what kind of trouble you can be." "Trent is a rapist, Jessica. I'd be careful taking his word for anything. Shouldn't you talk to your fiancé about this, rather than to me? It was Joe who asked me to dinner. He failed to mention any engagement." Tess spoke with a dignity she didn't feel. She'd been foolish for not heeding Angie's warning. Tess had always been amazed that any woman would want to involve herself with a man who was already attached. Now she'd gone and done it herself. She couldn't believe her own naivete. As for Joe, he'd looked her right in the eye and lied to her! How could she have been such an idiot? "Don't you stand there looking wide-eyed and innocent," Jessica blurted out. "You knew Joe and I were involved with each other. You've seen us together, and I'm sure others have told you. Yet you deliberately chased after him. Stay away from him, do you hear?" Jessica swung around and stalked out the door, leaving it wide open. Tess closed the door and leaned against it, facing the silent, empty house. Chapter 11 "You're in love, aren't you?" Paige looked accusingly at Tess across the table. They were in the main dining room at Stoneway, a huge rustic room with a walk-in fireplace
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and warm, polished wood gleaming everywhere. Harry had gone to get drinks for the three of them, and as soon as he'd gone Paige shot the words at Tess. "I don't suppose there's any use denying it. You know me too well. Is this what it's like to have a sister?" "Don't tease me, Tess. It's written all over you. I could tell when you met us here today. Your parents would've liked you to marry him, I suppose." "Marry. Paige, I'm not going to marry him." "Well of course you haven't talked about it yet, but in time. You don't think I missed the way he kept looking at you when we were here the last time?" Tess was shaking her head at her friend. "I never knew you were a romantic." "I'm not. I think it's disgusting. You're just making a name for yourself, entering the height of your career, then in walks this country Joe and sweeps you off your feet, like in some hokey romance. It's horrible. I always thought you were so sensible." "I hope you're right, because I'm going to do what I feel is the most sensible thing." "What's that?" Paige leaned toward Tess, her eyes intent. "I'm going to forget all about Joe Latimer, and concentrate on making some decisions about my life," Tess said in a dull tone of voice. "Oh," Paige said with a hint of disbelief. "You don't appear overly enthusiastic about that plan--if one can call it a plan." Harry returned with their drinks. He looked from one silent woman to the other as he set their drinks down. "What's this? Have I interrupted the girl talk? Do you want me to exit and come back later?" He sat down. "Or join in. What's up?" "Nothing." "Tess is in love. Isn't it awful?" "Paige!" "It's Harry. I wouldn't tell anyone else. Harry's family." "Why thank you. But what's this about? Tess? Don't tell me you've fallen for that Latimer fellow." Tess grimaced at Paige, who grinned back devilishly and raised her eyebrows. Then Paige sobered. "What do you think, Harry?" "It's what Tess thinks that matters."
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"And I don't want to discuss it, Paige. He's not available. Nothing can ever come of it, so what's the point? Let's enjoy our dinner." Tess took a long swallow of the icy drink Harry had placed in front of her. Harry and Paige exchanged meaningful looks across the table. "Please." "Very well, Tess. But remember, should you ever want to discuss it." "You're the first two people I would think of." Tess sent Harry a grateful smile. "Good." He picked up his menu and they discussed other matters. The magazine, Stoneway, the chances of more snow falling before morning. Paige glared into space for a few minutes, but soon she joined the conversation as well. Tess felt Paige's curious glance on her several times before the meal was served, but Harry continued to delicately steer the conversation away from the subject of Joe Latimer. "I brought your cordless phone," Paige said eventually, "and Deborah says you need to check your voice mail at home. She's been taking care of the business calls, but she says there's one personal message you need to hear." Tess nodded, not wanting to think about L.A. They sat in Stoneway's main dining room, with its high open rafters, wide expanses of small, leaded window panes, and gleaming woodwork. Amid the rustic, casual atmosphere the warm hum of unstilted conversation filled the room. A fire crackled in the gigantic stone hearth and a trio of musicians played down-to-earth tunes to which diners sporadically sang along or clapped their hands. Most of the other diners were skiers, who tended to congregate in small groups in the big dining room, wearing colorful sweaters. They were young people--or young at heart-with bright eyes, glowing skin, glistening hair, and lively voices. Laughter continuously drifted from one corner or another of the dining hall. The effect was exhilarating. Halfway through the meal, Tess realized she'd been staring unseeing at an oil painting on the nearest wall. She focused on it. It was unusual for a dining room, a portrayal of a hunter shooting at an elk. The elk performed an agonized contortion, seemingly mid-air, as it was struck while attempting to flee. Tess realized an awkward silence had dropped over the table. She looked at Paige and Harry. The expression in Paige's eyes startled Tess. Paige glared furiously at something, or someone, behind Tess, in the direction of the entrance to the dining hall. Tess started to turn around, to see what Paige was looking at, when Harry grasped her arm, wearing a sudden eager smile on his face. "Tess, you haven't told me much about this inn, and I'm fascinated by it. It's a grand place, not at all what I expected to find out here in--" "The back of beyond?" Paige put in. She still frowned, but her focus had shifted back to Tess and Harry. "It is a nice place. I'm glad we came here."
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"Angie's grandfather built it. Angie's done a lot of renovations since she took over. I think she's done an amazing job. You should ask her to tell you more about it, Harry." "I'll do that. It would make a terrific setting for a photo shoot. We could do a whole story here. Another drink, Tess? Have you had any new thoughts about the name change?" "No more for me, thanks. I need more time to think about the name." "Yes. Of course, give it more time. Would the added publicity make you uncomfortable?" "You're the extroverts in this business." Tess stopped, because she wanted to say she didn't feel half the same commitment to the magazine that she knew they each did. She'd been too caught up in her feelings about her family, the past, and Joe to notice what was going on in her feelings about her work, now that she was away from the office. Tess knew the reason the tea party book didn't yet have a title was that she'd been waiting for something about it to light a fire inside her, the way her other books had. This one was work, that was all. Pleasant work, but still just work. She hadn't felt passionate about that work in a long time. "I'm still thinking things through." "Let's order dessert and coffee," Paige said decisively. "You two go ahead." Tess pushed her half-eaten food away. "We have a full day planned tomorrow. I think I'll run home now, if you don't mind. I didn't get much sleep last night." She stood and picked up her purse. "But you can't go yet." Paige looked alarmed. "I'm sorry. I know it's early and you just got here, but I'm bushed." Tess started to turn away, but something in Paige's eyes stopped her. She looked closely at her friend. Paige lowered her gaze, but not soon enough for Tess to miss the anger that still smoldered in their depths. "Paige, what is it?" Paige said nothing, but Tess had already witnessed her angry glance toward the entrance. Tess felt a cold prickle at the nape of her neck. Paige had focused in that direction, with the same anger in her eyes, minutes earlier. Tess turned around, scanning the crowd. It didn't take long to pick out the object of Paige's animosity. Seated at a table near the doorway, sharing a meal and a bottle of wine with two other people, was Joe Latimer. One of the people with him was a well-dressed older man, with the athletic build and tan of someone who spent a lot of time on tennis courts and ski trails. It took Tess a few seconds to recognize him as Ned Cambridge. The other person was Jessica Laine, looking svelte in a low-cut gold satin dress. Her blonde hair hung sleek and golden in the lamplight. Jessica sat near enough to brush thighs with Joe, and she appeared to hang on his every word while he spoke animatedly to Ned.
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Tess's heart went cold inside her as she studied Joe seated there beside his fiancée. Tess couldn't help but let her gaze linger, taking in the fine, strong lines of Joe's cheekbones, his wavy black hair and moustache, that spark of intelligence in his eyes. It was unmistakable, even glimpsed across a crowded room. The sight of him brought a stab of pain. Tess turned back to her friends. Both were watchful, concerned. Paige shook her head. "The nerve of him." "You're better off, Tess," Harry offered. Suddenly Tess was unaccountably angry with her two friends. "Stop it. Stop it, both of you!" She hissed at them. She blinked back tears and took a deep breath. "I'll see you both in the morning." Tess walked across the dining hall with all the dignity she could marshal. She had to pass by Joe's table, and as she neared it she felt his gaze settle on her. She thought she heard him call her name out low. She walked past the table with her back straight, her chin level, and her eyes on the wide, open doorway to the lobby, where a large black bear, a taxidermist's nightmare from half a century ago, reigned over the front desk, looking about to swipe at an innocent guest. Tess remembered it from when she'd worked here as a teenager. She'd always hated the bear. It gave the lobby a disquieting atmosphere, not at all conducive, in her mind, to fun and relaxation. Tess was surprised Angie kept it around, and she recoiled a little as she walked past it. Its size alone was intimidating. As she passed the bear, she nearly collided with Trent Cambridge. Tess knew him instantly. She stopped and stared at him. Trent appeared just as shocked to see her. Then his handsome, clean-cut face took on a familiar expression that made Tess feel ill, as she froze there, paralyzed with fear. "Pardon me." He nodded, with a smug look, and headed the other way, out the lobby door. Tess stood there, unmoving. She felt seventeen again, and scared out of her wits. Would Trent be waiting out there for her, when she went to her car? She cast around the empty lobby, not sure what to do. She had nowhere else to go but out to that parking lot, so she could get home. She couldn't go back and face Joe, or Paige and Harry. She wanted to get home. She used to work here at Stoneway, but at the moment she felt entirely lost. "Tess?" Alan's voice, close behind her, startled her. She turned back into the hallway to face him, not four feet from the dining room entrance and the table at which Joe and his companions sat. Alan's eyes and light brown hair gleamed in the light of the big fireplace nearby. "Hey, you were a million miles away." "I suppose I was."
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Alan smiled, and Tess forced herself to smile too, though without much genuine force behind it. "I tried to phone you at home earlier. Then Angie told me your friends had arrived from L.A. I hoped to buy you dinner. You're alone? Have you been abandoned?" He glanced around. "No. I left them. I'm not good company tonight. I--didn't get much sleep." "Well, you look sensational. There's dancing in the lounge, and danceable music." He nodded in that direction. Tess could hear the beat of the band playing there. "How about one drink and one dance?" Tess hesitated. "You'd make my night for me. My motives are purely selfish. I want to be seen with the most beautiful woman in the place tonight. Won't you boost a poor fellow's ego?" Tess nodded, with a sudden desire to avoid going anywhere near Trent Cambridge, and, secondary to that, a wish to simply abandon herself to some fun in the hope it would numb her to everything else. "How could I refuse in the face of blatant flattery? All right. One drink and one dance." "It's still early," Alan said with a wide grin as he wrapped her arm in his and steered her toward the lounge. "Maybe I can coax more out of you." As they moved away, Tess heard a loud "Humph!" She thought it came from Ned Cambridge. "Here she is," Alan said to Angie and her brother Kevin, in the lounge. "What'll you have, Tess?" Kevin asked from behind the bar. "May I make a recommendation?" "Recommend away." Kevin drew a Canadian ale into a frosty mug for her. Tess took a seat at the bar, while Alan wandered away toward the band, which had paused for a break. "I guess you saw Joe," Angie said behind Tess. Tess nodded. "They're engaged." "Might as well be, and the uncle's all for it. I tried to warn you about them." "It was too late by then." Tess turned toward Angie with a grim smile. "So that's how it is? This is your month, isn't it?"
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Tess shrugged. Angie straightened and moved closer to her. "Have you learned anything from your mother's journals?" Tess shook her head. She put her beer down, untouched. Her stomach felt leaden. Her mother's words came back to her. They tell me a head injury can change people. I hope I get my little girl back, the way she used to be. How could her mother have believed Tess to be anything other than who she was? A young girl, eager for life, broadening her horizons. Tess had never been in any trouble, before her accident. Why had her mother been so convinced she was up to something she wasn't? Because she'd stayed out late a few nights? Because she'd dropped her old shyness and made some new and unusual friends? Because Tess and her new friends had wanted to be different? Was it simply because Tess had made new friends, and questioned the religion she'd grown up with, that her parents began to distrust her? So much so that they believed her capable of truly criminal behavior? That didn't make any more sense now than it had back then, when Tess had become so hyperaware of her parents' disapproval that she'd second-guessed every move, afraid they'd get the wrong impression about what she was up to. She'd done her best to comply with their rules, their desires. How could they have been so wrong about her? They lived with her! "Tess?" Angie prompted. "Nothing. Nothing but more grief," Tess finally said, with another shake of her head. "What does that mean?" Angie sat down on the bar stool beside her, ready to listen. "It means I should've come home years ago, whether they wanted me to or not. At least I would've seen Spence again." She turned to meet Angie's gaze. Angie looked down then. Tess needed to change the subject. "The place looks great, Angie. I can't believe what you've done with it." Tess recalled the place had seemed run down to her when she worked here, years ago. Angie had made a lot of changes. "How did you manage to do so much?" Angie gave a half-shrug in reply. "Tess?" Alan was beside her. He grasped her hand and urged her toward the dance floor. The band had started a slow, romantic song. Tess looked curiously at Alan. "You did promise." His smile was contagious. "I requested a slow one." She relented, and moved onto the dance floor with him. He held her close. "You'll feel much better soon. I promise." "When did you become friends with Angie?" Tess asked him, recalling how he and Angie had bantered about their hunting exploits, like old pals, after the funeral a few days ago.
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"After you went away, we consoled each other and tried to figure out where you'd gone. Your parents wouldn't tell us." "I never knew that." "I guess we commiserated long enough that we eventually realized we had a few other interests in common, besides you." "I'm glad the commiserating wasn't a total waste of time." "We hunt together, that's about it, but she's encouraging me to see more of you while you're here. Would you mind that?" Tess didn't know what to say. If Angie was fixing her up with Alan, Tess hadn't asked to be fixed up. She'd forgotten about Alan years ago, and didn't feel the same attraction to him that she once had. Nothing even close. "Your silence isn't reassuring." "I'm sorry. There are a lot of other things on my mind right now besides dating, that's all." "Well. That's understandable." Alan held her close, and said no more. After their dance, Tess asked Alan to walk her out to her car. She drove home, attempting to push Joe out of her mind, while she puzzled over the blackmail letter, which she and her partners had avoided discussing in the public setting of the main dining room. They couldn't discuss it tomorrow either, during the shopping trip to Sacramento with Ed. Kevin's party was tomorrow night. It would be Tuesday before they could talk about it. Tess hated waiting that long to go to the sheriff. When she arrived home, Tess parked in front of the house with an uneasy feeling. She glimpsed her snow angels as she hurried up the walkway, noting they were untouched. She unlocked the door, and bent to pick up a piece of paper that was stuck partway under the front door. It was a handwritten note: "Heard you were back in town. Funny we should bump into each other. I waited for you in the parking lot. Catch you next time. T." Certain the "T" of the note was Trent Cambridge, Tess was afraid to enter the house-and afraid to stay outside. She went in, locked the door right behind her, and turned on every light as she headed to the kitchen and the phone. She hadn't given Paige a chance to get her cordless phone from her room for her, so the kitchen was still the only place Tess could make a call. She thought about calling the sheriff. What would she say, that Trent Cambridge had left a note on her door? Only it didn't say Trent, he hadn't signed it. It wouldn't appear threatening to anyone but Tess. It could be from anyone, signed with nothing more than an initial. She rummaged in her purse for the card the deputy had given her. Finally she called the number, and asked
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for Deputy Prescott. He'd seemed to take her fears seriously. He'd been the one to suggest she get the locks changed, and he'd mentioned Trent. "He's off duty," the woman who answered the phone told her. "Do you want to leave a message, or speak to another officer?" "Neither. Thank you." Tess hung up. When she went to bed, Tess noticed all the journals stacked on the nightstand. In a fit of melancholy, she got up and retrieved an empty box from the garage. She packed all her mother's journals into the box, and put it in her studio cabinet, where she'd stored all her family's other possessions. "I can't face you right now, either, Mom." Tess wasn't able to sleep until late. The house was empty and cold, and her mind was full of loose threads of thought. She thought about Trent, and every creak of the settling woodwork frightened her. She woke up in the middle of the night and felt lost in the emptiness of the big bed. She longed to have Joe here. She finally slept, dozing fitfully until morning. Chapter 12 Monday dawned brilliant, warm and sparkling. The weather didn't do anything to improve Tess's mood, even when she remembered the shopping trip scheduled for today, which she'd hoped would provide a diversion from her problems. She showered and dried her hair, taking much longer than usual to do so, because she kept dawdling, caught up in one memory after another of the hours--there were surprisingly few of them--that she'd spent with Joe Latimer since her return. Paige and Harry arrived and scolded her affectionately for not being ready to leave. While she finished dressing Harry made a quick breakfast for them. They grabbed their coats when they heard Ed Greene's mini-van in the driveway. Ed greeted them with his broad, salesman's grin. "Look who's coming with us today." Joe Latimer stepped out of the car behind him. "Joe has some business in Sacramento, so I suggested he ride along with us." Joe nodded a silent greeting to them, catching Tess's eye. He held her gaze for long seconds, as if looking for an answer to a question in her eyes. Tess drew in her breath and stiffened, remembering too clearly how she'd seen him last night, seated beside Jessica. Yet a part of her felt a thrill at the sight of him standing under the blue sky, his marvelous eyes focused on her. You're pitiful, she told herself in disgust. They piled into the mini-van, and somehow Joe maneuvered into a place beside Tess, in the back. Tess couldn't help but be conscious of him, so near their shoulders touched. Tess remained aware, all during the drive into the valley, of the wonderful male scent of him, the nearness of the shining black hair she'd run her fingers through yesterday morning. His voice was like a touch each time he spoke, entering easily into conversation with the others.
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Paige and Harry were both quiet and constrained at first, but Joe drew them out, and soon they conversed with him casually. Paige caught Tess's glance and shrugged, as if to ask what else she could do? She was being civil. Tess remained quiet through most of the drive. In Sacramento, Ed parked in front of a large outdoor mall. The sun was much warmer here, and Tess and Paige both shed their coats to leave them in the car. Tess folded her coat neatly and placed it on the car seat. When she turned, Ed and Joe were both staring at her, each wearing a different expression. Ed's was a look of open admiration mingled with curiosity. "That dress looks familiar. I'm sure I've seen it before, on someone else." Tess wore her brown wool dress, identical to the one Jessica Laine had worn on the first night Tess had met her. "If you've been shopping for your wife, you may have seen it on a store dummy," Paige said. "I was with Tess when she bought it, in a store much like the ones here." "That must be it." Ed led them away from the car. Tess surmised that Ed had seen the dress on Jessica, who'd passed it off as something unique and pricey. She turned to follow him and found Joe still watching her, his gaze on her dress. Ed showed them the five or six dresses he'd narrowed his choice to, and Paige and Harry were both instantly in their element. Harry had worked for a fashion magazine, and Paige was an inveterate shopper. Ed got into a lengthy discussion with Harry about Laura's coloring and color preferences, what he thought she looked best in, and so on. Tess found it hard to concentrate on the business at hand, and she hung back, silent and full of her own thoughts. She kept catching herself daydreaming, and soon the others drifted away to other racks of clothing, leaving her behind. "Tess?" Joe was beside her, his hand on her arm. "Are you all right?" She looked up into his eyes. "I'm fine." Tess turned toward the others, only to find with a shock that they were nowhere in sight. She suddenly felt as she had when she was a little girl and would get lost while shopping with her mom. She experienced the same instant of panic now. She let out a cry under her breath. "You don't look as if you slept at all last night. Alan should've known better than to tire you out dancing." Joe's voice was edgy. Tess turned to look at him, amazed that he had the gall to be jealous of her and Alan. "He did nothing of the kind. Alan was kind to me. I find his company . . . relaxing." She wanted to ask if he'd enjoyed his dinner with Jessica last night, but held her tongue.
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"Tess, come look at this," Paige called nearby. Tess tugged her arm out of Joe's grasp and hurried away in the direction of Paige's voice. The simple dress was made of elegant French blue silk, with a modestly scooping neckline. It could be dressed up with a jacket, scarf or wrap, and was a suitable length for any occasion. Ed decided within a few minutes on the purchase. He couldn't wait to see it on Laura. Soon he had it gift-wrapped and paid for, and the small group decided to split up and do the rest of their shopping separately. It was nearly holiday season, and they'd get a head start on next weekend's crowds. They agreed to meet at one o'clock for lunch in a nearby coffee shop. Tess was leaving a book store, later, when she saw Joe walk into the jeweler's across the way. She'd planned to go there next to look for a gift for Paige, but after seeing him go in, Tess changed her course and headed for another shop. When the time neared to meet at the coffee shop for lunch, Tess set out briskly in that direction. She passed the jewelry store again and the display in the window caught her eye. She paused to look, though she'd already found a gift for Paige. When she was about to walk on she heard a salesman's voice inside the shop, near the open door. "Thank you, Mr. Latimer. I'm sure your lovely fiancée will be delighted with your choice. Come again soon, won't you?" Tess froze, as the words rang home. Joe had purchased jewelry for Jessica. He must have spent considerable time choosing the gift. He'd been in that shop for well over an hour. It's none of my business, Tess told herself. She watched Joe come out of the shop and turn away in the other direction. She shivered, in spite of the warmth of the sunlight. Bemused and depressed, she felt more alone than ever. She hung back and waited for a few minutes before she followed Joe to the coffee shop. He was waiting at the door, the first one there, and he shot her a brilliant smile when he saw her. "I see your shopping was fruitful. Let me take some of those for you." He took most of her packages off her hands. She thanked him coolly, at a loss for words after what she'd heard outside the jeweler's. Did he have to be so nice to her right now? She would've been relieved to be able to dislike him. It would be so much less painful than loving him without any hope of her love being returned. Joe stood close to her. "Tess, I'd like to ask you something." She looked up, praying silently that he wouldn't want her opinion of whatever he'd purchased for Jessica. She couldn't bear that. "Kevin Norwood's birthday party is tonight, at Stoneway. I'd like you to accompany me."
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She stared at him for a few seconds. Why did he do this to her? Did he enjoy torturing her, tearing her apart emotionally? "Why don't you ask Jessica to go with you?" Her words were sharp. He stared at her, and a frown slowly creased his forehead. "You don't understand, Tess." "No, I don't understand you!" She hurried to the restroom at the back of the coffee shop. Paige found Tess there, minutes later, splashing cool water on her face and tearreddened eyes. "Joe said you ran in here." She handed Tess a paper towel. "He thought maybe you weren't feeling well." Tess didn't speak, for fear her tears would start again. She hadn't intended to cry when she ran in here. She'd only wanted to get away from Joe until the others arrived. "Love sucks, Tessie, and man have you got a bad case." Paige shook her head. "Here." She took Tess's purse from her and opened it to find her makeup pouch. "Cosmetics are a woman's arsenal. Sometimes they're all the armor you have against a cruel world." Paige talked about things totally unrelated to her troubles while Tess freshened her makeup. Finally she thought she looked close to herself again and ventured a weak smile at her reflection. "That's more like it. Let's go eat. I'm starved." Tess felt awkward arriving at their table under the concerned scrutiny of the others. The men stood, and Joe was quick to pull out a chair for her. She thanked him, and was relieved when Harry took up the conversation right where the men had left off. Tess sat quietly composing herself, listening to the others talk. She was hungry, and when the food arrived she focused her attention on that. When Ed dropped them off at her house, Tess told Paige and Harry she needed some time alone. They drove away at once, leaving Tess to her privacy. She checked to make sure all the downstairs windows and doors were locked, then she warmed up the house and took a relaxing bath. She didn't want to go to Kevin's party at all now, but she'd promised both Angie and Kevin that she would, and Paige and Harry were expecting her. She started to get ready early, so she could take her time. ### Rose Latimer came to Kevin's party at Stoneway, but Joe didn't, to Tess's relief. She didn't think she could face him again today. Jessica's word alone may not have convinced Tess fully of their engagement, but the jewelry salesman could only have known of it from Joe himself. Joe was entirely out of Tess's reach, for any appropriate relationship. If the blackmail letters hadn't been enough to drive her away from Cedar Creek for good, her need to avoid Joe Latimer very well might.
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Kevin introduced Harry and Paige around to all of his friends, and Harry and Rose Latimer danced together in the lounge while Paige and Tess witnessed Harry's unmistakable attraction to Joe's unpretentious sister. "I believe our favorite Englishman may have picked himself a blushing Rose," Paige murmured in Tess's ear as they watched the pair dance. "Oh gods, now I'm punning!" Tess smiled. "You're a romantic, Paige." "I think it's the altitude. I'm much more of a cynic at home." Tess chatted with old friends from school, and danced with Kevin, remarking to him how impressed she was with all he and Angie had done at Stoneway. "It's all Angie's doing. I just work here. The place was close to bankruptcy when Granddad died, so I'm as impressed as anyone. She sure stresses over marketing, though. Makes me relieved to be only an employee. I hope you'll encourage her to take some time off with you while you're here." Tess danced with Alan again, twice. Then Angie beckoned her away, to her office. Tess followed her through the dimly lit lobby, past the stuffed black bear. They went through the opening behind the front desk into the office beyond. It was a small space, crowded with file cabinets, three chairs, the desk and a credenza. A computer and laser printer took up much of the space on the desktop and the credenza. Angie sat at the big desk and unlocked a bottom drawer. "Kevin rarely comes in here, so this is where I hid his gift." She brought out a wooden case and opened it up. A large knife gleamed inside the case, its dark wood handle inlaid with silver. "Is that a hunting knife?" "Uh-huh." "Beautifully worked handle." Angie looked up at her. "I don't know why I'm showing you. I know you're not interested in hunting. At least you never used to be." "I'm sure Kevin will love it, if he's a hunter." "He's new to it, he first went with us this fall. We're planning an outing in a couple of days. Would you like to go? I'll convince Alan to come if you do." "Alan?" Suddenly Tess understood. "Angie, are you trying to fix me up With Alan?" "I'm apparently better at it than I thought. It took you forever to catch on. I can loan you anything you need." Angie nodded toward one wall of the office. Tess only then noticed the gun rack on that wall, full of hunting rifles. A compound bow and other hunting implements hung on the same wall.
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Angie closed the box containing Kevin's gift and placed it in a gift bag. She signed a card while Tess continued to look around the office. "On second thought, if you don't have a tag, you're not going to get one at this late date. You'd have to come along as an observer." "I'd forgotten you liked to hunt." Once when they were teens, Angie had talked Tess into going with her and her grandfather, when they hunted with some of their friends. Tess had packed along art supplies and been happy to do some nature sketching while she trailed as quietly as possible after the others. When one member of the party had killed a deer, Tess had been ready to go home, and thought she was finished with hunting for life. Angie watched her now. "Still not your speed?" "I'm afraid not. What are you going to hunt?" "Black bear." Tess couldn't help a glance over her shoulder toward the lobby where the black bear stood. "Oh that thing's old as the hills." "I'll stick to playing in the snow." Angie grinned, shaking her head. "It's a wonder you're not a vegetarian. Oh, Alan doesn't ski. He thinks clearing slopes for skiing is an affront to the environment. He's only considering coming on this hunt because of you. He says the only reason he hunts deer is it helps balance the population, since we've killed off most of the predators. Personally, I think he's full of crap, making excuses because he loves to hunt and hates to ski. He probably has two left feet. How was he at dancing?" Angie went on without waiting for an answer. "In any case, I'm sure we'll find something you two still have in common." "We have the same thing in common we always did, our artwork. But, Angie, I don't want to be fixed up, with Alan or anyone else. I haven't decided yet whether I'm staying, you know." She was thinking she might leave when Paige and Harry did, after Thanksgiving. "Okay, but Alan will be disappointed, and I was hoping to get your mind off you-knowwho for the rest of your visit." Angie smiled and picked up the gift bag. "Come on, I want to give this to Kevin." Tess didn't think anyone or anything would get her mind off Joe Latimer anytime soon. She returned to the party, where she danced, visited with old friends, and watched Kevin open his gifts. When she was so tired she feared she would fall asleep standing up, and her yawns were out of control, she went home alone and lost herself in a deep, exhausted sleep. ### On Tuesday Tess went to the old Victorian house at noon, and dropped in on Rose in her bookshop.
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"I want to invite you to Thanksgiving dinner at my house," Tess told her, thinking Joe would no doubt spend Thanksgiving with his fiancée, so Rose might be at odds. "Harry will be there. So will Paige, Ed and Laura. Angie and Kevin have even promised to come, if they can get away. Bring a guest if you like." Rose nodded. "Thank you. I think I'll come with Joe, if you don't mind." "Of course," Tess said after only a second's hesitation. "Um, let him know about it, will you, when you see him? I haven't had a chance to invite him yet." Rose showed her around Fabled Rose. Afterward they sat in the private portion of the room Rose had screened off as an office space. Her laptop computer was there, and a typing chair, along with a chair for a visitor. A small table held a laser printer. Rose moved books off another tiny table between the two chairs, and as she did so Tess glimpsed titles having to do with hunting. Archer's Bible and The Elk Hunter, among others. "You're a hunter too?" Tess said in some surprise. So soon after her conversation with Angie last night, the sight of those books had her wondering if she was the only person from Cedar Creek who shunned the sport. Rose followed her gaze to the books, and her face reddened. "Oh, those. They're . . . research. I borrowed them, and I put them here so I'd remember to return them. I've been doing some writing." She said this as though confessing a crime. "What are you writing?" Rose's smile was meek and radiant at once. "A novel." "Rose, that's fantastic." "I used to write essays. The Sacramento paper ran a couple of them. I've written some stories for children, for a magazine, and I've always kept a journal, like your mother did, but I've never tackled anything like this. It's a huge project. I stalled on the fourth chapter for a few weeks, but in the past few days I've taken off again. The characters have come to life for me, and I can't stop thinking about it. Just when I thought I was done with the research, I came up with something new that I needed to learn." "Soon you'll be busy doing book signings." Rose blushed. "Thank you, Tess. You're what I needed today, to encourage me to keep going. You know, you inspired me with your studio. I've set aside a workspace in the den now, for my writing. I've been taking the laptop back and forth between here and home." She paused. "I keep finding myself hoping you'll decide to move back here." Her smile saddened. "You'll stay in touch with me, won't you, whether things work out between you and Joe or not?" Tess studied Rose's face, thinking Rose must not know yet about Joe's engagement, though she couldn't imagine why he would keep that from his sister. "Our friendship is a
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separate thing." Tess assured Rose that if she went back to L.A. she would keep in touch. She gave her the phone numbers in L.A. to seal her promise. "Have you decided yet whether you're going to bake for our grand opening, and try out the place for your own business?" Tess shook her head. "I'm afraid I'm leaning toward not doing it." "Oh, that's too bad. I hope you'll reconsider. Joe keeps telling me you're a wonderful cook. Harry says the same thing. He mentioned you've been doing some baking." Rose looked so disappointed Tess felt a need to explain. "I admit, there's something about this place that inspires me to cook. The fresh air gives me a huge appetite. If I stay much longer, I'll be so fat someone will have to roll me around, but I doubt I'll be here much longer, so I don't--" Tess stopped, because a strange expression had come over Rose's face. "I've upset you." Rose shook her head. "Sorry. Old self-consciousness rearing its ugly head. I don't know if you remember, but I used to be terribly overweight. You'd think I'd be over it now, but sometimes the mere mention of the word fat brings it all back. The kids making fun, you know. Don't mind me." She took on a sad expression. Tess remembered the pep talks her mother used to give her about her appearance whenever she felt particularly gawky as a girl. "You miss my mom right now, don't you?" Rose stared at her, mouth open. "How did you--" Then she smiled and nodded. "You would know better than anyone how encouraging she could be. I lived away during my first two years of college, and I lost a lot of weight. Then I came back here to live. That summer, I dated someone I thought was special, but when I started gaining weight again, he--well, he actually turned on me. He was abusive. It was a painful time for me. That was shortly before you went away, and after you did--well, let's say I can honestly give Cathy--your mom--credit for pulling me through that and the work it took to get those pounds back off again, when I was still depressed over what happened with him." Rose's expression had softened. She went on, "Maybe it was because she missed you that she took me under her wing the way she did. She made me feel less of an emptiness that needed to be filled with food. I don't know how she did it, but if you could bottle that magic of hers you could make a fortune." Tess wondered where that magic had been when her mother had kept her away all those years. "I think Cathy made me a foster daughter, to fill your place in her life," Rose said, watching Tess with a remote expression. "I used to wonder, if you came back, whether she and I could still be as close. I confess to a certain amount of envy toward you." Envy? Tess's glance fell on the laser printer again, and she recalled the blackmail letters, which could've been printed on a laser printer. She'd seen laser printers in Angie's office and here, but this one surprised her, because Rose had said she was on a tight budget and had taken out a loan to purchase inventory for her shop.
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"That's a nice printer," Tess said, hating her suspicions and her jealousy. "I got it at a sale the school had. Every few years they replace old computer equipment. It needed work, but Alan helped me find a place that repairs them. He works at the print shop, you know, and all the business people wind up there sooner or later, so he knows them all. I paid so little for the printer to begin with, even with the cost of the repair it was a bargain." Tess felt guilty for asking about it. She got up to leave. Then she couldn't help wondering about Alan and his job at the printer's. Could he have written the blackmail letters? But why would Angie, Rose or Alan do it? She'd begun to suspect everyone around her. "Tess, may I bring dessert, on Thursday? Blackberry and pumpkin pies?" Rose blushed again, prettily. Tess nodded. "That would be a great help. Thank you." ### Tess arrived home that afternoon in a terrible mood. She wished she hadn't walked into the big old house today, because it made her realize she was giving up on her girlhood dream again without trying it out--because Joe Latimer had broken her heart, of all the childish reasons. She remembered that Joe wanted her to name the house. She'd promised him she would come up with something. She sat in her kitchen and thought about possible names. All she came up with for the first few minutes were the names that she, Paige and Harry had brainstormed as possible magazine names. There were dozens of them, and they made her wince at the idea of going back to L.A. She visualized the Victorian, and the businesses it housed. Bookkeeping services, artwork, bath products, gifts, books, and the empty restaurant space. Some were useful, some were beautiful or luxurious, others nourishing. "Nourishing?" Tess shook her head. Then she realized she'd been making a mistake whenever she visualized the bakery. People didn't live on cookies and cakes. Bakeries sold bread too. She took a blank sheet of paper and began writing. Soon she had a simple menu worked up, for tasty, nourishing meals, foods that people would want to eat every day. "That's it," she told herself once she had the menu written out. It included sandwiches, breads, roast meats, salads, and a few savory soups that would keep well in a steam table. There would be a soup of the day, a salad of the day, and quiche or frittata as specials. By the time she had the menu worked out she was wide awake, and excited. Tess was suddenly impassioned by the idea of the business. It would mean working within
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proximity of Joe Latimer, doing business with him. In spite of that, maybe it was worth a try, at least for the grand opening. Then she could leave if it didn't work out. That was when the phone rang. It was Rose. "Tess, I forgot to tell you earlier, Karen Jensen came by the school library to see me this morning. She asked if I'd be hiring anyone to help out in the book shop. I hated having to turn her down, but there's no way I'll have enough work to hire anyone for some time. I thought about you, though. I didn't say anything to her because I didn't want to get her hopes up. Are you likely to hire someone to wait tables, if you decide to make a go of the bakery?" "I would have to. As a matter of fact, Rose, I have reconsidered. I've decided to cook for the grand opening, and see how it goes." She told Rose about the menu she'd devised. Rose was delighted. "Joe will be so happy." That was not what Tess needed to hear. "Well. I'll keep Karen in mind." She wondered why Karen had quit her job at Stoneway, if she still wanted one. Tess sat down at the table again and looked over her menu. Cedar Creek's only restaurants were currently at Stoneway, which was outside of town by a couple of miles. There was no convenient place right in town for people to eat. The only restaurant in Wilder was the diner whose coffee Tess couldn't swallow a few mornings ago. Dr. Lloyd had said he didn't know how they stayed in business, and Tess knew the old lodge near Wilder had been closed for years. It was possible her ideas would work, that they'd even bring in substantial business. Tess began free associating: art, house, gifts, books, bath, bookkeeping, and bakery. They were all cottage businesses. They were all creative or constructive in their own way. Creativity Cottage. Tess shook her head. Then she wrote a name in the center of a sheet of paper and looked at it for a few minutes: Cottage Arts. She went to the phone and called Joe's office. When Joe came to the phone, Tess simply said, "Cottage Arts." He was silent for a minute. Then he said, "I like it. By the way, we're getting a yarn shop. A woman came by and spoke to Rose about it this morning. I just called her. She's going to sign a lease this afternoon. I don't know anything about yarn, myself. I do know a thing or two about sheep. . ." Tess grinned to herself. "It's perfect, it fits right in." "I'm glad you think so. I'm arranging for us to all meet tomorrow morning, in the restaurant space, to work out our plan for the grand opening. Can you be there at nine to present your name idea to the group?" "Yes."
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"Great. I'll see you then." Tess smiled to herself after their brief conversation. Then, when she realized how much she looked forward to the meeting tomorrow morning, partly because it meant seeing Joe, she was disgusted with herself all over again for letting him get to her. The phone rang then. "This is Duane," the caller said. It took her a moment to realize Duane was Deputy Prescott. "I thought you'd want to know the latest on the investigation into your family's crash. The lab confirmed today that one of the front tires was cut, through the side wall, with a sharp object, something with a double-edged blade. Because of the way it was damaged, and the skid marks, the forensics people think the van was moving at the time it happened. It doesn't appear to have been any ordinary road hazard or debris." It took Tess a moment to speak. She sat down on the kitchen stool. "Something with a double-edged blade? Are you saying someone threw a knife at their van while they were moving? That's too bizarre, isn't it?" "Something like a knife struck the tire's side wall, but I'm not saying it was a knife. We don't know what it was. There was nothing found at the scene that could've caused that kind of damage." "They were murdered then?" The idea still stunned her. "Until we know what caused the damage, we won't know for certain, but it's looking more and more suspicious. I'm going to need to ask you, and others who knew them, further questions. We'd also like you to take a good look at their personal effects, see if there's anything there that raises questions for you. Are you available tomorrow? I can bring them out there." She told him she'd be at Cottage Arts tomorrow morning, that she didn't know how long she'd be. He offered to meet her there, and she described where it was. "My father's cane is still missing. Did you find that?" He consulted his report of items found in the wreckage and told her there was no cane listed. Chapter 13 Tess was more anxious than ever, after her phone call from the deputy, unable to stop thinking her family may have been deliberately killed. She wondered if she would have the courage to stay here, if the grand opening proved to her that she could make her business idea work. She decided to bring refreshments to the meeting, in the morning, to give everyone a sample of the fare she'd offer for the grand opening. She made a pot of barley beef soup and baked a few varieties of sweet bread, along with more of the snow angel cookies.
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Tess had invited Paige and Harry for dinner, and they sampled the soup as a first course. Both immediately voiced their approval. "You know we'll scarf up anything you cook," Paige told her. Harry rolled his eyes. "The connoisseur speaks. It's delicious, Tess." "Thank you. I'm hoping you'll be able to help me move some things from here over to Cottage Arts tomorrow afternoon. There's a lot to do there in the next week, and it will help clear space here for my Thanksgiving dinner preparations." "Sure. What kinds of things?" Paige asked. "Utensils, pots, pans, dishes. Staples. I need to get set up for the grand opening, start preparing some things ahead. The cupboards are bare in that kitchen. Rose offered to help too." Though they'd agreed on the soup, the three of them couldn't come to any decision at all about the blackmail letters. Paige was morose during the meal, and Tess suspected it had something to do with her decision to help with the grand opening. Harry finally suggested they wait until after Tess's holiday gathering on Thursday to make a decision. "Let's spend Friday together. Then we'll decide once and for all, to go to the sheriff or not." ### Early Wednesday morning Tess baked whole grain rolls, and tossed a salad of spinach, bacon, and chickpeas. She made honey-Dijon dressing to go with the salad, and packed these, along with her pot of soup, into her rental car to take to the meeting at the old Victorian house. "Cottage Arts," Tess said to herself as she got out of her car and smiled up at the house. She felt incredibly happy. This effort was the one bright patch in the clouds that had hung over her since her family's deaths, except for a few stolen hours with Joe. Laura was already at work when Tess carried everything in and began setting up. She kept coming down to peek at the activity in the kitchen and dining space. By the time the others arrived Tess had three tables pushed together and a tablecloth over them. The island counter was set up buffet style, with a matching tablecloth, dishes, cutlery, and the food she'd prepared, along with coffee and tea. She'd made a centerpiece out of some colorful gourds and a small pumpkin from the local market. Laura entered the dining room first. "There are luscious smells coming out of this kitchen. Tess, you're amazing!" Soon five business people gathered at the table in the dining room, and Rose introduced Megan Thomas, who'd leased space for her yarn shop. Neither Joe nor Jessica Laine had arrived yet. When Joe failed to turn up by nine, Rose apologized and said she'd run across the street and find out what was delaying him. Tess offered to go instead. "You all represent the committed businesses here. I'm still wavering. Start your meeting, and I'll run over and remind Joe of the time." She'd already
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told them about her proposed name, Cottage Arts, and they were discussing it as she left, getting acquainted with the sound of it. Tess hurried across the street. The door to the veterinary office was unlocked, and the open sign was out. Tess went into the front room and glanced around. There were chairs and a bench in the front room, and a counter as a reception desk. A woman sat behind it, at a narrow desk with a computer, a laser printer, a hi-speed printer with billing forms feeding through it, and two telephones. The space behind the desk was filled with file cabinets and storage cabinets, as well as a small refrigerator. One woman sat in the small waiting area. So far Joe appeared to have more business than Dr. Lloyd. Tess was about to ask the woman at the reception desk if Dr. Latimer was in, when the door to an inner room opened and Joe came out with a teenage boy and a golden retriever puppy on a lead. Joe wore a white lab coat, and he grinned as he spoke to the boy, and then his mother who'd been waiting out here. Joe took some forms over to the reception desk and got the billing process started. Finally he smiled at Tess and glanced at his watch. "I'm late, aren't I? Let me wash up, and I'll be right over." He returned to the back room, leaving the door open. Tess glimpsed a row of cages and kennels where sick or postoperative pets must spend the night sometimes. Tess caught sight of two kittens housed together in a cage. One kitten was pure white and the other pure black. Both were fluffy little fur balls, as sweet as any creature she'd ever laid eyes on. She had to get a closer look at them. She followed Joe in. He'd removed the lab coat and was scrubbing his hands at the sink at the far end of the room, his back to her. When he finished and turned around to find her enraptured by the kittens, he laughed. "Uh-oh, that looks like love." "They're so precious!" Tess only glanced his way, mesmerized by the kittens, who played together, leaping around and tumbling over each other in the cage, a couple of furry little clowns. The black one looked up, saw Tess watching, and came over to gaze at her and greet her with a soft mew. "Ohh. . ." Tess had just raised her hand to touch the tiny paw the kitten pressed to the side of the cage, when Joe drew her away, taking her hand in his. "Come on, we have a meeting." He spoke in an indulgent tone, and he continued to hold her hand as they crossed the street. "Joe, do they have a home?" He stopped inside the front door of the old house and turned to her, then looked down at her hand in his. Tess pulled her hand from his, but kept her eyes on him, waiting for an answer. "They're spoken for, yes." He watched her face. "What if they weren't?"
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"I'd--" She stopped herself short of saying she would adopt them, or buy them, or whatever she had to do to make them a part of her life. "Well, if they're spoken for, there's no sense in--" "That's not what I asked." He was teasing now. "I'd want to take them home with me, today." She smiled. "Right this minute." "Both of them?" "Yes. You're right, I fell in love." His smile broadened at her confession, and he steered her into the bakery. "Happens to me on a regular basis." Joe walked into the dining room and sat down beside Jessica, who'd arrived while Tess was across the street. Jessica clasped one of Joe's hands between her own. He removed his hand from her grasp a short time later, but it was too late for Tess to get any kind of comfort from his action, and she reminded herself again that the two were engaged. She promised to keep reminding herself of that fact, every ten minutes or so, if necessary. "Here's a seat for you, Tess," Alan said helpfully. She sat beside him, and tried to keep her mind, and her gaze, off Joe and Jessica during the meeting. Alan was having his flyers printed up and distributed in Cedar Creek and Wilder, to announce the grand opening. The group had placed an ad in the Wilder newspaper for the next few weeks, and Alan had a copy of the latest issue with him. He opened it to the full-page ad and placed it in the center of the table, along with a copy of the flyer. "Next Friday morning we open at nine o'clock sharp." "Nine?" Jessica said. "Can you be here that early, Jessica?" Laura asked. Jessica bristled at the question. "I can open my business any time I want. Tell them, Joe." Joe leaned back, raising his hands. "Don't look at me. I'm the landlord. I'll be across the street in my own office." Jessica turned to Laura. "I'll be here. Make sure you're ready, Laura." Alan spoke up. "Jess, Laura has an established client base, and in fact many of my first walk-ins have been her clients. You may find the same thing, once your shop opens, that her clients become some of your first customers. We need to work together to pull this off."
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Jessica toned down the petulant little-girl act, while Joe sat beside her appearing to ignore the episode. The food Tess had prepared went quickly, and most of the others supported her ideas about what to serve for the opening. When the meeting broke up, Alan offered to help Tess clear dishes from the table and wash up. "No need." She did want to get outside soon, though. The sky was clouding up, and she had a date with a bridge she wanted to sketch before it got too stormy, she told him. He laughed and stayed to help. "Alan, are you still a Pagan?" she asked him while they were drying dishes. He hesitated before answering. "Yes, why?" "You used to have a ceremonial knife. I remember you kept it on an altar in your room. It had a double-edged blade. What was it called?" "An athame," he said with a nod, pronouncing it ath-a-may. "What about it?" Tess shrugged. She'd been thinking about the cause of the tire damage on her family's van. She wasn't sure how to tell him this without offending him. Alan hung the towel he'd been using on the rack, took out his wallet, and opened it to show her a picture of his son, Tyler. "When we divorced, his mother started making trouble about my beliefs. She tried to make out that I was an unfit father, and she didn't want Tyler exposed to what she referred to as my alternate lifestyle. Maybe I should've fought it. It was based on pure bigotry, but she gave me a scare, you know? I didn't want to take any chance of losing custody or visiting rights with Tyler, so I decided I could practice my beliefs without using the physical trappings. I gave my athame away, along with a lot of other things. I don't keep anything more involved than a pinecone and a vase of flowers on my altar anymore, things people don't relate exclusively to Paganism." He put his wallet away, and watched Tess for a minute. "What's up, Tess? You had to have a reason for asking about that." She still hesitated to answer. "Look, Tess. I know Angie's been trying to throw us together, whatever her reasons are, and I've figured out you're not interested in me romantically. I don't have to be beaten over the head to understand that. We started out as friends, though. I like to think we still are. What's going on?" "The sheriff thinks my parents and brother were murdered." Tess described the damage to their front tire.
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Alan looked thoughtful for a moment. "So you wondered if I threw a knife at their tire? Why would I want to hurt them?" "I'm exploring all the possibilities, Alan. I can't figure out how that kind of damage could have been done to their tire. What the deputy described is an unusual type of blade. Your athame is the only thing like it I've ever seen, except in television or movies." He nodded. "Fair enough. Most athames have dull blades. They're not intended for cutting. I sharpened mine, I was unusual in that regard, but I don't own it anymore." She nodded, meeting his gaze. "If there's any way I can help you, Tess, will you let me know?" She thanked him, and invited him to her Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow. They were finished with the dishes. "I'm going to take off and sketch that bridge. Later I have some things at home to transfer over here for the grand opening. Supplies, utensils, dishes. Things I need out of the way for my holiday dinner. Rose, Paige and Harry promised to help me move them this afternoon." Alan grinned. "Few men can say they've been dismissed in favor of a bridge. It's a nice bridge. Don't be too long there, though. We've a storm on the way. Maybe I'll drop by your place later, to see if you need another hand moving things. As a friend. Would you mind?" "Not at all. Thank you, Alan." "Any time." He added more soberly, "Be careful, okay? I mean, if someone killed them. . ." They were both on their way to the door when Deputy Prescott entered the dining room, carrying a cardboard box. He greeted Tess, and placed the box on a table. Then he looked around the kitchen and dining area with a sober expression while he waited for Alan to leave. "These are your folks' things," Duane Prescott told Tess after Alan went upstairs. He nodded toward the box. "I need to have you sign for them. Then we'd like you to go through them as soon as you get a chance. We've pretty much exhausted what we can get from them, but you may find something meaningful." Before he left he asked, "Do you know of anyone who might've wanted to hurt them--or you?" She hesitated, thinking about the blackmail letter, but she didn't know who'd written it, and she and her partners still hadn't agreed on giving it to the sheriff. "I don't know who would do any of this, but I'll go through these things, right after the holiday." Deputy Prescott gave her a long look, as if sensing she was holding back. She explained to him she was on her way out. He nodded, and offered to carry the box out to her car.
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Alan was right about the weather. It had turned gray, cold and blustery. This disappointed Tess, but she decided to stick with her plans. At her car, the deputy reminded her again to go through the box of her family's things, and to call him if anything came up. She nodded, thanked him and drove home. Chapter 14 Tess carried the box from the sheriff into the house and took it upstairs to her studio. She tucked it into the cabinets where she'd stored away all her family's other personal belongings. Stacked there, with the boxes and boxes of their things, it would be safe until she was ready to take a look at it sometime in the next couple of days. It would have to wait until after Thanksgiving. She closed the cabinets and stood looking around the room, disturbed that she still couldn't face her family's belongings. Those boxes haunted her, even concealed from view behind the cabinet doors. She would take either Rose or Angie up on their offers to help go through them, after Thanksgiving. Tess couldn't face them today, especially alone. On an impulse, she placed the cheval mirror in front of one cabinet door, and then moved the chintz-covered slipper chair over beside it. She went to her room and found the large, lightweight, fringed silk shawl she'd had Paige bring along with her holiday dresses. It was a deep, rich, Russian rose print with black fringe, and it was large enough to conceal the remaining cabinet doors. Tess hung it over them, then stood back and looked at the facade she'd created. The shawl added warmth and color to the large room, in contrast with its bright windows and pale decor. Hiding from reality again, Tess? She seemed to be doing that a lot lately, trying to forget she was here to say goodbye to her family, to dispose of their things, and to make decisions about her life. Tess had planned to pick up her sketching supplies and then go straight to the stone bridge, but now she remembered Paige's message from Debbie about her voice mail. She dropped some art supplies into a tote bag. Then she went to the kitchen, picked up the cordless phone, and dialed the number and code for her personal voice mail. There was one old message, dated the morning of her family's deaths. Her father's voice. She hadn't heard it in a year or more. He sounded hesitant, unsure, which she'd never known her father to be. "Tess, sweetheart, it's Dad. I need to talk to you. About a lot of things, but especially . . . well, something you might be able to help with. We're going to see the sheriff this morning. We'll be back by the time you get home and hear this message. Please call me, honey. Call home." From the date and time of the message Tess knew her father must've recorded it minutes before they'd left on their fatal drive. Tess thought about Dr. Lloyd's question, of whether her father had contacted her shortly before his death. Dr. Lloyd had thought his call would have something to do with Trent, but what had her father known about Trent? Only what she'd told him, and he hadn't believed her. So why would he see the sheriff about that? Was that the reason her family had died? Did Trent have something to do with their deaths?
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She took her art supplies out to the car, but came back in to check the weather report, because the wind was blowing harder now, and the sky had turned a dark, metallic gray. The report predicted a snowstorm tomorrow, but it felt to Tess as if it might come tonight. The day was taking a definite stormy turn. She layered on warm clothes, insulated boots, a knitted hat, mittens, and a parka. Finally she ventured out into the blustery gray and got into her car. Minutes later Tess parked near the old stone footbridge that crossed Cedar Creek a halfmile or so north of town. She carried her tote bag filled with drawing supplies and crossed on foot to the middle of the bridge, where she stood and gazed upstream at the rush of water. Snow-shrouded trees and dead bracken crowded the banks of the stream, a few bare branches twisting frozen into the metallic sky. The small flood leaped over rock and boulders, and around the curving banks, roiling with a wild life of its own, as yet undaunted by winter's freeze. This was a sight once familiar to Tess. This was where she'd conceived many of her childhood dreams. Here, standing on this bridge, watching this creek's unending flow, she had grown into a young woman. This creek was home, and Tess wanted to carry the spirit of it with her if she left again. She had come here intending to sketch the bridge itself, from the bank of the creek, but instead she took out her sketchbook and pencils and set to work attempting to capture the essence of Cedar Creek as she saw it from the bridge. Tess poured all her concentration into the task. Now and then her fingers grew so cold she couldn't grasp a pencil properly. She would stop, put on her mittens and hold her hands under her arms until her fingers warmed enough to continue. She kept up this cycle until she had the beginnings of a decent drawing in front of her. Her passion intensified with this visible product of her efforts, and she worked faster in the growing cold. The water moved on the page, and Tess smiled to herself, releasing a sigh of indescribable pleasure, which ended in a shiver. She took out her watercolors, recorded the colors and made notes for a painting she would complete later in the warmth of her studio. "That looks like cold work," Joe's deep voice said nearby. Tess dragged her attention from her work and turned to meet his gaze. He stood at one end of the bridge, watching her with a placid, weary, expression. He moved closer. "Wouldn't it be simpler to take a photograph? It would save freezing your fingers at least." His own fingers, gloved warmly, were thrust into his jacket pockets. His black hair blew in the wind and his eyes were a limitless gray-green under the leaden sky. Tess longed to draw him as he stood there, but the idea was to forget him, not have a portrait of him haunting her forever. He moved to her side and looked over her shoulder at the drawing. "How long have you been here?" Tess asked him. "Long enough to realize there must be something special about this place, to make you want so desperately to capture it." "I used to come here to think when I was a girl. I would spend hours watching water run under this bridge."
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"I know." Tess looked up at him. "You weren't the only one who took to following another youngster around." "You followed me? Here?" "Many times." He looked at the water as he spoke, and he reminded Tess suddenly of that young, dark-haired boy. He took the sketchpad from her, picked up her mittens and handed them to her. "Why are you doing this, Tess?" Tess pulled the mittens on and tucked her hands under her arms, hugging herself against another shiver. "I want to record a bit of home to take back with me, in case I go away and never return. Something to help me remember all the good things that came out of growing up here." He frowned. "You intend to leave? And never come back?" Tess stared at the water foaming noisily over a boulder, as she answered him, thinking she could almost see the water slow, turning to ice. "I don't have definite plans yet. I've told you that." Her voice shook, and she shivered. "I want to stay, but I need a good reason. Dreams aren't enough to keep me here. I have a business in L.A. Responsibilities. My family's gone." She shivered again. "You've been out here too long," Joe said gruffly. "Go home and get warmed up before you make yourself sick. You'll have other days to finish this thing, if it's so important, won't you? You're not leaving this week." Tess stood silent, watching him as he packed her things away for her. He took the pencil out of her hand, and dropped it into the bag as he handed it to her. "Do you mind if I come with Rose, to your Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow?" "Please do, Joe. I want all my friends there." He watched her for another few seconds. Then he gave her a gentle shove toward her car as if she were a child. "Go home and warm up." Tess obeyed, because she was too chilled to argue. When she'd reached the relative shelter of her car, out of the bitter wind, she looked back to see Joe still there. He leaned against the railing, watching the swift-running water of Cedar Creek. As she drove away, Tess glanced in the rearview mirror, and saw a red snowmobile take off from the nearby woods and head in the same direction she was going, the sound of its engine muffled by the gusting wind. It alarmed her at first, but the snowmobile veered off into the woods again. ###
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Tess was in the kitchen at her house, still feeling the effects of the cold, when Rose arrived to help her transfer food and utensils to Cottage Arts. Rose smiled as she repeated the name. "I love it, Tess. As soon as Joe told me the name you came up with, I thought how wonderfully it fits what we're doing there. We never would've come up with Cottage Arts, without you. But I will be so relieved when the stress of this grand opening is over with." She turned to look through the items they needed to move. "Who was on the snowmobile?" "What snowmobile?" Tess's mind went instantly to the one she'd seen at the bridge. "The one leaving your driveway when I arrived. I couldn't tell who it was. They were all bundled up and wearing a ski mask under their helmet. They sped off as I drove up." Rose shrugged. "Maybe they took a wrong turn or something." "Was it bright red?" "No, it was dark blue, I think, with a white stripe." "They must be out in droves today. You wouldn't think it would be that much fun in this weather." But then Tess had stood on a cold bridge and bared her fingers to sketch, so who was she to judge? Still, the thought of the snowmobiles disturbed her after the strange destruction of her snow angels the other night. "They're always out in droves, here, once the snow gets this deep. That just doesn't usually happen until after Christmas." Before they set to work, Tess offered Rose a cup of hot tea. "I need it myself, before I go out there again. I'm about frozen." Rose thanked her and accepted the tea. "Harry called, and told me he and Paige will be here to help. Jessica showed up again, right before I left, looking for Joe. She was positively rude to me when I told her I didn't know where he was. He's not at his office, or Cottage Arts, and his pager's sitting on our kitchen table at home. That's the third time in three days he's vanished like that." "I just saw him down by the stone footbridge." Tess poured her own tea. "I wouldn't have told Jessica that, if I'd known. I've had it with her possessiveness. These are ready to load into my car." Rose had finished packing things from Tess's freezer into a box. Tess carried her tea over to join Rose at the table. Rose peered into a tin of cookies there. "Oh!" Rose cried out. She beamed at Tess. "They're snow angels!" Paige and Harry arrived in time to help load Rose's car. Rose insisted on showing them the snow angel cookies before she drove away with the first load for Tess's bakery. Then Harry and Paige loaded Paige's rental car, with Tess's help, and followed Rose. Tess moved her car around to the back, planning to follow the others to Cottage Arts as soon as she loaded the last box of dishes into her car.
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On her way into the kitchen through the back door, Tess heard what she thought must be the snowmobile Rose had seen earlier. It was barely audible over the rising wind. She returned to the kitchen and rushed to finish her task, packing baking tins into a cardboard carton. She'd just finished when the back door opened behind her, blowing in cold air. Tess turned around, not expecting anyone back. She froze. The person who stood in the doorway wore a ski mask. A black parka, gloves, black snow pants, and sneakers sheathed what she was sure was a male form. She could only see his eyes. "You really should lock your doors." He closed and locked the door, turned the deadbolt. "You made this way too easy." Chapter 15 Tess was certain she recognized the voice behind the mask as Trent Cambridge, but it had been so long since she'd heard him speak, except for two words at Stoneway the other night, she couldn't be sure. He was the right height, though. He moved toward her. Tess stood motionless, unable to think, unable to breathe. The phone on the counter rang. Tess and the man in the ski mask both stared at it. When Tess reached for it, he moved faster, and grasped her arm tightly before she could reach the phone. "If I don't answer--" "They'll think you've already left. You were about to leave, weren't you?" She tried to shake off his grip, and it tightened. "What do you want?" Her voice was ragged with fear. The phone kept ringing, until the answering machine clicked on. The volume was turned down, so Tess couldn't hear whether the caller left a message. Afterward the silence in the kitchen was profound, with the sound of their breath prominent. The man continued to hold Tess's arm in an iron grip. Tess didn't know what to say that would persuade him to leave her alone, so she said nothing. She tried to think of a way out. She thought of the knives in the kitchen drawer at the end of the counter. Could she get to one? If she did, could she use it against him, could she fight him off, and then grab the phone on her way out? It was the cordless phone Paige had brought for her from L.A. The man in the ski mask had other ideas. He grasped both her hands firmly with his leather gloves, and he led her quickly out through the dining room, away from the phone and the knives, while Tess struggled in vain to get out of his grasp. He paused to pull a length of rope out of his jacket pocket, and she struggled harder while he held her with only one gloved hand. She'd nearly slipped one wrist out of his grasp, when he hit her with his open hand, slapping her face. She kept fighting. When she managed to free one hand he cursed, then he knocked the wind out of her with a single, controlled punch to her solar plexus. Tess doubled over, gasping for breath, while he tied her wrists with the rope, so tightly the knots pinched her skin and cut off her circulation.
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He used the remaining length of the rope to lead her into the living room and over to the stairs, while she tried to kick him. He paused and laughed when he looked up at the stairs. "Oh, this is perfect." Tess kicked him hard, then. He cursed and moved away. "You're going to force me to stop you from doing that." He continued to fight off her kicks as he led her to the stair railing. She saw what he intended to do now, to tie her to the stair banister. Tess struggled with her bonds and her captor, while her heart sank at the realization that she'd nearly lost her chance of escape. If he managed to secure her to the sturdy hardwood railing, all the kicking she could manage wouldn't free her. The front door was so close now, she decided to try for escape by that route. When he moved up the stairs, trying to guide her in the same direction along the lower floor so he could get the end of the rope around the railing, with her legs out of reach to kick him, she tried to yank him off balance, back down the stairs. Failing that, she managed to creep around the newel post and up the stairs behind him, then attempted to kick his feet out from under him on the stairs. She succeed in pulling one foot from under him, and he cursed again, then sat on the step to keep from falling, and stared at her. She could see only his eyes, behind the ski mask, but she was certain he was Trent. "You little bitch!" A sound outside drew their attention. Another snowmobile approached the front of the house. He glanced that way, then got up and struck Tess in the face with his fist, knocking her aside. "I don't have time for this!" He yanked her back to the bottom of the stairs. He was breathing hard now, they both were, and Tess could sense his anger. It lay like a low snarl beneath each breath he exhaled. It frightened her, as she continued to fight him. As he pulled her to the bottom of the stairs, she kicked at him again, but this time he used her own trick against her, grasping her leg and pulling it hard out from under her, at the same instant as he let go of the rope. She went down backwards, too hard, and landed with a smack of her skull against the bottom step. "No," she moaned. It was as though Tess kept falling, into a sickening blackness. Tess's next awareness was at first only of the pain in her head, and she groaned, which made it hurt more. Any attempt at movement hurt. She lay on her back, her arms extended above her head, ending in numbness, which she realized gradually was her hands, their sensation cut off by the rope that bound them. The pain in her head was enough to nearly shut out sound. It muffled everything. Every sound, every sensation was subject to the pain. She remained still, until someone touched her. She couldn't see. Her captor was tying a blindfold roughly over her eyes. "You should've left town while you had the chance."
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She let him think she was still unconscious. The snowmobile continued to circle outside, its sound assaulting her senses in sickening waves. Her captor moved away from her and opened the front door. The wind blew into the house, freezing the air around Tess, rousing her a little. The snowmobile tore around out front, and her captor shouted, cursing. At her? No, he'd gone outside. He continued yelling, while the door remained open, letting in freezing gusts of wind. The yelling hurt her head so much Tess couldn't take in what he said. Something about "around back" and "what we came here for." She shivered in the cold from the door, and prayed silently for help. She had a feeling the new arrival had stopped her captor from finishing what he'd started, and now he was distracted by the newcomer. Tess said a silent thank you, while the sound of the snowmobile moved to the back of the house. A moment later her captor's voice came from the kitchen. Tess heard someone going through drawers in there, and then smashing things. The man's voice said, "Do what we came here to do!" in a hissing rush. "There may not be much time." The sound of the snowmobile's engine had ceased. When had it stopped? Tess's head swam, and confusion swept through her like a wave of nausea. She felt ill, and wondered if she'd lost consciousness again for a moment. The cold wind still gusted through the front door, and she wondered if she would freeze lying here. She no longer heard her captor or the newcomer. A moment later, Tess heard soft footsteps go past her, up the stairs. The next sound Tess heard was the phone ringing. It stopped abruptly with the sound of something being smashed, in the kitchen. She could only imagine what was going on in there, as the banging and crashing noises continued. Someone returned, and stood beside her. Tess grew panicky once more. Then she heard them move away. Tess couldn't feel her hands anymore. They were completely numb. Her arms ached, stiff from lack of movement. The front door was still open, the cold wind blew more steadily now. She might as well be in front of a freezer. She shivered, and somehow the shivering hurt her head. Long minutes passed, and Tess heard the sounds of someone moving through the rooms above her. Spence's room. Other sounds continued downstairs. Someone walked past her, and her panic escalated again, but they moved about nearly silently, never touching her, never saying a word as they opened and closed drawers in the living room. The hall closet opened, and things were thrown out. Then noises came from the study. Drawers opened, things were tossed around. Minutes later someone passed her again, and seconds after that Tess heard more destruction in the kitchen. Suddenly a shout came, from above, a single word, "Car!" It was the man in the ski mask's voice. The noises in the kitchen stopped. Footsteps pounded down the stairs. Someone ran past Tess and slammed the front door shut, then tore off her blindfold. Tess blinked at the light and saw the man in the ski mask, with a knife. He was directly above her, his
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gaze cold. With one finger to his lips, he brandished the knife threateningly. Then he used it to cut the rope that bound her hands to the newel post. He cut the remaining rope from her wrists, and stuffed it into his pocket. All Tess could manage was to continue to lie on the floor, sobbing faintly while he did this. She couldn't feel her hands, and her arms were too stiff to move. He pointed the knife at her again as he spoke. "Now you'll leave, and you'll pay." His words carried a distinct threat that struck her cold, and made her want to shrink from his gaze. He dropped an envelope on the floor beside her and ran out in the direction of the kitchen. A snowmobile started up, and the sound moved off through the woods behind the house. Tess moved, slowly and with great effort, bending her stiff arms, and rubbing her wrists against her legs to start the blood back into her numb hands. The renewed sensation, as it started, was too much for her. She cried out. Then she sat up unsteadily, shivering, uncertain what to do. That was when the doorbell rang. Tess shivered, teeth chattering, limbs uncooperative. The doorbell rang again. She stood up unsteadily, and her legs wobbled as she moved. "Tess?" someone called, outside the front door. She hadn't heard his car, but it was Alan's voice. Tess cried, sobbing suddenly in relief. Now she heard an engine out front, and recognized the sound of Joe's truck coming up the driveway. Shaking and sobbing uncontrollably, she barely managed the few steps from the stairs to open the door. It must not have been locked, though, because Alan opened it as she reached it. He opened it slowly, then stood for a few seconds and stared at her. "Tess, what's wrong? Are you hurt?" Alan looked as confused and shocked by her appearance as she felt. She shook, sobbing and barely able to hold herself upright, while Alan stood in the doorway, the cold wind blowing in around him. He finally moved, closed the door and put his arms around her, his jacket so cold it prickled her bare skin on her face and neck and almost made her scream. Alan guided her into the living room, where he urged her onto the sofa. "It's okay. It's okay. What happened to you?" The front door opened, and Joe came in. "Tess?" Then he saw her, and he rushed over. He took her face gently in his hands and looked into her eyes. "Are you hurt? What's happened?" She shook with convulsive sobs and couldn't answer. He turned to Alan and said, "What the hell did you do to her?" "No!" Tess cried, afraid he was about to do Alan a grave injury. "He c-came t-to help," Tess said. "It--it--was someone else. Ski mask." Why couldn't she speak properly? She wasn't making sense. Her teeth chattered. Joe glanced around the living room, and told Alan to call the sheriff. Alan removed his cell phone clipped to his belt. As he pressed the number on the keypad he moved away, into the dining room, where Tess couldn't hear him. Joe sat beside Tess and held her. "I need t-to--"
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"Shh, sit still. Tell me where it hurts." Joe examined the lump on the back of her head. Then he made her lie down and covered her with the afghan, and he sat beside her, holding her hand. When Alan returned, Joe had him get her an ice pack. Minutes later the front doorbell rang. Alan let Paige and Harry in, trying to explain how he'd found Tess, while they stared at her, and at Joe holding the ice pack to her head. He seemed to understand how much she hurt. He held her, and helped her hold the ice there, while everyone else seemed to demand answers she couldn't provide. "I don't know what's happened here," Alan murmured in the foyer. "The house is ransacked, but she hasn't said what happened." They entered the living room. "I called the sheriff. Is she all right, Joe?" Paige replaced Joe, and put her arms around Tess. Tess still couldn't stop shaking. She sat up carefully. "It was Trent," she finally said. "I'm sure it was Trent Cambridge, but he had a ski mask on." The sound of sirens outside silenced her. The sirens grew nearer, and Tess said no more. She would wait until the sheriff was listening, because she didn't want to tell the story more than once. Joe looked around at the others. "Where's Rose?" he asked, suddenly alarmed again. "Tess, wasn't Rose here with you?" "Rose went to C-cottage Arts," Tess told him. "She never showed up," Paige said beside her. Tess turned and stared at Paige. She didn't understand. Deputy Prescott arrived first. Sheriff Kendall followed minutes later. They both knew Joe, and they greeted one another by first names. Rose arrived seconds after the sheriff did, looking bewildered as she came in the door. Harry went over to her. "Where have you been, Rose?" "I--" Rose looked at Tess. "I heard sirens. What's going on? Tess? Why are the police here?" "Okay," Sheriff Kendall said, taking charge. "This is way too many people. Duane, take names and clear them all out while I talk to Ms. Hunter." Chapter 16 "The sheriff suggested I pack a few of your things, and he'll drive you to the hospital. After you get checked out there, you can stay with me at Stoneway," Paige told Tess. "There are two beds in my room."
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Tess had described what happened to the sheriff and deputy, who were going through the house while Paige sat with Tess in the living room. Joe had insisted Paige be allowed to stay with her, and that she get medical attention. "I don't need to go to the hospital." Tess suppressed a shudder, wondering how she would ever get the house ready for guests by tomorrow. According to Paige the kitchen wasn't fit to cook in. "I'm not going to cancel Thanksgiving. I won't let them do that to me." "The sheriff's worried you may have been raped while you were unconscious, if it was Trent Cambridge. Apparently it's a pattern of his." Tess shook her head. "He wasn't here to rape me. He wanted something he thought he'd find in this house." "In any case, Joe says you should get your head checked out. You have a huge goose egg, and--I don't want to hurt your feelings, but--you haven't been making a whole lot of sense since we all got here. Listen to the professionals. Joe's obviously concerned, and he knows about these things." "Joe's a veterinarian. This is a human goose egg." Her voice seemed to have developed a permanent quiver. "You need to give them the blackmail letters." Tess nodded agreement. She'd been telling herself she needed to do that before Trent had come here today. Paige was silent for a minute. Then she sighed. "All right, Harry and I will stay here with you tonight. We'll clean up the house, and we'll help you with your dinner tomorrow. Provided you get checked out by a doctor right now." The sheriff and Paige helped Tess out to a car, and a female deputy drove her to the hospital. Paige followed in her rental car. ### It was another four hours before Tess returned to the house with Paige, and it was nearly dark by now. Tess felt done in, but didn't dare tell anyone, since they were treating her like she'd shatter any minute as it was. She had too much to do. The sheriff asked Tess to walk through the house with him. "If you're feeling up to it." He frowned at her right eye, which was swollen and red, and seemed to grab and hold everyone's attention. "That's going to be a black eye by tomorrow," Sheriff Kendall remarked. Her head throbbed the entire time, and what Tess saw as she surveyed the house made her feel worse. The sheriff and Deputy Prescott questioned her again as they went through each room, starting upstairs. Her bedroom was a mess, all her belongings
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strewn across the floor, drawers open or thrown on the floor, clothing in a jumble. Every book had been removed from the bookshelves and tossed on the floor, the nightstands emptied. Bathroom toiletries had been knocked over or onto the floor. Tess couldn't tell from the mess whether anything was missing or not, but she was certain the two people had been searching for something. "They went to Spence's room first, when they came up here." Tess recalled the sounds and movements of the two people through the house. She referred to her attacker as the man in the ski mask, because each time she called him Trent the sheriff and deputy would stop to ask how she knew he was Trent. She couldn't explain how, but she knew. In Spence's room the bedspread was tossed off the bed and the rug beside it had been swept aside. It appeared someone had searched under the bed as well as the mattress, leaving each cocked to one side in a way that made Tess feel dizzy to look at it. The empty drawers and closet were thrown open. "What's missing?" Sheriff Kendall asked. "Nothing. I cleared out all his things days ago." Tess's studio had been tossed as well. Her work, drawings and paintings lay jumbled on the table and floor, but the furniture she'd placed in front of the cabinets hadn't been moved. The big shawl still hung across the cabinet doors, concealing them, while the unconcealed closet and drawers had been opened and their contents thrown onto the floor. The few boxes of her family's things Tess had stored in the closet were emptied and dumped out of the boxes onto the floor. Downstairs, the desk drawers and files in the study had been pulled out and rifled through, the books there given the same treatment as those upstairs. The piano bench and some small table drawers in the living room had been emptied, their contents scattered. The sideboard in the dining room had been dumped of papers, candles, place mats, tablecloths and napkins. The kitchen was the worst of it. Tess surveyed the mess in the kitchen, where someone had taken out their temper on everything in sight, including a set of antique stoneware crocks that Tess's mother had used as countertop canisters ever since Tess could remember. Flour, sugar, and various other foodstuffs coated the countertops, floor and cabinet surfaces. A carton of eggs had been dumped and smashed into a gooey mess in the middle of the floor, along with other food items from the refrigerator. The smell of vinegar permeated the room, from a broken jar of pickles. Broken glass and crockery littered everything, cutlery lay scattered about, and dishes had been broken. It would take hours to clean it all up, and Tess expected guests here for dinner tomorrow. Tess stood in the kitchen, feeling queasy. Then she rushed back to the dining room, where she breathed relief that her mother's heirloom china and silver were still inside the top of the china cabinet, untouched, although the contents of the cabinet's drawers had been tossed about.
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"They wasted a lot of time in that kitchen," Sheriff Kendall said. "If it was valuables they wanted, I doubt that would still be here." He indicated her mother's sterling teapot. "They may have been interrupted before they finished. Ms. Hunter, will you go through your family's things, as soon as possible, and let us know if you find anything missing, or anything unusual they may have been looking for?" "But the kitchen." The sheriff nodded toward the kitchen. "That was rage." He looked at Tess inquisitively. "I don't think that was Trent, if it was Trent in the ski mask," Tess told him. "I'm sure he was the one upstairs who yelled 'car' when Alan drove up. Meanwhile the other person was doing that to the kitchen." "Anything else?" Tess nodded, and told them about the blackmail letters she'd received. Then she described the envelope the man in the ski mask had dropped beside her before he left. "It's the same type of envelope those three blackmail letters came in." The deputy's pale blue eyes widened suddenly beneath his heavy lids. "Blackmail letters? I wondered about that envelope. It's not addressed, but the envelope is sealed." He went to collect it. Tess retrieved the other blackmail letters for them. Then she told them about her father's voice mail. The deputy wrote down the codes so he could retrieve and record the message when he returned to his office. Tess finally left through the dining room, and the deputy walked beside her. She turned back to him. "Sheriff Kendall mentioned that a snowmobile was seen in the area when my family's accident happened. Today, both these people were on snowmobiles. A red snowmobile followed me away from the footbridge this morning. A short time later Rose told me she saw a dark blue one with a white stripe, near the house." Deputy Prescott nodded, and made a note of it. Harry returned, looking anxious and bringing his luggage along with Paige's. He sat with Paige in the living room until the sheriff's people left. Harry insisted he would help take care of the mess. "You haven't seen the kitchen yet," Paige said. Tess feared the cleanup would take days. On his way out, Duane Prescott paused in the foyer and studied Tess. He looked concerned, and his thick moustache twitched, his heavy-lidded blue eyes open wider than usual. "You may remember more details as the shock wears off. If so, give me a call. I've written my home number there." He handed her a new card. "We'll pick up
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Cambridge and question him as soon as we can. The call's already out, but that doesn't guarantee we can hold him. You said the guy in the ski mask was wearing gloves, so that means any useful prints we found will belong to his accomplice. Unless they also wore gloves, which is likely." "Bloody hell!" This came from Harry, who'd entered the kitchen. He popped back into the living room, looking furious. "I'll take care of the kitchen, Tess. Stay out of there for now." Harry and Paige made tea, and then Harry wouldn't let either woman back into the kitchen until he'd cleaned up the mess. Long, silent minutes later, Tess was lying down on her bed upstairs, while Paige moved around the bedroom, straightening and putting away Tess's clothing. Tess sat up. "Would you like more tea?" Paige said. Tess shook her head. "They searched through my family's things, and I want to know why. Will you help me?" Page looked at her critically, and Tess was afraid she was about to tell her to lie back down and rest. Instead she said, "Oh hell, I can't stand this either. But you have to let me do the work. You can sit still and supervise." They went to the studio and Tess sat on the chintz-covered slipper chair, while Paige picked up the boxes from the closet that had been strewn on the floor. They went through one box at a time, looking at each item before Paige repacked it. Paige stacked each box in the closet again. Paige picked up the artwork and supplies that had been scattered on the floor. Then Tess had her take the big colorful silk shawl down from in front of the storage cabinets and move the cheval mirror and chair aside so she could get to the boxes stored there. Paige draped the shawl over the mirror and turned to stare at the cabinets with a wondering look. "I never would've known those were there. I bet your uninvited guests today didn't either." Tess didn't answer, embarrassed about hiding them from herself in her unwillingness to face her family's things. Paige removed the top, unmarked boxes containing Tess's mother's journals and her family's personal effects that had been returned by the sheriff, and set those aside. Then they located the boxes Tess had packed with Spence's things. She suspected the intruder today had headed toward Spence's room first for a reason.
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While Paige worked, Tess attempted to hear again, in her memory, all the intruders' movements, in chronological order. Instead she remembered something else, something like a dream, it was so fuzzy. She saw Spence, six years old, in his pajamas, leaning over the stair rail, asking Tess if she was okay. "Tess? Why are you crying?" In the memory, Tess looked up at him. "Go back to bed, Spence." "Tess?" Paige roused Tess from the memory. Tess shivered, shook her head, and came over to watch Paige open the first box from Spence's room. Paige peered at Tess critically. "Why don't you take a break? Let me continue this for a while." Tess shook her head. She was on a mission. She and Paige went through the first six boxes of Spence's things before Tess paused, stood up, and stretched. "Maybe I do need more tea." "Go ahead. This is going to take some time." Harry had made impressive progress on the kitchen. All the broken glass and crockery were swept up, the food debris as well. He'd scrubbed the floor, and was wiping down the cabinet doors when Tess entered. "Good, old, solid hardwood. They're barely scratched, in spite of their punishment with God knows what implement. Whoever did their number on this room was disturbingly vicious." Harry paused and studied her face. "Let me get you something. Not tea this time, I think. Ah, I know the thing. Wait here." He went to the pantry and brought out a bottle of old, single malt scotch. "Your father must have kept this for special guests. Shall I?" She nodded, and Harry poured them each a shot of the scotch. He raised his glass. "To friends, old and new, tried and true." "To friends." They clinked glasses and downed the scotch. A few minutes later, Paige called Tess from the head of the stairs. "You'd better come look at this." Tess and Harry hurried up the stairs. "What do you make of this?" Paige held up a woman's blouse. It was a color somewhere between butter and straw, with thin, delicate mother-of-pearl buttons. The fabric was lightweight--and badly torn.
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Tess took one look at it and froze. "Tess?" "Where did you find that?" Tess croaked. "In your brother's backpack, with his homework, of all places." Tess frowned and held her aching head. "Are you sure?" "The backpack has his name on it, and it was in a box you marked with his name. There are some--" "What is it?" Harry said. "It's a woman's blouse that's been ripped nearly apart," Paige said. "It's . . . it must be . . . what they were looking for," Tess said, her mouth dry. Paige looked intently at her. "Maybe you'd better sit down," she suggested, and Tess did, on the edge of the bed. "Why do you suppose your brother would have this? Do you know whose it is?" "It's mine," Tess said. "Yours?" Tess nodded. How had Spence gotten this? Why did he have it? "I thought--" Tess tried to recall what she'd done with it. Maybe that fact was lost in the memories her accident all those years ago had wiped from her mind. But no, this had happened two days earlier than her accident, and she remembered things after it. She remembered baking cookies for Spence. She felt as if her mind were slipping into a fog, and surely this wasn't the result of her bump on the head, or of drinking one shot of scotch, no matter how good or how old. She sat and said nothing, as she attempted to absorb this latest discovery. Her torn blouse, in Spence's backpack. Why? "Yours? I don't recognize it. How did it get torn like this?" Paige's words seemed to come from a long way away. "Tess? You're scaring me." Paige stood in front of Tess, demanding an answer. "Wait," Harry said quietly, firmly, putting his hand on Paige's arm and drawing her away. "I think we should call the sheriff back. Here. Let's not handle this anymore." He gestured toward the work table, and Paige lay the blouse on it. "There are some other things in the backpack. I'll put it here, too." Paige retrieved the backpack from where she'd been working. "Let's all go downstairs and I'll call the sheriff, shall I, Tess?" Harry said.
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Chapter 17 When Duane Prescott arrived Tess was seated on the floor in the study, going through the papers that had been left in chaos there. Harry was making dinner for the three of them, while Paige straightened the living room. Tess answered the door, and led the deputy up the stairs. "Did you see the snow, out front? They obliterated my snow angels again. That wasn't Trent--I mean it wasn't the first person, in the ski mask. It was his accomplice, on the second snowmobile." Upstairs, she pointed out the torn garment on the table in the studio. "I was wearing this blouse the night Trent Cambridge tried to rape me, eleven years ago. Trent ripped it when I fought him." Duane glanced at the blouse on the table, but didn't touch it yet. He got out his notebook. "What did you do with it, after the assault back then?" Tess sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm not sure." He looked up. "You don't remember?" She shook her head and sighed. "I was angry. I wanted to tell my parents what he'd done, to show them that the boy they'd set me up with was a total loser. I was scared of Trent, and of the humiliation." She glanced at the deputy and sighed again. "I didn't make a lot of sense, at the time, even to myself. By the next morning I'd decided not to report it, not to tell my parents. I knew the blouse was ruined, I'd noticed that when I was running away from him. I don't remember what I did with it. I thought I threw it away." Duane sat in the chintz-covered slipper chair. "Okay, let's go through this step by step, from the beginning. Trent's assault on you. Where and when did it happen?" "Wait. There's something else. Earlier this afternoon, while Paige and I were going through the boxes, I tried to recall what I'd heard of the intruders' movements up here today, in Spence's room. I was thinking how sound carries in this house. I had this sudden flash. I remembered something from the night of my accident. Spence got out of bed. I remember him standing at the head of the stairs. He asked me why I was crying. I looked up at him, and I told him to go back to bed. That's all I remember, but I wonder if he saw something, if someone else was here." Duane watched her intently, a frown creasing his brow. "I'm sorry. I'm not helping, am I?" Tess started in on her account of Trent's attempted date rape, eleven years ago. It appeared to take the deputy a moment to realize she'd switched gears and to begin taking notes again. Tess was calmer now than she'd been earlier, and she didn't hesitate, but told the entire story quickly, in as much detail as she'd ever recalled. She'd tricked Trent, that night, and run away from his house into the woods.
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"I stayed with a friend that night. The next morning, I borrowed clothes to wear home, and I stuffed the blouse into my purse, to throw away later." When she finished, he continued writing for a moment. "Back to your accident. Do you remember any more about it now than you did in those first few days?" "No." "Just that bit about your brother?" "Yes." "You claimed back then that you wouldn't have left your brother. Remember?" "It's true. I wouldn't have." She was no less sure of that today than she'd been at seventeen. "I loved Spence. I was responsible for him that night. I took that seriously." "What if staying here in the house with him would've endangered him?" Tess looked at the deputy in amazement. "After hearing your account of Trent's attack, and your memory of your brother that night, it crossed my mind there might be another explanation for you leaving him alone, besides you going off to party." "Yes, I might have left him in order to protect him. That's the only reason anyone's offered that makes sense, but it doesn't explain why there were drugs and alcohol in my blood, or why Spence would have my blouse all these years later. I want to know why he did, and whether that has anything to do with why my family died." He nodded. "If this blouse is what the intruders were looking for today, then it's a good reason to suspect Trent was one of them. But who was his accomplice? Any ideas?" Tess shook her head. Duane donned gloves and placed the blouse in a bag. Then he picked up the backpack, opened it, and emptied out the rest of its contents: School books, a three-ring binder containing Spence's homework and class notes, and an English paper he'd written. The smaller zip pocket of the backpack contained two sets of keys, as well as a separate, single key. The deputy glanced inside the bag containing the blouse, and surveyed the other items on the table. "Which pocket was the blouse in?" Tess called Paige, who came up and told Duane that she'd found the blouse in the smaller pocket, with the keys. He thanked her in a dismissive way that spoke of the authority he didn't often make a show of, and Paige returned downstairs. "Do you recognize any of these keys, Tess?"
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One of the key rings held a key that looked identical to the house key Joe had given her on her first night home, and a metal tag with Spence's name on it. "I've never seen it before, but that has to be Spence's set. I don't know about the other key ring. There's something . . . familiar, but I can't place it." She reached out to touch the single remaining key, and he stopped her. He picked it up and held it closer, turning it over. "It isn't to anything in this house that I know of," Tess said. The deputy checked carefully through the rest of the backpack, and bagged all the items. Finally he got up and put all the paper bags in a box to take with him. Then he reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a sheet of paper. "That's a copy of the latest blackmail letter the intruder left here today." Tess unfolded the copy and read it. It contained instructions for delivering the $50,000 to a locker in a gym near the Sacramento airport. It further instructed her to tape the key to the locker under the counter in a women's lavatory at the airport, and which flight to take back to L.A. It reminded her to be on that flight and to pay the $50,000, or the blackmailer would send a letter to every major newspaper and TV station in the state on December first, relating the details of her accident eleven years ago. "I checked out the gym," he said. "It's one that allows day use for a minimal fee. Did you consider paying?" He watched Tess with a bland expression, but she sensed his curiosity. "Is that why you didn't report it earlier?" "I talked it over with my partners, and we all agreed the blackmailer might keep wanting more money. We don't have the resources to keep paying. We'd wind up bankrupting ourselves, and that would end our business more effectively than bad publicity. So why pay at all? My partners and I planned to discuss turning the letters over to you, after the holiday. I didn't think you could do anything about it either, but the repetitive letters worried me." He nodded. "It's like they thought you weren't taking them seriously, or they hadn't been noticed. Tends to make you worry what they'll do to get noticed." He stood up, taking the box. "We're still looking for Trent Cambridge. We'll notify you as soon as we have him in custody." Tess returned downstairs, where Harry and Paige were preparing dinner. They wouldn't let Tess help, and kept telling her to sit down. When the phone rang she answered, hoping for a distraction from the inactivity everyone insisted she needed. It was Joe, his voice strung tight with anxiety. "Tess, are you all right? Have you been to the hospital and back already?" "Yes. I have a concussion. I'm supposed to see Dr. Lloyd for a follow-up on Friday. Paige and Harry are doing the cleaning, here. They won't let me do anything." "Good. Take it easy. The sheriff questioned Rose for a long time, and she's clearly upset, but she won't talk about it. She still hasn't explained where she disappeared to after she left your house. Did she give you any indication?" "Only that she was headed for Cottage Arts."
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"I'm worried about her." This worried Tess too, as did his tone of voice. "Maybe Rose tried to call me. The phone rang twice, while they were here. I haven't checked--" She stopped, realizing the answering machine had been ruined. "That was me who called, both times. I let Paige and Harry into the restaurant. They told me Rose should've arrived before them, and they mentioned Rose had seen a snowmobile hanging around your place. I'd seen a red one follow you away from the bridge earlier, and I remembered Rose saw a snowmobile the morning of your family's accident." He paused. "That's why I drove to your house when I did. Well, I'm relieved you weren't hurt worse." His words, his low voice, and the concern he expressed brought all her feelings for him back to the surface. She didn't want that. "Tess, I--" "I--have to go. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. Tell Rose, dinner's still on. Goodnight, Joe." She hung up. ### By morning the weather was worse. The wind was colder, the sky darker. The news reported a winter storm watch in effect for this part of the Sierras. It was expected to produce heavy snow sometime in the next twenty-four hours. "Are you sure you still want to do this?" Paige asked Tess at breakfast. "We could delay the dinner until after the storm. That would give you a couple of days to--" Paige broke off. "A couple of days for what? Today is Thanksgiving. I've already invited everyone. The food is ready to go, all I have to do is put the turkey in the oven. The house is clean again, thanks to you two. There's no point in delaying." "You make it sound more like an ordeal you need to get over with than something you'll enjoy." Tess thought about that. What was an ordeal, what she had trouble enduring, was the wait. The wait for dinner with her friends tonight, yes, but also the wait to know who was blackmailing her, who had killed her family, who had intruded on her life yesterday. The wait for justice, the wait for the chance to feel at peace again. Tess had taken a sleeping pill last night for the first time in her life. Today she kept reliving those minutes of panic, when the man in the ski mask had overpowered her. Where would this end? "Maybe we should pay them and leave," Paige said later. Tess looked up and saw Harry shake his head at Paige, signaling her not to talk about it.
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Tess got up and left the table. She went upstairs to her studio and sat on the bed. The open storage cabinets gaped at her, with all the boxes of her family's belongings, their whole lives, inside. She went over and closed the cabinet doors, moved the furniture in front of them, hung the Russian print shawl over them. Then she went downstairs and said she was going for a drive. "Alone?" Paige said. Tess didn't answer. She took her parents' address book from the kitchen drawer, put on her warmest jacket and went out to the car. She drove to the address her mother had written down for Karen Jensen. Tess hoped Spence had told Karen something about the blouse and why he had it. ### Tess parked in front of the Jensens' house, thinking how like her parents' house theirs appeared. It was approximately the same size and of the same type of construction. It was even close to the same age, but it was in town, with houses close to it on both sides, and a small yard in front with a sidewalk edging the tree-lined street. Karen's father Hank Jensen opened the front door. Tess had met him briefly at the gathering after the funeral. He was in his late forties, thickset and about Tess's height. He didn't appear to recognize her at first, so she introduced herself. "I'm sorry to disturb you on a holiday, but I need to speak to Karen if she's available. It's about Spence." Hank Jensen invited her inside, introduced her again to his wife Margaret, and called Karen downstairs. The Jensens' house was fragrant with holiday meal preparations. The television in the living room was on, tuned to pre-game football highlights. Margaret Jensen switched it off. Karen hesitated on the stairs when she saw Tess seated in the living room. She came the rest of the way down more slowly, and took a seat beside her mother on the sofa. Hank Jensen sat in a recliner, but didn't tilt it back. Tess sat in a glider chair, which she hadn't realized was a glider before she sat down. She did her best to keep it still. She felt a need for stillness. As soon as Karen was seated Tess began to question her. "You mentioned the other day, when you visited, that you needed a key back that you thought Spence had." Karen nodded. "Spence offered to return it to Stoneway for me." "What was the key to?" "It was a passkey to the offices on the first floor. I used to clean them, until I quit a few days ago." "Would it have been a single metal key that Spence didn't keep on his key ring?"
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Karen nodded. "He only had it for a couple of days. He must have still had it when the accident happened, because Angie Norwood told me this week that he never returned it. They're holding my final paycheck until they get it back." "They're what?" Hank Jensen said. "If it's the key I think it is, we found it yesterday," Tess told them. She didn't mention turning it over to the sheriff. "Karen, why didn't you tell us they still haven't paid you?" Margaret Jensen said. "I was afraid you wouldn't let me get another job." Margaret looked at Tess. "I didn't want her to work there. At first she was happy, but apparently Angie got temperamental with her. Karen's only sixteen. I want her to enjoy being sixteen." "Mom, that's not why I quit. I needed to spend more time studying." Her mother looked at her with an odd expression, but didn't say anything. Tess leaned forward, again fighting her chair's inclination to move. "Karen, do you know anything about a torn blouse that Spence had?" "A what?" Margaret said. "What is this about?" She looked accusingly at Tess now, and appeared about to break off the conversation and send Tess out the door. "I'm sorry, Ms. Jensen, but I need to ask these things. Someone came into my house yesterday. They searched it and vandalized it. I think they were looking for those things Spence had in his backpack. One item was that key. Another was a torn blouse. It was the blouse I was wearing eleven years ago when Trent Cambridge tried to rape me. I need to know how it came into Spence's possession." "What makes you think Karen would know?" "Honey," Hank Jensen said, "he was Karen's boyfriend. Karen, answer the lady." Karen shook her head. "I don't know!" She got up and left the room, crying. "I don't know!" "I think you'd better leave," Margaret told Tess. Tess got up and went to the door. Hank Jensen followed her. "I'll talk to them." Tess turned to look at him. "Do you think Karen knows more than she's saying?" "Well, I know she didn't quit her job because of her schoolwork, or because her boss was temperamental. Something happened there, and she won't talk about it. She quit the day after Gail, a friend of hers, was raped in the Stoneway parking lot. Gail says it
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was Trent Cambridge who raped her." He paused and then asked, "Did, uh--did the people who vandalized your house give you the black eye?" She nodded. "I think that was Trent Cambridge. He had someone else with him." Hank Jensen shook his head. "The man is a menace. I'll talk to Karen and her mother." Chapter 18 Tess drove to Stoneway, entered through the lobby, and asked the desk clerk for Angie. "Tess. I didn't expect--" Angie stopped in her office doorway. Her smile turned to a frown as she peered at Tess's black eye. "What happened to you?" "Did you know Trent Cambridge raped a teenage girl right here in your parking lot?" Angie glanced around the lobby. Only the desk clerk was there now, but Angie beckoned Tess into her office and closed the door. Once they were seated she said, "I know the girl says she was raped in my parking lot and she claims it was Trent. Why?" "Does Trent spend a lot of time here, Angie? I saw him here myself a couple of nights ago." Trent had said in the note he left on Tess's door that he'd waited for her in the parking lot, the same place he'd raped Karen's friend. Tess shuddered. Angie narrowed her eyes. "You never mentioned that to me. Are you sure you're all right? What's going on, Tess? You look like you've been in a wreck." Tess shook her head. "I'm angry. I'm scared. I'm upset. I want to know why he was here, Angie. Does he spend a lot of time here?" Angie shrugged. "A lot of people come here for the food, the entertainment." Tess wanted to shake her, but she realized she wasn't being reasonable. "Someone came into my house yesterday, tied me up, and tore the house apart. I think it was Trent. He had someone else with him. He scared the hell out of me. I'm trying to figure out what's going on. I heard today that the girl he raped most recently was assaulted right here in your parking lot." There was a knock on the office door, and Angie's brother Kevin poked his head in. "Karen Jensen's dad just called--Oh, hi Tess. Sorry, I didn't-- What happened to your eye? "It's a long story." Tess stood up. "You okay? I've been looking forward to that turkey tonight, but if you're not up to it we could move the party here."
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"I'm fine. I'd better go put that turkey in the oven." She'd better put makeup on her eye before her dinner party, or she'd frighten all her guests. "I'm sorry, Angie. I was so upset, when I heard that happened here, I--" "Dinner's still on, then?" Angie said with an encouraging grin. She got up and gave Tess a brief hug. "What a trouper. I'm glad you're okay. We'll see you tonight." ### Tess drove back to the house and went up to her studio without a word. Paige followed her and watched as Tess stood looking at the furniture and shawl concealing the cabinets. "Oh, Paige, I'm so frustrated. There's an answer here somewhere, I know there is. I can't let it rest. I can't rest until I find it." Paige appeared, for the first time since Tess had known her, not to know what to say. Tess didn't think she could sit around until evening and wait for her turkey to roast. She gestured at the cabinets. "Will you help me open these up again?" This time they focused on the boxes Tess had set aside yesterday, one containing the personal effects the sheriff had returned to her, and the other her mother's journals. Tess opened the box of journals first, to look for those covering the most pertinent dates, after her accident, and the following few years when her parents had kept her from visiting home. When she searched for the one written the year of her accident, she didn't find it with the others. Paige helped her search for it, but it wasn't in the box. Tess sat still and thought for a minute. Finally she remembered that after Joe's visit last Friday night she'd read the page her mother had written while waiting for Tess to regain consciousness. Her mother's words had upset Tess so much she hadn't wanted to read any further. She'd stuffed the journal under her pillow. Tess went to her bedroom and checked under the pillows. The journal wasn't there. She opened the nightstand drawers and searched through them, throwing things out onto the floor. "Hey, I just organized that," Paige complained. "It's not here. They must have taken it. Trent and his accomplice must have it." Tess returned to the studio and opened the box of personal effects she'd received from the deputy. She doubted she would find anything incriminating in there that the sheriff would have missed, but she had to do something. These were the things her family had taken with them to see the sheriff that morning. "I wonder why Spence didn't take the blouse with him that morning," Paige said.
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Tess looked at her, wondering the same thing. "Maybe he wasn't going with them. It was a school day. It's possible they were going to drop him off at school first. I'd ask Karen, but she seems reluctant to talk about any of this." "Why is she reluctant?" "Her father thinks she's scared. Trent's most recent rape victim is a friend of hers, and that rape happened in the parking lot at Stoneway. Karen quit her job there right after it happened. Remember that single key that you found in his backpack? I think it was the passkey that Karen used when she cleaned the offices at Stoneway. Spence offered to return it for her, after she quit." "Then why did he still have it? And if he was going to school that morning, why didn't he have his backpack with him?" Tess shook her head. "No matter what I decide about my career, I know I don't want to be a detective. It's too frustrating!" "You're too close to this, and you're scared yourself." "I am," Tess agreed. "I'm afraid that it's someone I care about, someone I'd never suspect of wanting to harm my family or me." "Like who?" Tess looked at Paige. She shrugged. "Last night Joe told me Rose still hasn't accounted for where she was when Trent and his accomplice were here yesterday." Paige groaned. "Don't tell Harry you suspect Rose. Well, look, at least you know it's not Joe. He was with us at Cottage Arts, wondering where the hell Rose was, when whoever-they-are were here searching your house. That reminds me, what was Alan doing here when Joe arrived? Joe asked the same thing yesterday, before the sheriff threw everyone out." "Alan had offered to help--after I practically accused him of killing my family." Paige waited for an explanation of that. Harry came in then and asked if they needed help. Tess told Paige and Harry about the damage to the van's tire, and described Alan's athame. "My parents made me quit seeing Alan, around the same time they fixed me up with Trent. Laura says he was heartbroken after I left to live with my aunt. So I guess I was suspicious of him." She told them Alan's story about why he no longer owned the athame. "I believed him." "It would be next to impossible to damage a tire that way, with a knife, while the vehicle was moving," Harry said.
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Paige ignored him. "Tess, Alan had good reason to feel resentful if you'd broken up with him, and surely he could use the money the blackmailer's demanding, for his new business. For that matter, so could Rose." Paige cast a quick glance at Harry, then, and bit her lip. "Rose?" Harry looked from Paige to Tess. "You suspect Rose? What possible motive could she have?" Tess shook her head. "None that I know of. I didn't know Rose very well back then." She nodded toward the box from the sheriff. "These are the things my family had with them that morning." "I uh, have to leave for a bit." Harry told them he had to go back to Stoneway for some things he'd left there. He looked worried, and said he might stop by and see Rose. Paige shook her head after he left and said, "He's smitten with Rose, you know. I've never seen him like this." Tess focused on the box. It contained Jim Hunter's and Spence Hunter's wallets, Cathy Hunter's purse, a paperback romance novel, sunglasses, a California road map book, some loose change, keys, a couple of Jim Hunter's prescription bottles, an empty pocket-like bag of the sort he might have kept on his wheelchair, and various mundane items of the sort one would keep in the glove box of a car, as well as emergency items: tissues, napkins, pencil, paper, emergency blankets, a flashlight, flares, a portable radio, and a compass. Paige read the label on one of the emergency blankets. "They were prepared for anything. Have you gone through the wallets and purse yet?" Tess glanced at the open cabinets, which were again in disarray. "Let's put the rest away. I want to keep the house ready for a dinner party, at least until after tonight." "Oh sure, now you turn back into a neat freak, after you tossed the nightstand I straightened for you." Paige put the wallets and purse back into the box and picked it up, while Tess closed up and concealed the studio cabinets. "Something's starting to smell good down there." Tess had just agreed that it was time to go down and check on the food, when the phone rang in the kitchen. Paige nodded at the box she held. "I'll put this in your closet." Tess went down to get the phone. The caller was Laura Greene. "Are you okay? Alan told me about your trouble there yesterday. You should postpone this gathering tonight until you're better." "I'm fine. Dinner is still on. Are you at Cottage Arts today, on a holiday?"
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Laura laughed. "It's a disease of the self-employed. I had some work to catch up on. I want to be as free as a bird next Friday, for the opening. Alan and Rose were both here this morning, too. I'm leaving my office now. Are you sure you're okay? Do you need help with dinner? I can arrive at your place early if you need me to." "I have plenty of help, but come early if you like. It will give us more time to visit." When Laura arrived, an hour later, she was with Harry, who'd given her a ride so she could ride home with her husband later. While Laura exclaimed over Tess's black eye, Tess noticed that Harry wore a grave expression. He drew Tess aside. "I need to speak to you for a few minutes in private." The look in his eyes told Tess this was serious. She nodded. "Let's go into the study." Tess sat behind her father's desk, while Harry closed the door. Tess noticed he had several sheets of paper in his hand. He cleared his throat. "When I visited Rose the other day, I noticed the research she's been doing. I remembered it again today, when you mentioned the tire damage the sheriff described. So I went to see Rose again for a second look." He showed Tess his set of printouts, from web sites having to do with hunting. "These are called broadheads. They're the types of arrow tips you use for bow hunting." Tess examined the pages. The broadheads in the pictures were nasty looking weapons, sharp metal tips that expanded on impact, increasing the odds that the game a hunter shot with them would be killed and not merely wounded. Tess recalled the books she'd seen in Rose's office the other day. This must be the research Rose had said she was doing for her novel. Rose had acted distraught when Tess saw the hunting books. Harry went on. "I found types that come with two, three and four blades." He pointed out each type on the printouts as he spoke. "They're used on arrows for long bows and compound bows, and the same types of heads fit on the shorter arrows called bolts that are used with crossbows. It's possible that whatever hit the tire on your parents' van was a double-bladed broadhead. See that one?" Tess looked up at him. "Someone could've shot the van's tire with a bow and arrow?" "A crossbow is more likely if they were on a snowmobile at the time. It would be a difficult shot, I should think, but it makes a lot more sense than a knife. I'm taking these pictures to the sheriff. If I leave now I can be back in time for dinner." "Did Rose show you where to find this information?"
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Harry met her gaze. "Actually, Rose took me to see Alan, to ask him to show me, on his computer. He's apparently quite an expert bow hunter. But he'd already left, so I did some searches myself, on Rose's laptop." Tess saw Harry to the door, with a caution to drive carefully. The wind outside was beginning to be alarming in intensity. She wondered whether some of her guests would cancel, after all, due to the weather, as she closed the door against a freezing gust. "Where's he going now?" Paige said in exasperation, when Tess told her Harry had left again. "He has a theory." Tess glanced at Laura, unsure how much she should say. "About the tire damage that caused the accident. He's going to see the sheriff." "Is that what he was so worked up about?" Laura turned to face Tess. "Is there some mystery about your family's accident? Is that why those people ransacked your house yesterday?" "The sheriff thinks my family may have been murdered." Tess explained Harry's theory to Paige and Laura. "Well at least that theory leaves out Rose, I should think," Paige said. "Don't be so sure," Laura said with a grim look. "Rose was the best shot in archery class, in high school. It was the one gym class she ever aced." Both Paige and Tess turned toward Laura and Paige demanded that she explain what she'd said. "Well, you know," Laura said, looking at Tess. "She was so overweight, she was terrible at most sports, always the last one picked for a team, things like that. We had the same gym class one year." Laura looked at Tess with her eyes narrowed. "A whole quarter was devoted entirely to archery, and Rose turned out to be the best shot in the class. She amazed the teacher." "Oh crap," Paige said, taking in her meaning. She turned to look at Tess. "It doesn't mean it's Rose," Tess said, too defensively for her own comfort. "A lot of people here hunt, and a lot of them hunt with bows. I know Angie does. I saw a compound bow in her office." Laura nodded. "Alan does too, with a bow. I don't think Rose actually hunts, though, and I know Joe doesn't. He told Ed that he has to put down enough animals in his work; doing it for sport doesn't appeal to him. Ed doesn't either, though he sells all the equipment. So, it's not necessarily Rose or Joe." Laura said with a nervous laugh. "What am I saying? It's not any of them. Besides, you said Harry thought it had to be a crossbow. I don't know anyone who hunts with a crossbow. According to Ed, they're frowned upon by bow hunters, unless you're disabled and can't shoot a regular bow."
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Tess was thinking, and she knew that Paige was as well. They now knew of at least three of Tess's friends who were possible suspects, if Harry's theory was correct. Three people who had lived here at the time of Tess's accident, as well as her family's, and knew how to shoot a bow. Paige listed them out loud. "Rose, Angie and Alan. Which one has a motive?" "Alan did, at one time," Laura said. "He was resentful about your break up, Tess. Angry with your parents for making you break up, and with you for giving in to them and then not telling him where you'd gone when you moved away. You may not have meant to, but you broke that boy's heart, big time." "Do you know if Trent Cambridge hunts with a bow?" Paige asked her. Laura shrugged. "He's out of my circle, and I don't hunt. Alan might know. Ask him or Ed, or Angie, when they get here." Paige was intent on Laura. "Can you think of any motive Rose might have to harm Tess or her family?" Tess sent her a look, which Paige ignored. Laura thought for a minute. Finally she shook her head. "No, but you mentioned Trent Cambridge?" "Yes." "I think he's one of the people who ransacked the house yesterday," Tess put in. "Well, there was a rumor that Rose dated Trent Cambridge for that whole summer. Your last summer here, Tess. I remember I heard about it and realized that she must have stopped seeing him right before you went out with him." Chapter 19 Tess was upstairs changing clothes when her next few guests arrived. She opened her bedroom door an inch or so, and heard Paige greet Angie and Kevin Norwood. They chatted happily, laughing and commenting on the good smells coming out of the kitchen. Tess closed the door and turned back to the mirror to put on her garnet earrings. At a light knock on the bedroom door she called, "Come in." Angie paused in the doorway. "That's lovely, Tess. You always did have the best taste in clothes." Tess wore a black velvet skirt and the deep red sequined top she'd purchased to match the garnet earrings. She'd applied makeup to conceal her black eye as well as possible, and she'd put her hair up. "Thank you. I thought I'd let the train wreck look go for tonight. Oh, I nearly forgot the shawl." She crossed the hall into her studio, where she took the Russian print shawl down from its place on the wall. She brought it back to her bedroom and wrapped it around her shoulders, standing in front of the mirror to adjust it.
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"Oh!" Angie breathed behind her. "That's so beautiful!" Tess shook her head as she scrutinized the shawl. "No, it will get in my way while I'm serving food, and it catches on the sequins." She sighed. "This always happens. In the store I have the whole outfit put together, but when it comes to wearing it in real life, something isn't right." Tess folded the shawl carefully so it wouldn't droop clear to the floor, and tied it around her waist, peasant style. "There." She turned to find Angie staring into space with her mouth open. "What do you think?" "I--" Angie met Tess's gaze and smiled mildly. "You look like a Gypsy, exotic and mysterious." "Let's go." Tess hurried out the door and approached the stairs, eager to see everyone. She turned to find Angie, still in the upstairs hallway, looking sober and deep in thought. "Coming?" Angie nodded, looking distracted, tired. "Do you ever get away from here for a vacation, Angie?" Tess said. "Let someone else do all the work, and order room service?" Angie started down the stairs ahead of Tess and didn't answer. Tess paused, halfway down, when Joe came in the front door. She forgot about everything else at the sight of him. He carried in a huge, gift-wrapped box and placed it on the floor of the entry hall. Then he turned to hang his coat, glanced up, and saw Tess watching him. He returned her look for several seconds with an expression that raised her internal temperature several degrees. His brown-and-tan tweed jacket emphasized the breadth of his shoulders. It was open at the front, revealing a moss green cable-knit sweater. His eyes shone woodsy green in the lamplight. His lips partially opened, looking firm and supple in a decidedly masculine way. They curved toward a smile and then stilled halfway there, while he stood with one hand on the coat rack and gazed silently up at Tess. Tess didn't know how long she stood there returning his look, before either moved. The doorbell broke the spell. Joe shifted his attention to let Ed Greene in. Only then did Tess become aware of the others gathered in the living room. She continued down the stairs and greeted her guests. Paige came out of the kitchen and pounced on the big package Joe had brought. It was covered in wrapping paper with a design of pumpkins and autumn leaves. "What's this?" Paige bent to read the envelope on top. "It says Tess, that's all. Who brought it?" She raised her head. "I did." Joe turned to Tess. "You'd better open it now." "Now?" Rose said. "Joe, it's Thanksgiving, not--"
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"There's no way this can wait." Joe picked up the package gingerly, holding the big box level as he carried it. "You'll understand when you see it. It won't keep until morning, or through dinner. You'd better open it now, Tess." He set it down in front of an armchair, then motioned Tess to be seated. Tess went to work on the package, carefully sliding off the big ribbon and loosening the tape that held the top of the box securely in place. Then she lifted the lid slowly and stared at what it contained. Two tiny, fluffy kittens, the same pair she'd seen in Joe's office, one black and one white, looked up at her and mewed, showing white kitten teeth and pink tongues. "Oh!" Tess breathed, lost in wonder as she scooped them up and held them in her arms. "Joe." She looked up to find him grinning at her with a soft warmth in his eyes. "I don't know what to say. They're--" "The white one's a she, the black is a he." "They're . . . perfect!" Tess kissed each kitten's forehead. "I don't get it," Kevin Norwood said in a glum tone. "Why'd you get her cats, Joe?" "Because she needs them." "I mean, what's she going to do with them?" "I'm going to love them, Kevin. I've always wanted a cat, and I fell in love with these two the instant I saw them in Joe's office." She held the kittens close, and now they both purred, curling into balls next to each other in her lap, their eyes half closed. "You precious things," Tess breathed. She looked up. "Thank you, Joe." "That's not all there is." He squatted down to show her the remaining contents of the box. "Of course they're the important part." He'd also included a litter box, cat litter, food and water dishes, kitten food, toys, scratching post, and two books on cats and cat care." "What's this?" Tess picked up a small package that lay inside. It was wrapped in gold and silver striped paper with a white bow bigger than the tiny box itself. "A flea collar," Ed Greene quipped. Tess glanced at Ed, and wondered why he suddenly looked so pleased, as if he enjoyed a secret. Joe took the package from Tess with a glance around the room. "That can wait until later." He carried it over and placed it on the piano. "Now, didn't you promise us food, Tess? I'm starved. I smell turkey." "With cornbread dressing and homemade cranberry sauce," Ed said. "I peeked into the kitchen as soon as I arrived."
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"Everything's nearly ready," Laura said. "All we have to do is carve the bird and take the rolls out of the oven." Laura had taken over the kitchen while Tess dressed. She glanced at her watch. "You just have time to settle those little ones." Tess nodded. "Upstairs for now, I think." "Those kittens are a tough act to follow," Ed said, getting to his feet. "But I brought a gift, too, for everyone. Champagne. It's chilling in the kitchen. We can have a toast, later, in honor of Cottage Arts and their upcoming grand opening--and anything else that deserves a toast." He looked at Joe as he said this, with an odd light in his eyes. Alan arrived then, and Harry returned soon afterward, while Tess and Paige settled the kittens in Tess's room. Finally Tess and Laura prepared to put the meal on the table while Paige gathered everyone in the dining room and Joe helped carve the bird. Harry and Alan both reported that the weather was worsening, and everyone grew concerned, hoping it didn't blow into a blizzard. They decided to hope for the best, determined to enjoy the holiday meal together. Laura was taking the rolls out of the oven when Joe decided he'd better bring in firewood before it got too messy out. He opened the back door, and snow slanted into the kitchen in a heavy gust. Tess poured the gravy into a boat. "Will you take this in, too?" She handed it to Laura, who took it and the rolls away. Tess went to the back door to watch for Joe when he returned. He came in on a gust of wind, and they fought the door closed. "It's blowing in all directions out there." He was out of breath. When he appeared ready to battle the storm again, Tess said, "Don't go alone. It will take you forever in that." All the men pitched in to help, and they spent the next few minutes carrying in as much firewood as would fit next to the kitchen fireplace. Now everyone was concerned about the storm, and they soon reached a unanimous decision to spend the night rather than try to drive in this. Tess got everyone together in the dining room again. She lit the candles on the table. "We can't do anything about the storm. So let's enjoy this meal together and be grateful we're not out in it." They passed the food around family style. Meanwhile the wind had begun to howl in the trees and chimneys. Above that came the sound of someone banging on the front door. Tess got up to answer, and Joe came with her. "Eat," she pleaded with the others, as Joe followed her out. "I can't believe this wind," she told Joe as they approached the door. Jessica Laine huddled close to the door, her clothes pressed against her body, her hair flying wildly in the wind and snow. She was wailing when Joe opened it, and she nearly
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blew inside. Joe took her by the arm and drew her inside so he could haul the door closed. Then he turned and glared at her. "Jessica, what the hell are you doing here?" "I came to get you, Joe. Then this--this--snow started. You were expected at Uncle Ned's for Thanksgiving dinner. You knew that, didn't you?" Joe glanced at Tess, then placed his hands on his hips as he faced Jessica again. "What are you talking about?" "You didn't expect to spend Thanksgiving with me?" Jessica looked at Tess, and her face changed expression. She beckoned Joe to the door. "Come on, Joe. We're late." "No one's driving anywhere in this." "Well I'm not staying here. I only came to get you." "You shouldn't have come at all." "You won't be a gentleman and drive me back home?" Jessica looked angry now. She shot a glare at Tess and then faced Joe squarely. "What's going on here, Joe?" "Dinner," Harry said brightly, coming out to the foyer. "And it's getting cold. Come on, you'll have to join us. Joe's right, no one's driving anywhere in this." He introduced himself in his most charming manner, took her fur coat, and beckoned Jessica into the dining room. Harry, Joe and Tess between them managed to convince Jessica to not rush back out into the storm, and she reluctantly sat at the table with Tess's other nine guests. The former gaiety of the gathering faded to nearly absolute silence--except for the wind howling outside. Laura Greene suddenly laughed. Ed asked her what she thought was so humorous. "I was remembering the year I offered to cook Thanksgiving dinner for both our families. Then I got the flu, and you wound up taking care of me as well as all the cooking. Until now, I've always thought that was the most disastrous holiday meal on record." The next problem was to decide where everyone should sleep. There were four double beds, one sofa sleeper in the study, and a regular sofa in the living room. Laura and Ed were the only married couple. Everyone agreed they should room together, and the others would double up by gender as space allowed. They agreed on this while still at the table, where the food served to keep everyone in a jovial mood regarding the situation, except for Jessica. "How shall we decide on roommates?" Kevin said. "Draw straws?"
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"I'll share a room with you, Joe," Jessica said with a sweet expression. Silence fell over the table. Someone coughed, and Joe's face turned red. He shook his head and said quietly, "No, Jessica. You should room with one of the other women." He glanced at Tess. "Let's let our hostess decide," Paige said quickly. Tess sent her a look. Jessica stared at Joe for a several seconds and then said, "How could you embarrass me this way?" She rose and ran out of the room, in tears. Tess waited for Joe to follow. It seemed inevitable to her that he would, but he didn't. Joe resumed eating. Tess wondered what was going on with him, that he could eat while his fiancée was crying her eyes out in the other room, but she said nothing. They could all hear Jessica sobbing in the living room. People looked at each other, or at their plate, and no one said a word. Tess considered going out to talk to Jessica, but didn't want a repeat of the scene that had occurred when Jessica came here to tell Tess to stay away from Joe because they were engaged. Meanwhile Jessica's sobbing continued, growing louder and more dramatic. "Well. This is awkward," Alan said. He exchanged looks with Kevin, who grinned. "Oh, I can't take it any longer," Laura finally said in disgust. She started to get up. "Wait," Rose said. "Let me talk to her." With a glance at Joe, his sister went out to console Jessica. Paige had found a sheet of paper in the kitchen and now sat beside Tess again, writing furiously. She folded the paper and handed it to Tess, who unfolded it. It read, "Ten Little Indians!" Very amusing, Tess thought, but not constructive. She turned the sheet over and sideways, took the pen from Paige, and made six columns, one for each of the rooms in question. Upstairs: Tess's Room, Studio, Spence's Room. Downstairs: Study, Guestroom, Living Room. Paige took the sheet back from Tess and started filling in names, looking up for Tess's nod as she entered each one. Upstairs: Tess's Room--Tess, Paige; Studio--Harry, Joe; Spence's room--Laura, Ed. Downstairs: Study--Alan, Kevin; Guestroom--Angie, Rose; Living Room--Jessica. Tess gave a final nod. Then she read off to the group where everyone was to sleep. If anyone didn't like it she was prepared to put up a fight. She knew Paige and Harry would back her up. But no one argued. Paige went out to the living room to relay the decision to Jessica and Rose. There was no apparent disagreement there, either. If Jessica couldn't sleep with Joe, she was at least getting more privacy than anyone else, with the living room to herself.
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"Thank goodness that's settled," Ed said when Paige returned. "Now we can continue the festivities." He picked up the glazed yams. "Anyone else want more of these?" "I think we're ready for that champagne," Kevin said. Ed looked at Joe. "Not yet." "We may never be ready for that." Joe sent a wary glance in Ed's direction. "Oh no." Ed shook his head, smiling. "No backing out now, Joe." "What are you two talking about?" Laura looked from Joe to Ed. "Something's up." The lights went out then. Out in the living room, Jessica screamed. The dining room would've been plunged into pitch darkness if not for the candles in the center of the table. "Oh crap!" Paige said. Laura cracked up again. ### They washed dishes and put away leftovers by flashlight and candlelight, limiting as much as possible the time the refrigerator remained open, and doing their best not to bump into each other in the dark. Later Tess and Rose served pie in the living room, with coffee brewed in an old percolator on the gas stovetop. The guests sat on either the sofa, armchair, chairs carried in from the dining room, or pillows on the floor. While they ate dessert, the glow of firelight and candles created a warm and comfortable oasis, a haven of safety while the storm raged outside. "One good thing," Ed said, "is that you decided to delay the grand opening of Cottage Arts until next Friday. So if we're stuck here through tomorrow, the worst anyone will suffer is a long weekend indoors. Anyone have a problem with that?" "I have guests at Stoneway," Angie said, fidgeting. "They're in good hands, Angie," Kevin told her. In spite of his repeated assurance that her employees were capable of handling things, Angie kept going to the guestroom to use her cell phone and check on her business. During one of Angie's absences Jessica announced, to no one in particular, "My cousin Trent was arrested today. Uncle Ned is furious about it." Ed gave her a long look. "Why was he arrested?" "I don't know. We'd just heard about it before I came here to get Joe."
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"Tess thinks he's the one who vandalized this house yesterday, and gave her that black eye, don't you Tess?" Laura said. "I'm certain it was Trent." "But you said they wore masks," Rose blurted out. This made Tess take a hard look at Rose, but her face was cast in shadow. "I'm sure I recognized his voice." "Why would he do that?" Ed said. "I think they were searching for something." Tess wished this subject hadn't come up at all. She didn't know who to trust anymore, among all of these people who were supposed to be her friends. "They?" Ed said. "There were more than one?" Tess nodded. "There were two people." "The police think Tess's family was murdered," Laura said. "Murdered?" Angie stopped in the doorway, returning from the guestroom with her cell phone in hand. "Kevin, my battery's dead on this thing. Did you bring yours?" "Of course not. I know how to take an evening off. Use Tess's phone." Tess asked if anyone wanted more coffee or pie, and got up to serve seconds, hoping the subject of her intruders and her family's murder would die down while she made her escape. But it didn't. Harry explained his theory about bows and arrows while the rest of the group listened. "Jessica, does Trent own a bow?" Tess heard Kevin ask while she was in the kitchen. "Why would Trent kill Tess's family?" Ed said. "Tess," he called, "did they know Trent?" "What are they talking about?" Angie said, hanging up the phone and heading back toward the living room. Tess was pouring coffee by flashlight. She didn't answer. "You okay?" Joe said beside her, having followed her from the other room with a stack of pie plates. "I'm fine, but I didn't intend to discuss this now, with these guests." "They can't help it. The power's out, and they've found something more interesting than television. They're like kids telling ghost stories."
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"It's my family they're discussing." "I know." Joe put his arm around her. Tess thought he was about to kiss her, with his fiancée in the next room. She moved out of his reach and faced him. "Joe, why didn't you want to share a room with Jessica? Why didn't you go to her when she was crying like that?" Joe went still. He took a few seconds to speak. "Why would I do either of those things?" "Because of who she is to you." "Who she is?" "Oh, never mind." Tess turned and picked up the tray of coffee cups she'd filled. "It's none of my business." She walked out of the kitchen. "Tess, wait a minute," Joe called after her, and followed her, but he didn't pursue the subject after they returned to the room full of people. He went to stand near the piano, and Tess felt his gaze on her as she served coffee and sat down again to join in the conversation. To her relief the discussion of Trent Cambridge and her family had been dropped in her absence. "Angie asked how many of us have been snowed in before," Laura told her. "Have you, Tess?" They took some time to exhaust that topic, since most had lived here in the high Sierras for years. By then it was nearly ten o'clock, and no one seemed in any hurry to end the party and go to their assigned beds. Rose sat on a cushion on the floor near the fire, beside Harry. Her eyes shone and her smile looked years younger in the candlelight. "Tess, do you mind if we bring the kittens down here to play for a while?" Joe grinned at his sister. "I thought you were allergic." He stood by the piano again, where he'd spent most of the past hour, though there was a vacant place on the sofa beside Jessica. Alan got up and crossed over to the piano. "Who plays?" He opened the bench to look for music, but then he spotted the small gift-wrapped package Joe had placed on top of the piano earlier, before Alan arrived. Tess saw a curious look come over Alan's face. He reached out to touch the package. "That looks like a--" Joe snatched it up and walked over to Tess. "I need to speak to you for a few minutes. In private," Joe murmured. "We can round up your kittens while we're at it, and bring them down here for some play."
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Tess agreed. "But you all have to help look out for them in the dark, so they don't get stepped on, and keep them away from the candles and the fire." She headed for the stairs with Joe right behind her. "We'll be careful with your babies," Ed teased. Jessica got up from the sofa as Joe passed her. "I'll go with you." "Not now, Jessica." Joe spoke in a firm tone. He picked up a flashlight from the coffee table and lit the steps for Tess with it as he followed her up the stairs. Chapter 20 They entered Tess's bedroom carefully, in case there were kittens underfoot in the dark, but the kittens were nowhere in sight. "They've curled up to sleep somewhere." Joe closed the bedroom door. "They're in some tight crevice where it's warm, but they'll be together." Tess took the flashlight from him and searched under the furniture. "Tess, Jessica and I aren't lovers." It was all she could do not to shine the light in his face when she turned back to look at him. Was he saying they hadn't made love yet? That they were waiting until they married? "I'm not in love with her." "Why are you telling me this? It's none of my business." Tess shone the light under the bed, resuming her search. "Tess, stop. The kittens are fine. I'll help you find them. First, sit down here and listen to me for a minute." He motioned for her to sit on the foot of the bed, and he sat beside her, his thigh touching hers. She scooted away. "Listen to me. I'm in love with you." He took her free hand in his. Then he pulled the gift box with the white ribbon out of his jacket pocket, and placed it in her hand. "This is for you. I wanted to have some time alone with you, after everyone left tonight, to ask you. It's damned awkward having all of these people here right now." Ask her? "What is it?" She held onto the little package and looked into his eyes, as best she could in the dark without blinding him with the flashlight. "Here." He took the flashlight from her and held its beam on the gift in her hand. "Any ordinary couple would do this by candlelight. You get a blizzard, with all its sound and bad light effects. Open it, Tess. Please."
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She hesitated, trying to read his expression. She didn't understand why he would give her another gift, after he'd already brought the kittens here tonight. "Open it." Tess slid off the ribbon and carefully removed the wrapping, to reveal a velvet jeweler's box. "Joe?" She looked up at him, afraid to open it. "This is for me?" "It's for you." She opened the box. A ring shone up at her, sparkling in the illumination of the flashlight he held. It was white gold, with three stones, one large blue topaz set between two smaller diamonds. Tess stared at it, not sure what to make of it. "It's--beautiful, but why-" "I wanted to get you a diamond that size, but the topaz is the color of your eyes. I thought of you as soon as I saw it." "But--You thought of me?" Was this what he'd bought in Sacramento, for Jessica? "Will you marry me, Tess?" She gawked at him. Then at the ring again. Finally she said, "Do you realize what you're saying?" "Do I realize? I've been able to think of little else for nearly a week. I can't sleep. I can't concentrate. I love you, Tess, and I think--at least I strongly suspect--that you feel the same for me." Her heart gave a lurch as she took in his words. She only stared at him. "I thought you and Jessica--" "I love you, Tess. I want you to be my wife." "What about Jessica?" "You're not going to go on holding that against me, are you? It was a lot of idiocy. I should never have let her get the idea there was anything between us. I'm not sure how it happened. Her uncle kept--" Tess was angry again. She wanted to hit him, shake him. "Joe, you're engaged to her! I saw you kiss her!" He looked taken aback for a few seconds. "Engaged? No, no, Tess. I've never even gone out with Jessica except when her uncle was present. He throws her at me on a regular basis, when she's not doing it herself, and I've been careful not to hurt either his or her feelings, because I've been hoping he'd loan me some money for Cottage Arts, for the renovations. I was a fool for letting Ned string me along the way he has. I don't think he ever intended to make me the loan. He probably wanted to marry off his niece."
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"What about that ring she's wearing?" It was his turn to gape at her. "She came here the day you and I made love, and she told me to stay away from you because you and she are engaged." Joe shook his head, wearing a look of disbelief. "The ring used to be her mother's. So were all the fur coats. She's--not my type at all." He held up his hands as if to ward off this whole line of thinking. "She told you we're engaged? Is that what happened? Tess, I swear to you, any romance Jessica thinks exists between her and me is a fantasy." He took the box from Tess and removed the ring. "Will you answer my question? Will you marry me?" Tess was stunned, still taking in what he was doing, but she began finally to fear that if she didn't stop staring at him like an idiot and say something soon, he'd stop asking. She wanted to answer. She had an answer all ready. "I've been back here less than two weeks. We hardly know each other. I love you, Joe, but I keep asking myself how this could be, so quickly." He nodded. "I know. When I think back to how I felt about you years ago, I can't help but think that this is absolutely and undeniably meant to be. I want to be with you every minute. I know I can't, but when we're together it feels like the most natural thing in the world to want to spend the rest of my life with you. I don't understand it, Tess, and I can't help but believe in it, that the feeling is real, that it means something. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I'll understand, though, if you need more time to answer." He loved her. Tess. Not Jessica. She broke into a smile, welcoming fully this new notion, of marrying Joe. "I love you, Joe--" "Let me put this where it belongs." He was ready to slip the ring onto her finger. "Wait." She took a deep breath, and said the words she didn't want to say. "Jessica Laine. Whether she's lying or fantasizing, I can't say yes until that's cleared up, Joe." He stood. "Then let's talk to Jessica." They returned downstairs, with Joe in the lead this time. He looked about as determined as Tess had ever seen him. When he reached the foot of the stairs he said, "Jessica." The blonde jumped up from the sofa as if on springs. "Will you talk to us in private for a minute?" Joe headed for the study, with Tess right behind him. When Jessica followed them in, Joe closed the door.
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"Tess has something she'd like to ask you," he said. "Have a seat." Tess sat behind her father's desk. Joe and Jessica sat in the two leather visitor chairs, at right angles to each other. It was dark, except for the flashlight in Joe's hand, which he shone toward the floor. All their faces were dimly lit, with deep shadows. It was difficult for Tess to read either Joe's or Jessica's expression. "What do you want?" Jessica said to Tess in that familiar, haughty tone. "I want to know why you told me that you and Joe were engaged." Jessica sucked in her breath and looked at Joe. "I never told her that, Joe." "Are you saying you and Joe aren't engaged?" Tess said. "I--" Jessica looked at Joe again, as if seeking his support now. He sighed and looked away. "Jessica, I've never given you any indication that I was in love with you." Tess herself almost protested, remembering their kiss, which she'd seen occur right out in her own driveway. She reminded herself that it had been a glimpse of less than a second. Still, she wanted an explanation. "You didn't have to say it, Joe. You helped me with my shop. You went to all those meetings and dinners with Uncle Ned and me. You--" Jessica broke off. Joe's voice took on a more gentle tone. "Your uncle didn't tell you that I was trying to get a loan from him, for Cottage Arts? That was the reason he gave me, for all those meetings. He never gave any indication that he thought it was for any purpose but to discuss a loan. He invited you along, I didn't." "You kissed me." "No. You kissed me." Jessica looked at Tess. "Why are you doing this? Why don't you leave us alone? Why did you have to come back here?" She stood up, ready to leave the room. "Jess--" Joe took her arm, and she wrenched it out of his grasp. "Leave me alone!" Jessica shrieked. "Jessica," Tess said. "I'd like to hear you tell me the truth. Why did you tell me that you and Joe were engaged?"
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"Because you were throwing yourself at him, you wouldn't leave him alone. You don't belong here. I love him!" She remained standing, halfway to the door. Tess looked at Joe. "Tell her, Joe." He looked confused. "Joe, you've never told her that you don't love her, have you? She's made it clear how she feels. You haven't." "I--" Joe stared at Tess for a few seconds. Finally he looked at Jessica, who waited. A light knock on the door brought all their heads around. They didn't answer it. "Jessica," Joe finally said, his voice still incredibly gentle, "I don't love you. I never have. I'm not in love with you. Do you understand?" Jessica released a little gasp-cry combination and looked at him, then at Tess. Then she went out the door, slamming it behind her. Tess got up and came around the desk. Joe got up more slowly. "I'm an idiot," he said as Tess moved into his arms. "I was so worried about hurting her feelings, or Ned's feelings, I didn't even realize I was confusing the issue." "Compassion is only an error when it leaves too much unsaid." Tess kissed him. "We need to find my kittens." He followed her out of the study. Jessica had run into the powder room, and was sobbing noisily in there. Kevin stood near the study door when they came out. "What's up guys? Everything all right?" "Everything's fine now," Joe said, taking Tess by the hand. He led her back up the stairs. Once inside her bedroom with the door closed, Joe kissed Tess. She melted into his kiss, into his arms, and they lost themselves in each other for several wonderful seconds before a tiny mew brought them back to reality. Tess drew away and picked up the two kittens, who'd come out from wherever they'd been hiding to rub against her ankles. Joe chuckled. "I don't know what I was thinking, providing myself such effective competition for your attention." "You were thinking you loved me." "Now." Joe brought the ring box out of his pocket and opened it. He removed the ring. "Will you marry me, Tess?"
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"It's just now sinking in. I'm so happy, Joe. I don't think I can contain myself." Tess glanced at the ring, which sparkled with a special light, for her, even without the flashlight aimed at it. She looked up at Joe. "Is this really happening?" "It's real." He kissed her again. "But you had me going there. In fact, you still haven't said yes." "Yes!" She kissed him again. He slipped the ring onto her left ring finger. "There, finally where it belongs." "I--we--I want to tell everyone. Do you--should we, with Jessica here?" "I think the best thing is for her to hear it announced publicly, in a way that can't be questioned. She lied to you, and as a result confused and hurt us both. I'm not a vengeful person, and I may have left too much unsaid with her, but I'm not feeling particularly sympathetic toward her either. Are you?" "I thought your love was only my imagination for a few days there, so I know how that feels." Joe smiled. "I love you, Tess Hunter. God how I love you! I'm going to tell all your guests downstairs that I do, and that I'm going to marry you, in about thirty seconds." He drew her to the door. "Okay, but we're talking about someone who wears fur. I'm holding onto my kittens until I've gauged her reaction." Jessica was seated in her corner of the sofa again. Her reaction to their news was silence, but the others became noisy. Rowdy, even. Tess held the kittens, sometimes passing them off to Joe or Rose, for the next few minutes, while they received congratulations, hugs, best wishes, and kisses for Tess from most of those gathered in the house. "Now it's time for champagne," Ed said. "I've been holding out for this news. Joe, I thought you'd never ask her." "You knew about this?" Laura and Tess asked at the same time. Ed looked only a little guilty, but he smiled. "Joe couldn't contain himself. He showed me the ring the day he bought it, when we were all in Sacramento. You had him worried that day, Tess, when you wouldn't even go to Kevin's party with him." Ed slapped his hand over his mouth, then, and Tess remembered Laura wasn't supposed to know they'd shopped there. "I don't understand," Laura said to Joe. "You two just met. It's not usually possible for a romance to go on right under my nose without me realizing it. When did this happen?" "We didn't just meet," Joe said, his arm around Tess. "We grew up together."
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"You did? Oh. Well. I suppose you did. You were neighbors, weren't you? I'd forgotten that. Ed, let's open the champagne. While we're in the kitchen you can tell me when you went to Sacramento with Joe, in case you think I missed that. How much did you spend?" Laura the bookkeeper drew her husband away to the kitchen. Tess hazarded a glance at Jessica, who sat in a corner of the sofa clutching an afghan and a pillow, her eyes red and puffy, staring into space. Tess felt sorry for her, but Jessica had invited herself here tonight, had lied to Tess about her relationship with Joe, and had driven a wedge between them that had almost stuck. A little humiliation wouldn't kill her. Tess just wished Jessica didn't look so young and vulnerable right now. Jessica glanced up and saw Tess looking her way. Her lips tightened and she turned her head. Alan walked over to Jessica then, and offered her a glass of champagne. He sat beside her and spoke to her, coaxing her into conversation. Tess felt a world of gratitude to Alan, on the girl's behalf. Ed toasted Tess and Joe, and their future. Then he toasted Cottage Arts and all its business owners. Finally he toasted Tess's house, calling it, "a wonderful, warm place to be holed up in a storm with friends." ### Sometime during the night the storm subsided. Tess wondered, when she wakened in the dark, if a shift in the storm's intensity was what had wakened her. A moment later she heard someone creaking around the upstairs hallway, and she wondered if that was what had pierced her sleep. She glanced over at Paige, who was still deep in slumber. A floor board creaked again, while Tess listened. It sounded like someone was right outside her door. She crept out of bed, into her robe, and checked to see that the kittens were snug in their big box where she'd decided earlier they'd be safest for the night. There was a chill in the room, in spite of the wall heaters having been on all night. The kittens were curled up together in a tight ball, in one corner of their padded basket, asleep. Tess went to the bedroom door. She listened, but didn't hear anything for several seconds. She'd just worked up her nerve to open the door, when a soft knock on it made her jump. "Tess?" The low voice on the other side of the door sounded like Joe. Tess opened it a crack, heart pounding. A dark figure stood there, his height and size unmistakable in the dark hall. "Are you all right?" Joe murmured. She breathed again. "Yes. What are you doing up?" "Something wakened me. I remember hearing the sound of a snowmobile in my sleep. Then I thought I saw a light outside as I woke up." "Something woke me too, a few minutes ago," Tess said.
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"I'm going downstairs to take a look." He brandished the flashlight he held, as yet unlit. "Wait a minute, Joe. Wake up Ed and Harry and take them with you." He paused, standing close to her in the darkness for a moment. She wanted to hold onto him, to cling the way she'd seen Jessica do. "It may be nothing at all," Joe eventually said. "I'll be careful. I want to take a look. I was probably dreaming about snowmobiles. Who would come out on one in this weather?" He moved away. Indeed, who would be out in this weather running around on a snowmobile in the dark? A murderer was the only answer Tess could come up with. Trent may be in jail, but his accomplice wasn't. She followed Joe to the head of the stairs. Now that she thought about it, Trent hadn't behaved like a murderer, the day before yesterday. He could easily have killed her, but he'd shifted his attention from her as soon as his accomplice arrived, and that was when he'd blindfolded Tess, so she hadn't seen or heard the accomplice in any way that could give her a hint of who the person was. Was there a reason for that? Was the accomplice more dangerous than Trent? Did Trent know that? Had he actually been protecting Tess when he did that? Joe turned and saw that she'd followed. "Wait here." He moved down the stairs. Tess wanted to stop him. Since she couldn't, she decided to follow. Joe was two-thirds of the way down the stairs when the sound of breaking glass came from the kitchen. Tess swallowed a scream. Other sounds followed. A rattle and scrape, mingled with the tinkle and crack of glass. Then, faintly, the sound of a man cursing. A door lock turned, operating with the mechanical smoothness of the new deadbolt on the back door, which had glass panes. Tess could only assume it was one of those panes that had broken. She wanted to call Joe back, but he'd disappeared from view, down the stairs into the living room, heading in the direction of the kitchen. She held her breath, afraid to make a sound. Her heart thundered, filling her ears with its rapid rhythm so she didn't think she could hear properly what was going on down there. She held her mouth open and crept closer, further down the stairs, hugging the wall, her body so rigid with fear that each step she took felt sluggish, resistant. She needed to know Joe was safe, though. Reflected light flashed on the far dining room wall, and a man cursed. "Turn off that damn light, or I'll shoot, and I may hit you." The light went out. "What the hell are you doing here?" Joe demanded. A tiny shriek from the direction of the living room sofa signaled that Jessica had wakened.
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"Joe?" the man in the kitchen said." Who was that? Tess wondered. The voice was of an older man. "Where is she?" the man said. "Uncle Ned?" Jessica said in a wondering tone. Tess saw her sit up, on the sofa. "Jessica's here?" the man said. "Put the gun down, Ned," Joe said, "and tell me what you're doing breaking in here in the middle of the night." "The hell I will. I'm going to get what I came for, if it's the last thing I do. I've paid for it enough times. Where is she?" "Jessica?" Joe said. "No, damn it. The woman who's been bleeding me dry for years." "What are you talking about?" "Tess Hunter. Where is she?" Silence. Tess covered her mouth, terrified and clueless as to why Ned Cambridge was here with a gun, looking for her. And who was the woman who'd been bleeding him dry? "She's in here, Uncle Ned," Jessica called, pointing at Tess as if Uncle Ned could see her. Tess plastered her back to the wall, wondering how she could ever have felt sorry for the blonde and wishing she'd left her standing on the front porch to freeze last night. "What do you want with Tess?" Joe finally said in a low, deadly tone, which would've gratified Tess if only he was the one with the gun. "Move. Now. Don't make me shoot you, Joe," Uncle Ned said in the kitchen. Jessica moved, releasing something like an enraged whimper as she scrambled in the direction of the foyer. She moved something around down there. What was she doing? Joe backed into the living room slowly, from the kitchen, and the muzzle of Ned Cambridge's hand gun followed. Then Ned himself. Other noises stirred in the house, the confused mutterings and movements of Tess's other guests, who'd been wakened by the noise and were now shrugging off sleep as they attempted to understand what was happening. This worried Tess, because the more people the more confusion, and the more confusion, the more likely Ned Cambridge was to use that gun.
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"I'm up here," Tess said, as calmly as she could. "What do you want from me, Ned?" Jessica moved out of the foyer then, sidling over toward Ned. "Get out of the way, Jessica!" Ned waved her behind him. She moved as he indicated, in a sideways motion, keeping her face toward him and Joe, and her hands behind her back. She nodded in Tess's direction. "She's up there." Ned moved to see around Joe and looked up the stairs. "What do you want from me?" Tess said, her voice shaking. "Give me the blouse and I'll leave. I've paid you for it enough times. You're not getting another dime out of me now that Trent's in jail." Tess opened her mouth to speak, but then wondered what he would do if she told him the sheriff had the blouse. Shoot her? Shoot Joe? "Get out of the way, Joe," Ned said. "I don't want to hurt you. I want the damned blouse." "What blouse?" Joe said. "I know which blouse he wants." Tess fought to keep her teeth from chattering as she spoke. Would Ned know what the blouse looked like? If she gave him a blouse, any blouse, would he go away and leave them all alone? Or did he know that specific blouse? Tess backed up onto the next higher step. "Don't move another inch, Tess!" Ned warned. "Get out of the way, Joe!" "I'm not moving until you tell me what blouse." Tess saw Jessica raise an object that she'd held behind her. She lifted it high and crashed it down on Ned's head from behind. The gun in his hand went off. The object shattered into pieces. Ned crumpled to the floor. Joe cursed and sat down hard on the bottom step, then leaned against the railing. Tess cried out, and nearly fell down the stairs to get to him. She was almost beside him when she saw heard Jessica say, "Get away from him!" Jessica was aiming the gun at Tess. "Joe, darling, I'm so sorry. Are you all right? Please say something." Yes, please say something. Tess moved toward Joe again, and Jessica screamed at her, shaking the gun in Tess's direction. "Stay away from him! This is all your fault!" Then, in a sweet, dulcet tone, "Joe." Joe cursed again and moved, holding his left arm. He stood and moved up a couple of steps, placing himself between Tess and the gun.
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"Joe!" Jessica was in tears. A figure moved out of the shadows, beyond Jessica, and the gun flew upward out of her hand as the figure knocked her sideways. The figure picked up the gun. The figure was Rose. Angie stood behind her. Joe finally moved, in Rose's direction. "You're all right," Jessica cried, trying to put her arms around Joe. "You're all right." It took a few minutes for Tess, or any of them, for that matter, to take in what had happened. Jessica had hit Ned with the ceramic umbrella stand from the foyer. "I didn't want him to shoot Joe. I was so afraid he'd hurt you, Joe. Are you okay?" Joe's left upper arm was bleeding, but he stood and nodded. "I'm okay." They all looked at Ned, who lay still on the living room floor. Joe moved over to him and felt for a pulse at the man's neck. "Is he dead?" Jessica asked. Joe shook his head. Then he said to Tess, "Let's find something to restrain him, in case he comes to. I don't want to take any chances. Where's the gun?" He turned around, searching. Rose moved forward, the gun in her hand at her side. "I have it. What did he want? Do you know, Jessica?" "Something she has." Jessica pointed at Tess. "She's the reason for this." Joe, Angie and Rose all looked up at Tess. Tess nodded. "I think I know what he wanted, but I don't have it. Joe, your arm." She finally took another step toward him, and then was beside him, ecstatic that he was alive, that he was standing. He looked down at his arm and nodded. "It hurts like hell, but I think it's only a nick. I'll take a look at it once Ned is restrained. Come with me, Tess." He brought the flashlight, and he and Tess went to the kitchen pantry, where he found a roll of duct tape. Joe took it out and secured Ned's hands and feet, moving him as little as possible to do so. "We may need to improve on this once he comes to, but I don't want to risk injuring him further by moving him, for now." Next Joe took a paper bag and had Rose drop the gun into it. He closed the bag and taped it shut. "We'll hold onto this for the sheriff." By now all the other guests had congregated in the living room. All but Tess, Paige and Harry were still in their street clothes from last night. Ed was in the kitchen already, calling the sheriff.
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Everyone felt chilled, now the excitement was over. So they set about building up the fires in the hearths again, and thought about breakfast. There was nothing else they could do. After contacting the sheriff, Ed remained with Ned, to keep an eye on him. "It'll be hours before they can get here, with this storm and the snow it's dropped." Joe finally let Tess look at his arm, in the upstairs studio, by the light of the flashlight. He told her where to find the first aid kit, in the upstairs linen closet, and he directed her actions as she cleaned and taped up his wound. She found a fresh shirt of her father's for him. "What about the gun?" Tess finally said, eyeing the paper bag, which lay on the bed now. "I don't want it where Jessica can get to it. I know she says she was trying to save you, but I don't trust her." "Here." Joe handed the bag with the gun in it to Tess. "Hide it somewhere in the house, and don't tell anyone where you're putting it until the sheriff arrives." Joe lay down on the bed. "Oh, man, what a morning." "Harry, Laura and Rose are fixing us all some breakfast," Paige said, coming into the room. "Is it over now? Was Ned Trent's accomplice yesterday? Did they kill Tess's family?" Joe sat up. "We don't know. Tess, do you have any idea what Ned was talking about? He wanted a blouse." "The blouse is with the sheriff now," Paige said. "What blouse?" Joe asked, exasperated. Tess explained to him, about Trent's attempted rape eleven years ago, about the blouse Paige had found in Spence's backpack. She told him about her visit to Karen yesterday. She repeated Harry's theory of how the tire on her family's van was damaged. Finally, Tess told Joe about the blackmail letters she'd received. He took it all in, listening in silence. Ed sent word up, via Paige, that Ned Cambridge was conscious but not talking. Breakfast was ready. Joe and Tess headed downstairs. Angie fidgeted more now than she had last night. "I have half a mind to take that snowmobile out there and head back to Stoneway to make sure my guests are okay." "Angie, will you stop? You're obsessed," Kevin said, beside her. "You can't control everything, you know." Angie glared at him. Then she asked Joe, "What did you do with the gun?" "It's in a safe place," Tess said, and that was all she said. She'd hidden it away in the upstairs linen closet, in the back corner of the topmost shelf, behind a pile of her mother's old lace.
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"As much as I know you'd like to borrow that snowmobile," Joe told Angie, "No one's going to touch it until the sheriff gets here." "Fair enough." Angie nodded. "I guess maybe I could use a day off. Good thing too," she said with a glance out the window. "Because it's snowing again." They all groaned. Paige looked at Tess. "Have you had enough fun in the snow yet? Have you made enough snow angels? Can we go home now? Oh, I forgot, you're getting married. Joe, are you going to make her live in this? She has a perfectly good house overlooking a canyon, in L.A. There hasn't been a blizzard there since the last ice age." "What was that blouse Ned was talking about?" Kevin asked. "Tess, do you know? He seemed awfully worked up about it. Maybe we should ask him, now that he's awake." Tess shook her head. "I don't think--" She didn't want to talk about Trent's attack on her in front of so many people. "I'd like to ask him why he was stupid enough to break in, with all those cars parked out front," Laura said. "I keep my money in his bank. You like to think bankers are smarter than that." "Maybe he didn't notice them under all that snow," Rose said. "The lights were out." "Maybe he rode in the back way," Kevin said. Paige looked at Tess. "Is there a back way?" "We should save any discussion or questioning for the sheriff," Joe said helpfully, his gaze on Tess. "Right," Ed said. "Once the power is back on and the snow removal gets underway we can concentrate on digging ourselves out of here so Tess and Joe can have some privacy to plan a wedding." He winked at Tess. "In the meantime, let's try to relax. The crisis is over." Chapter 21 Once the storm appeared to have ceased for good, and they knew the roads would soon be passable, the party pitched in with the few shovels and one blower they had, to dig out their cars. By the time they finished Tess finally knew how to operate the blower, the sun was out, and the cold wind had turned to a breeze. They kept an eye on Ned Cambridge, but he remained subdued, and he refused to say another word. Jessica was back to her petulant, spoiled self, and didn't lift a hand to dig her own car out of the snow. She complained of the cold, of not being at home, of the food she was served because it wasn't what she usually ate. She complained, as the snowplow made its lumbering way up the road to free her to leave, that no one here
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liked her. As she said this, she sent a look Tess's way indicating she thought this was entirely Tess's fault. The one person Jessica didn't allow to hear her complaints was her Uncle Ned, whom no one had yet informed that his own niece had bashed him over the head with the umbrella stand. The sheriff himself came, with Deputy Prescott and a couple of others. Once Duane Prescott had taken Ned away, and all the other guests besides Harry and Paige had been questioned and allowed to go home, Sheriff Kendall sat down with Joe and Tess in the kitchen to talk to them over coffee. "Hell of a Thanksgiving," he said to Tess with a wry grin. "Laura Greene mentioned the happy news. Best wishes on your engagement." Tess glanced at Joe, who grinned, but looked exhausted as he leaned his head on his good arm, propped on the table. "Ned Cambridge says he's been blackmailed for the past eleven years, with threats to reveal evidence of Trent's criminal behavior. Tess, he says you're the one who's been blackmailing him, with a blouse you were wearing the night Trent tried to rape you." Tess was dumbfounded. "What makes him think it was me?" "It was a woman, and he's always figured you'd be the only one who would want to, or would have evidence of Trent's assault on you eleven years ago. Ned says you financed your magazine and publishing business with money you extorted from him. Do you have anything you want to say about that?" She stared at the sheriff. Joe cursed and started to speak, but the sheriff raised his hand to silence him, and waited for Tess to answer. "I didn't blackmail Ned Cambridge. I wouldn't hold his son's actions against him. All the money I've borrowed or earned in the past eleven years can be accounted for. I'll provide you whatever information you need, to verify that." Sheriff Kendall nodded, taking notes. Tess was angry now. "My partner Paige Chandler's father, Alfred Chandler, financed our magazine startup. We've paid him back through our own hard work. Our accountant has records of every transaction." The sheriff nodded again. "Your partners told me the same thing." He placed his hands flat on the table between them. "Now, we've examined the blackmail letters you've received, and found no fingerprints. The envelope the last letter came in was sealed, and we may be able to get a DNA sample from it. It's at the lab now. Your partner Harry brought us some interesting ideas about what may have been used to damage the tire on your parents' van. We're researching that as well, but we have no suspects yet."
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"You don't think Trent and his father were the ones who invaded my house? Ned came here on a snowmobile this morning." He shook his head. "Trent may have been here that day, but his father was at his bank. We'll check his story, but from what he says there are surveillance video tapes that will verify he was there, as well as numerous eye witnesses to his presence, both employees and bank patrons." "So there's still at least one more person responsible for that," Joe said. Sheriff Kendall looked at Tess. "Possibly for the blackmail and your family's deaths as well." Tess faced him. "I'm in danger?" "You may be." "Do you have any suspects at all, Les?" Joe said. The sheriff looked at Joe. "One person we know of, who may have a motive, can't account for her whereabouts during the invasion here the day before yesterday. She witnessed the Hunters' accident." Tess knew he was thinking of Rose. Joe's lips tightened. "What about Alan Stewart?" "The timing of his arrival that day is questionable. But it was a woman who blackmailed Ned Cambridge. Ned told us that your sister Rose had been dating Trent shortly before Tess says he tried to rape her. I asked your sister about it, and she refused to answer." Joe leaned back, his face darkening. The sheriff turned to Tess. "Can you think of anything else you may have forgotten to mention about Trent, your accident, your family, or the invasion on Wednesday?" "No. Wait--yes. One of my mother's journals is missing." Sheriff Kendall's eyes glinted. "A journal? Like the diary your mother had in her purse at the time of her death?" Tess stared at him for a second. "You found a journal in her purse? Is--was it still there when you returned it to me?" "Yes. Is it missing now?" he was frowning. "It's one of the items we wanted you to look at."
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"I haven't looked inside the purse you returned yet. This would have been an earlier journal, the one from the year of Trent's first attack on me, and my accident a couple of days later. I read part of it a few days ago, but now it's missing." "Les," Joe said. "Tess tells me you never found her father's cane, and she hasn't found it anywhere in the house. Is it possible that, or anything else, was left at the scene of the crash?" "The scene is buried under even more snow, now. If there's anything else there--a cane, you say? That hardly seems significant." "Tess's father left a voice mail saying they were on their way to see you that morning." "Yes. We checked the voice mail." "There must be something you missed. Did you find anything in the glove box, in his pockets, or his wheelchair, anything he might've been bringing to you?" The sheriff looked from Joe to Tess, and back to Joe again. "No." There was something the sheriff wasn't saying, Tess thought. Both she and Joe watched his face, but he didn't say anymore. Finally the sheriff backed his chair away from the kitchen table. "I'm finished here for now." "There's one more thing," Tess said. "I visited Karen Jensen yesterday and asked her about the things we found in Spence's backpack. She didn't say much. Her father thinks she's hiding something because she's scared. She did possibly identify the single key Spence had in his backpack, as a passkey he offered to return to Stoneway for her after she quit her job there. She quit the day after her friend Gail was raped in the parking lot." Sheriff Kendall stood and continued toward the living room. "A passkey, you say? I'll make a note of it." Tess turned from the door after he left, feeling frustrated. Joe turned to her. "Why do I feel, except for the part where they hauled Ned off to jail, that was just a colossal waste of time." He put his arm around Tess, and the gesture gave her the best, most secure feeling she'd had all morning. Paige came down the stairs, on her way to the utility room with an armload of sheets to wash. "I stripped all the upstairs beds and made them up with fresh linens." Tess thanked her profusely. "I never intended for you to spend all your time doing housework while you're here." "It felt good to keep moving," Paige told her. "Oh, I found the journal you were looking for. It was wedged between your box springs and headboard. It was still open to your page, though the page is a little wrinkled. I left it on your nightstand. The kittens are up,
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and they sound h-u-n-g-r-y." Paige glanced at her watch. "Don't forget you're supposed to see Dr. Lloyd today." ### After the kittens were fed and they'd shared a meal with Paige and Harry, Joe and Tess went upstairs and spread the contents of Cathy Hunter's purse out on the bedspread. They found the most recent journal stuffed inside a zipper pocket in the center of the purse, and set it aside with the one Paige had found in the bed. They removed every card, receipt and scrap of paper from Cathy, Spence and Jim Hunter's wallets. They sorted and examined everything, saving the journals for last. "Nothing," Joe finally said, after unfolding the final scrap of notepaper from Cathy's purse. "A shopping list." "Did you get the feeling Sheriff Kendall was keeping something from us?" Tess said. "I've heard they hold back information from an investigation like this, something only the criminal would know." "I hope he does know more than he's telling us, because if not he doesn't know much." Joe picked up the open journal, from eleven years ago, and started reading it while Tess returned items to the purse and wallets. She didn't feel at all anxious to read that journal again. It had hurt her too much the last time. Tess still felt close to tears every time her mother's words came back to her. I hope I get my little girl back, the way she used to be. She shivered, and Joe glanced at her. Then he turned the page and kept reading. Tess picked up the other journal, the one from this year, which had been in her mother's purse. "Wait." Joe touched her arm. "You should read this first, Tess." "I've read all of that one I can take." "I know the last page you read hurt you, but you have to understand how frightened your mother was for you and Spence when she wrote that. She was an emotional wreck, herself, then. You'd nearly been killed. Read on. The next entry is dated three days later. Here." He pressed it into her hand. She reluctantly took the journal from him and read it. "I was so wrong. How could I have thought those words I wrote here last, let alone write them? I almost tore out the page and burned it, but I've decided to keep it as a lesson to myself. "It's not Tess I should've doubted. Spence tried to tell me that first night, and I didn't understand, couldn't understand. But the sheriff questioned her other friends and most of them confirmed there was no party. They all thought she was home, babysitting. They
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said she loved to take care of Spence. Oh my poor Tess, what did we do to you, setting you up with that horrible person? "Tess's father thinks it may have been Trent who was driving my car. The car keys are still missing, they weren't found at the scene. Jim says Tess's injuries aren't consistent with her being in the driver's seat. The emergency room doctor agrees. Her blood was found on the passenger's side. Jim thinks she was moved to the driver's side after the impact, and he's trying to get the sheriff to investigate Trent. Spence thinks someone forced Tess to leave the house that night. He says she was fun before that, just 'regular Tess,' playing with him, letting him have milk and cookies while she read him a story. After he went to bed Spence heard a noise downstairs. He called down to Tess and she told him to go back to bed. In Spence's words, 'She sounded quivery, like she was crying.'" Tess looked up at Joe in amazement. "That's what I remembered on Wednesday, Spence asking me why I was crying, and me telling him to go back to bed." Then realization struck her. "She knew. They believed me. My mother knew I didn't--" "Finish reading it," Joe said. "Spence heard another voice, too, when he got up and peeked over the stair rail. Tess was being pulled forcibly out of the house through the entry hall. Spence couldn't see who, but he says they had a man's voice, and they said she'd pay. "The sheriff says he can't arrest Trent without more evidence, and Tess was the one with alcohol and drugs in her system. We don't think they'll charge her now, though, because they can't prove she drove the car, and the keys are still missing. "Tess told me Trent tried to rape her. I didn't believe her at first, but now I'm frightened for Tess. Her father and I feel so helpless to protect her, and Trent keeps coming here wanting to see her. We haven't told her, we don't want to frighten her. We're thinking of sending her to Aunt Christine's. She'll be safer there, until this blows over or they can arrest him. But they need proof." Tess looked at Joe. There was more, but she'd read enough for now. She put the journal down, her gaze lingering on it. "They were afraid for me. Afraid of Trent hurting me again. I'm not so sure they were wrong, after the past few days. If I'd come home and learned Dad was ill, I would've wanted to stay, or at least visit often, and Trent clearly didn't intend to leave me alone. I wish they hadn't decided for me. I wish they'd talked it over with me." "Tess, why did you allow me to think you didn't want to see them?" She met Joe's look. "Because I didn't know why they kept me away. I thought they believed me guilty of leaving Spence alone to run off and party that night, that they were afraid I'd be a bad influence, or a danger to him. I could see how much you cared for them. What would you have thought if you knew what my parents had done and not why? I wasn't sure you'd even believe me." Tess spoke slowly, her grief resurfacing, but with a new depth. She no longer felt the shock, the resentment, the anger and confusion clouding her feelings for her family, but she missed them, and she would for a long time.
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She brushed tears from her eyes. "I thought I'd lost their trust and love forever, through no fault of my own. I lost my little brother." Joe took her in his arms. "It must've been hard for you, to feel alone all those years, to miss seeing Spence grow up. No wonder you buried yourself in your work." "No. I--" she began, but paused as she met his gaze. She had done that for a long time. "Well, there are worse substitutes." "Like last fall, when you celebrated Thanksgiving in a restaurant with another lonely friend and you got quietly drunk together?" She winced at his words. "Harry had no right to tell you that." "Harry cares a lot about you. A lot of people do." They paused at a mew, and found two kittens sitting on the bed with them. Joe chuckled and said, "These two can't stand to be away from you for long, either." The kittens took up their attention for a few minutes before they decided to continue on to the latest journal. Joe proposed that they work their way through it backward from the last entry, and he picked it up to read out loud. "I spoke to Rose about Angie's call, and I begin to see things from a new perspective. I think she's jealous of Tess! It doesn't make sense, but I've been thinking a lot about Tess, and talking to Rose about her and her friends the past few days, ever since Peter Lloyd asked us about her. Rose must be sick to death of hearing me go on. I remember that boy Tess was dating, the one we thought was so terrible. Alan Stewart. I ran into him a few weeks ago. He was with his son, Tyler. I've never seen a more well-behaved or happier little boy. He reminded me of Spence at that age, or of Joseph. So, could Alan ever have been so bad? I mentioned him to Angie yesterday. She didn't say a word. In fact, she was a lot quieter than usual. It made me wonder why she called." Joe paused and met Tess's gaze. "That must have been after I called Angie to arrange my visit. She was keeping my call a secret. I wanted to surprise them, but I asked Angie to find out if they'd be in town for the holidays." Tess didn't voice the question in her mind. "I think she's jealous of Tess!" Had her mother written that about Rose or Angie? Tess glanced at Joe. He continued reading. "Spence is upset about Trent, suddenly, insisting we talk to Tess about him. He's writing everything down that he remembers about that night. Karen is here helping him with it, though I don't see how she can. Spence seems to be on his own mission now. He's talking about evidence, he mentioned the car keys from that night. I don't know what to make of it. He worries me, he's so driven, and so angry. I'm sure there's something he's not telling us. Jim has agreed to call Tess. We do need to talk to her. We'll take our letters to the sheriff on Monday. Peter Lloyd is right, we can't let Trent continue to hurt people. I think Tess will agree, once she knows he's still at it.
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"I'm so worked up worrying about this and about Spence that I'm not making sense, here where I usually sort things out. Jim is thinking of inviting Tess home for the holidays. That's the one joyful thing in all of this. I'm afraid to tell Spence. I don't want to get his hopes up." Tess sat up, fighting tears again, but holding them in, wanting to get to the bottom of the questions. "Joe, I think Karen knows more than she told me, about the blouse, and the keys. The other journal said the keys were missing from my mother's car after the accident. How could I have removed the keys? I was unconscious. Maybe those are the keys we found in Spence's backpack." Joe nodded. "We need to talk to Karen again. We also need to tell the sheriff about the letters they wrote, and remind him of those keys." He glanced at his watch. "First you need to get to your appointment." ### While Joe made a call to the sheriff, Tess helped Paige fold clean sheets. Paige told Tess she and Harry were leaving shortly to go back to Stoneway, get the last of their luggage, and check out. "Harry needs to get back to L.A. The storm dumped a lot of rain in San Francisco, too. The printer there had a flood, so he has to get the files to our backup printer. I'll stay here with you for a couple more days, but Harry's heading back today. He's at Rose's house now, saying goodbye." Paige wore a pensive look. "We may need to move our whole operation up here." "Don't worry, Paige. We'll work it out." "I know, but you know how I hate change. Coming out here from the East Coast about ripped my guts out." "Somehow I don't recall it being that gruesome," Tess teased. "I kept it all inside." "You came out here for me, because I said I wanted to live in California, didn't you." Paige met her look and smiled benignly. "What else was I going to do? I pushed you into this business. The least I could do was let you live where you wanted." She was silent a few seconds and then said, "I called Daddy yesterday morning, while you were out driving around and I was worried about you. I told him you were burned out with the magazine and cookbooks. He said of course you were. He said it was time for you to start something new."
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Tess met Paige's look. Paige smiled at her, and there was something in her eyes, a kind of acceptance and affection, that made Tess realize they would always be friends. "I love you, too," Tess said. Paige's smile broadened. "You're not going to quit on us to become a stay-at-home mom, are you?" Tess smiled. "I need time to step back and take stock of where I'm going. You and I will always be partners, you know, in one thing or another." "In crime, no doubt." Paige continued to smile. "I told Daddy it looked like you might be starting something new already. He asked what. When I told him about the bakery, he said that's not what he meant. He said you need to start a new magazine. He suggested one having to do with art." Tess paused, taking this in with renewed interest. She nodded. "It does make me want to think." She looked at Paige. "I always admired your dad." "Me too." Paige was beaming now. "When are you getting married?" "We haven't had a chance to talk about it, but I think soon. I don't want anything fancy, I just want to marry him quick. Whenever it happens, I want you and Harry to be there." When Joe got off the phone he was in a hurry to leave. "Duane Prescott will meet us at Peter Lloyd's office and head to Karen Jensen's house with us," he told Tess on their way out. Chapter 22 "What throws me is Ned Cambridge thinking I blackmailed him," Tess said on the drive back from Wilder to the Jensens' house. They were in her rental car. Joe was driving. The sky was fading to dusk already, with a new batch of clouds moving in, thankfully without the same threat they'd held two days ago. "Ned Cambridge is the last person I'd take money from." Tess caught herself and sent Joe a guilty look. "I'm sorry." He grinned. "It's okay. I don't think he ever intended to fund my project. I was a fool to let him string me along the way he did." "You didn't suspect me of blackmailing Ned, did you, when you first heard that?" "Maybe for about half a second, and only because I was in shock at the time. I'm more concerned about Rose's possible involvement in what's been going on." "Why? You know Rose better than you know me." "Because she had more reason--" "Trent tried to rape me!"
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"--and maybe less resilience. You didn't let yourself be traumatized for long, did you." He didn't ask it, he stated it. "I know you're afraid of Trent, and what happened on Wednesday terrified you, for good reason, but it's not a morbid or unreasonable fear, is it? It's not the fear it would have been if he'd succeeded back then." "No." "Your accident had a more lasting effect, because it robbed you of your family." She nodded, but he didn't see it. He watched the road ahead. "Tell me about that night again. Every detail you can remember. See yourself there." Tess sighed. She didn't want to go over it again, but she needed any answers she could find in those memories. "My parents went to dinner with friends." "What friends?" "I'm not sure. They left a note with the number on the refrigerator. They always did that. When they left, Spence and I were in the kitchen eating our dinner. When we finished, I cleaned up and then made cookie dough. I opened the back door and all the windows, to keep the oven from heating up the house too much. We played a board game. A couple of friends called, but I told them I was busy. I let Spence have warm cookies, with milk. I drank lemonade. We played his board game until it was time for his bath. He was only six, so he had an early bedtime, eight-thirty, I think. I stayed upstairs to read to him." Tess paused, blinking. "After that I woke up, in the hospital. But what I remembered this Wednesday must've come after his bath. I was standing in the foyer, telling Spence to go back to bed. He asked me why I was crying." "Were you frightened?" Tess looked at Joe. "I don't know. The memory makes me feel numb, sad, and . . . fuzzy." She shook her head, shaking off that feeling. Then she looked at Joe. "I was drugged. It must have been after I was drugged. Now that I think back, it's close to the way I felt at Trent's, a couple of nights earlier, when he drugged me, only this was more pronounced." "If you were under the influence of drugs then, but not earlier, you must have been drugged somehow after you gave Spence his bath. Think back. Did you lock up the house before you and Spence went upstairs for his bath?" "No. It was a hot night. Besides, we rarely locked up the house until everyone went to bed." "Think about this, Tess. Did you eat or drink anything after you put Spence to bed and returned downstairs?" She tried to recall, but finally shook her head. "I don't know." "You'd been drinking lemonade earlier, you said. Did you take it upstairs with you?"
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"I don't think so. I don't know." "Who knew you were at home alone with Spence that night? Which friends called you?" "Alan, and a girl whose name I don't recall. I barely knew her." "Alan?" "We'd been dating, until a few days earlier, when my parents insisted I stop seeing him. He called me that night to ask if they'd changed their mind, or if I had." "The girl whose name you don't recall. Would she have any reason to want to hurt you?" "No. I didn't know her. She was someone from Mom's church. Mom was trying to get me to start attending again." "Why were your parents so worried about your friends, and you going to church?" "Good question. My parents decided my newer friends were somehow leading me astray. Honestly, Mom kept talking about Alan as if he were a criminal. You know Alan. I have no idea why she was so suspicious of him. She had no good reason." Joe didn't comment on Alan. "Did anyone else know you'd be home that night? Who did you tell earlier?" "I'd planned it a week or so in advance. A lot of my friends knew. The people at Stoneway knew. Angie knew. I worked part-time in the kitchen there that summer." "Did you mention to Trent, during your date, that you'd be home with Spence that night?" "No. That was a one-sided conversation, all about Trent's car and his skiing trips, hunting and things like that." "Skiing and hunting? Did Trent know Angie back then? Could she have mentioned to him where you were going to be that night?" Tess looked at Joe. "Angie knew who he was, but-- No, you see, Angie knew he'd tried to rape me. She was the only person who knew. I hadn't told anyone else." Joe frowned at her. "When did you tell Angie?" "The night Trent tried to rape me. I had a bad feeling about him driving me to his house after dinner, without asking me first. His parents and sister were out of town. When he went to his kitchen to get our drinks, I called Mom to tell her where I was. Then I called Angie. I gave her the phone number and asked her to come get me if I paged her from there. She had the beeper for the airport shuttle. She used to drive it on the regular driver's day off. I didn't call her back, but someone called while Trent was on top of me. He let it ring. Angie said later that was her. When there was no answer she started to worry. She drove up and found me on the road, running away from his house. She
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rescued me. She was the only one who knew about him trying to rape me, until after my accident, when I told my parents." A sudden thought occurred to Tess. She picked up the two journals on the seat between them, turned on the dome light because dusk had fallen, and thumbed through the earlier one. "What are you looking for?" "When I told my parents what Trent had done, I told them to ask Angie about it, because I was afraid they didn't believe me. They assured me they would, but Angie says they never did. That doesn't fit, does it? They would've asked her." Joe pulled up in front of the Jensen house, and nodded toward the marked sheriff's vehicle already there. "Here's Duane." He and opened his door. Tess would have to look through the journal later. She opened her own door and got out, still thinking about Trent, and that evening at his guest house. He'd drugged her. She tried to recall how the drug had made her feel, comparing that feeling to her fuzzy memory of seeing Spence on the stairs a couple of nights later. She'd sat on Trent's couch, looking at a painting on his wall. Tess suddenly made a connection. "The painting!" She paused on the front steps of the Jensen house, and saw in her mind's eye the painting in the dining room at Stoneway. The same painting Trent had on the wall of his guest house eleven years ago. A hunt scene. "But why?" Joe turned to look at her. So did Duane Prescott, his finger already pressing the Jensens' doorbell. Margaret Jensen came to the door. She didn't look happy to see the three of them, but she let them in and called her husband out to the front room. "We'd like to speak to Karen, Mr. Jensen," Duane said in a formal tone. Hank Jensen didn't argue or ask questions. He told his wife to get Karen and invited them into the family room. "I called Kevin Norwood yesterday, after you left here," Hank Jensen told Tess. "I told him you found the passkey, that it was in safe hands. I insisted they pay Karen, or I'd take it up with my attorney. Angie Norwood delivered a check here for Karen, a few minutes ago. Do you still have that key?" "No." Tess gestured toward Duane in his blue uniform. "The sheriff does." Karen came into the room from the kitchen, and took a seat beside her mother. She didn't look happy, in spite of having gotten her paycheck. Tess saw something more than grief written in her face. Something besides losing Spence still troubled her.
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Duane, already primed from his conversation with Joe earlier, started right in. "Karen, according to Cathy Hunter's journal, you helped Spence write a letter to the sheriff about Trent Cambridge." Karen opened her mouth. Her mother turned to look at her. "Can you tell us what was in that letter?" Karen shook her head no, slowly. "I understand you used to work at Stoneway until a few days ago," Duane went on, undeterred. "What kind of work did you do there?" "Housekeeping." "Did you clean the guests' rooms?" "Sometimes, but I usually worked on the ground floor, cleaning the common rooms and the offices." Karen chewed her lower lip. Duane nodded. "Sounds like a decent job. Why'd you quit?" Karen took a deep breath and looked at her mother. "I needed to spend more time studying." "Karen, there were some items in Spence's backpack that we're curious about. One was a blouse that had been torn." Her eyes were wide now. "Tess Hunter identified the blouse as hers, but says she lost it eleven years ago. She doesn't know how it got into Spence's possession. Do you?" Karen's eyes had filled with tears. She nodded, sobbing. Her mother held her close and handed her a tissue. It was a moment before Karen appeared ready to speak. "Karen," Duane said softly. "Did that blouse have anything to do with you quitting your job?" "I couldn't go back there again, to Stoneway. I was too scared. I didn't think anyone would believe me, and I knew what they did to Spence's sister, years ago. They almost killed her. They ruined her reputation; people still gossip about her. Spence made me promise not to say anything or go back. He wanted me to be safe. So I called and told Kevin Norwood that I needed to quit to keep up with school. Angie called me back and tried to get me to stay on until after the holidays, but I said no, so she told me to come by as soon as I could to return my key, and she'd cut my last paycheck." Karen looked from Joe to Duane, then drew a shuddering breath.
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"That key," Duane said. "Was it one of those new plastic cardkeys? Can't they void those?" "No. This was for the offices. It was a regular metal key. Spence offered to return it for me, so I gave it to him. That's why he's dead." Karen broke down in tears again. Duane looked at Tess and Joe, and they all waited for Karen to stop crying long enough to continue talking. Hank Jensen got up and offered them coffee, looking disturbed, as if he needed to escape while his daughter wept. Karen's mother remained beside her on the sofa with one arm around her. Hank came back with hot drinks about the same time Karen's sobs subsided. "Karen, I know this is upsetting for you," Duane said, "but why were you scared to go back to Stoneway? What scared you?" Karen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I overheard an argument, a few days before Spence's accident." "Will you tell me what you overheard?" Karen nodded. "I was trying to get a chance to clean Angie's office." Karen finally began talking freely now. She painted a thorough picture for them of the scene she'd witnessed. Tess felt something die inside her as she listened. Karen had stood outside the office, in front of the reception desk, waiting. Angie never wanted Karen to clean while she was working in her office, and she'd been in there all day, so Karen hadn't had a chance to get to it. Now she feared Angie would be angry if it didn't get cleaned today. So Karen waited for Angie to come out, planning to ask her if she could clean it now. She'd stowed her cleaning cart out of the way in the next room, because Angie hated it to be left sitting in the lobby. The office door was closed, and Angie was in there talking to someone in an angry tone. "Ned wants the blouse," Angie said. "He says the statute of limitations has run out, or something like that. He sounds like a freaking lawyer. If we give him the blouse he'll pay this last time, but that's it. If we don't give it to your dad he says he's going to turn us in." "Us?" a male voice said. "Well, Tess." Angie chuckled. "So give him the blouse." Angie said something in a low tone that Karen couldn't hear. The man said, "You want me to do one of your guests?"
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"Yes, and bring back some evidence. We'll keep milking your dad. He won't want a scandal. He'll figure out he's not dealing with Tess, but he still won't know who we are." "Are you nuts? This is getting out of hand, Angie." "Oh, have you suddenly developed a conscience? Excuse me. Don't try to tell me you haven't raped anyone since you tried it with Tess. I won't believe it. I doubt she was the first." "Let's give the blouse to him. It's making me nervous. He's always asking me where I get my money." Angie laughed. "Where do you get all your money? You've never worked a day in your life." "Just give him the damned blouse!" Karen heard a slide and bang like the slamming of a drawer shut. "That's where the blouse is staying." The office door had been closed, but now the doorknob turned, with a small noise. Karen moved. She scurried behind the big, stuffed black bear next to the reception desk, and she stayed there behind the bear as the man strode out into the lobby. She peered past the bear's outstretched foreleg and paw. The man was Trent Cambridge. She'd seen him visit Angie here before. Trent stopped, turned around, and looked about to walk back into Angie's office. He stood in the lobby for a minute, breathing hard, looking furious. Karen feared he would come past her and see where she hid, and it was all she could do to keep still and quiet, but eventually Trent went out the front door. As Karen described seeing Trent leave, she looked forlorn, and near tears again. "He must have done what Angie told him to do, because that's the night Gail was raped in that parking lot." "What?" Hank Jensen said. He'd been pacing while his daughter told her story. Karen glanced at him. "That's the night he raped Gail." She turned back to Duane. "By the time I heard about it, I'd already called Kevin, to quit my job. After I heard what happened to Gail, I told Spence about the argument I'd heard, that I was afraid to go back there. Spence offered to return the passkey for me. I told Spence about the bottom desk drawer Angie always kept locked. I'd seen her stop to lock it, or check that it was locked, whenever she left her office to let me clean. "Spence went there late one night and used my passkey to get into Angie's office. He broke into that drawer. He found the blouse there, and a set of keys. Spence found out later they were his mom's keys, the ones missing from Tess's accident. Spence wrote a
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letter to take to the sheriff, and he got me to write one about the argument I'd heard. The morning of their accident, they were planning to see the sheriff with those letters." "But they didn't take the blouse with them that morning," Tess said. "It was in Spence's backpack, in his room." "They wanted to make sure the sheriff would listen first, that it was enough to prove you didn't cause that accident. They were worried about that, because it made you look bad that it was never resolved. Spence had always been angry about that, about the gossip. They thought your accident was an attempted murder." "Karen, have you told anyone else about this?" Duane asked her. "No. The only one I told before tonight was Spence. He told his parents, but they were the ones who warned us not to talk about it. They told me I should tell my parents." She looked at her mom. "But I was afraid you'd never let me get another job." "You're only sixteen," Margaret Jensen told her daughter. "You'll have plenty of time for jobs, once you're done with school." "Can you do anything about this?" Hank Jensen asked Duane, visibly upset. He'd been on his feet for the past few minutes, pacing, while his daughter told her story. "Karen's not in danger, is she? Angie was just here." Duane called for a deputy to watch the Jensens' house. He left to head over to Stoneway, to pick Angie up for questioning. Tess and Joe went out to their car in silence, and drove back to Tess's house. Full darkness had fallen, and the porch light was off. Tess followed Joe up to the door, and then remembered the journals, still in the car. "I'll be right in." She went back for them while Joe unlocked the front door. Tess had just opened the car door when she heard an odd noise inside the house, a thud and then a groan. "Joe?" she called. The front door was still open. She ran up the steps to the house--and stopped outside the front door. Angie stood in the doorway of the study with a shovel in her hands. She dropped it, then looked out and saw Tess. She pulled a handgun out of her jacket and aimed it at Tess. She came out and closed the front door behind her, as Tess caught a glimpse of Joe lying on the entry hall floor. "Joe!" Tess called. "What did you do to him?" Angie held the gun on Tess, and ordered her over to the car. There she told her to turn around, and she taped Tess's hands behind her with duct tape--possibly the same tape Joe had used earlier on Ned Cambridge. She worked quickly and then opened the
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passenger door. "Get in the car." Once Tess was in, Angie taped her ankles together as well. She did all this in a hurry, as if every second counted. "Don't go anywhere," she said with a laugh. "I'll be right back." Angie closed the car and locked it, then ran back to the house, while Tess fought frantically with the tape on her wrists. She found, by feeling with her fingers, that in her haste Angie hadn't put many layers of the tape on, two at the most, and there was one spot where she'd left a narrow section of one layer without any overlap. Tess hoped to be able to tear it. She worried about what Angie was doing inside the house, to Joe, or to anything or anyone else. Paige had still been here when they left, waiting for Harry to get back from visiting Rose so she could take him to the airport. That was a good three hours ago. Had Paige returned? Was Joe alive? Tess felt desperate to know, and this only served to make her more frantic to get out of her bonds. Angie was gone for several minutes, so she had enough time to get one end of the tape loose. If only she could reach it with her teeth. It was so sticky, even where she'd loosened it, that it was difficult to make progress. Angie came back out and closed the front door behind her. She slid into the driver's seat of the rental car and put on her seatbelt. Then she placed the gun on her lap, pointed in Tess's direction. She inserted the ignition key, which had been in Joe's hand when he entered the house, and started the car. Chapter 23 Angie drove like a maniac, sending Tess, without a seatbelt, lurching to one side or the other every time Angie swung around a curve. At one point, when Angie lost control of the car for an instant, Tess screamed. "Shut up!" Angie snarled. "Angie, why? I don't understand. When did you start hating me?" "The night you ran away from Trent was the turning point. I rescued you, and later that night all you did was whine about your parents not letting you see Alan freaking Stewart anymore." "I was upset, I'd been attacked." "I saved your ass!" Angie turned toward her. "You dumped me for those moronic freaks, when I was busy trying to save Stoneway, and taking care of my grandfather who was dying! All you cared about anymore was painting with your new pals. You abandoned me like they did." They? Tess realized all at once what Angie was talking about. "Like your parents?" They'd abandoned Angie and Kevin because of their drug habit. Angie didn't answer. She wore a grim expression.
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"I never meant to abandon you, Angie." Yes, she'd known Angie was busy working, and that her grandfather was sick. Tess had her studies, she was getting ready for college. Tess felt bad about that, but she'd been a kid herself. How could Angie think Tess's neglect of her excused blackmail and murder? So many deaths. "You and your perfect life, your perfect parents who you didn't even appreciate. 'They don't understand me!' That's all you used to say about them. God, I was sick of hearing you whine about that. At least your parents didn't leave you with your grandfather so they could go off and be high for the rest of their lives. At least yours weren't spaced into oblivion, living on the Sacramento streets like sewage! Kevin and I would've been in foster homes if not for Granddad, and when he was dying my best friend was nowhere to be found. I tried to get you away from your new friends, by telling your parents that they were druggies, and that Alan was into weird religious rituals. It was working, too. They made you stop seeing Alan. "But that night, I knew you didn't give a damn anymore about me. You were gone on Alan Stewart, whining how unfair your parents were. So I took your blouse out of your bag before you went home the next morning, and I called Trent Cambridge. I told him I'd go to the cops unless he paid me. I told him I had the torn blouse and could prove he'd tried to rape you. I told him I'd been looking in the windows. You'd told me the whole story, so I knew the details, right down to the painting in his living room." Angie wore a crazed grin now. "He laughed! He said I'd called the wrong person, that he didn't have any money, but he would help me get the money I wanted from his father, if I cut him in. All I had to do was give him the blouse. I said fine, as long as we let his dad think it was you who was blackmailing him." While she talked, Angie headed the car down the winding hill road. "Trent didn't get the blouse, but eventually your little brother did. I still don't know how he managed that, but I suspect it has something to do with Karen quitting her job. She started crying every time Kevin or I asked her for the passkey. Right after you called to make reservations, and I contacted your mom, Spence called me back and told me he had the blouse, that he was taking it to the sheriff along with a letter he'd written. I told Trent, and we waited outside the house for them that morning. "Man, your dad looked scared when they came out and saw us on the snowmobiles, and he was stuck in that wheelchair. He tried to get up, but he fell. Spence had to help him back into his chair. They were so scared they drove off and left your dad's cane lying there in the snow beside the walkway. "We followed them on the snowmobiles. I had my crossbow with me, and I wasn't about to lose Stoneway because of them, not after all the work I've done. I wanted to kill Spence, I was so angry, but I was shooting from the snowmobile and I hit one of the tires instead. The van skidded off the road and rolled down the slope into the trees. I retrieved the bolt from the road, and the sheriff didn't suspect a thing, until you got here." Angie stopped the car. She turned off the engine and lights. Tess glanced out and saw that Angie had parked in the pullout at the curve where Tess's family had gone off the road. Tess knew in that instant that Angie intended to kill her. Tess desperately stalled for time.
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She shifted around in her seat to face Angie. "They suspected something from the start. They know it was you, Angie. My family wrote letters to the sheriff." Tess continued to work the tape off her hands. She nearly had it. A little longer, please! Tess paused in her struggle while Angie looked at her for a few seconds before speaking. "Trent took the snowmobile a ways down the gully, where the slope isn't as steep, and he scrambled down there before help arrived. He pried open the glove box and found the letters they'd written. Then he swept his tracks with a tree branch. He didn't find the blouse though. It's still in your house somewhere, with your mother's keys. Doesn't matter. I'll find it." "You can't hide this forever. You've gone too far." Angie laughed. "This morning I overheard Paige ask Harry if Rose had told him where she was when Trent and I searched your house Wednesday. I could tell they were both concerned about Rose's missing time. She doesn't have an alibi, and she was the first one on the scene of your family's crash. So I planted some evidence in her car, and I sent the sheriff an anonymous note, outlining how Rose had been blackmailing Trent's father all these years, making him think it was you. The letter should get there tomorrow. That leaves me all night to find the blouse, the keys, and the original letters. Now that I have these." Angie nodded toward the two journals on the seat between her and Tess. All night? What about Joe? What had she done to Joe? "Original letters?" Tess repeated. "The ones Trent found in the glove box were copies. We burned them, but we never found the originals." The tape had stretched, and Tess had worked it down over her hands, but it had stuck to them. It was working off. "I told the sheriff today, I remember that night now," Tess said, lying to buy time, and hoping that her plan would work. She would have only one chance. "I told him you were there at the house, the night of my accident. Spence and I were upstairs, and you drugged my lemonade. Then you and Trent dragged me out to my mom's car. I told Spence to go back to bed when he asked why I was crying. Remember that?" Angie's eyes widened, and her face registered a new expression all at once. Shock, or worry? "Were you the one driving my mom's car? No, that must have been Trent. He jumped out at the last minute and then moved me into the driver's seat after the accident. But you took the keys, didn't you, so you'd have evidence against him. So you could control him." Tess had her hands loose now.
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Angie had turned her back, to get out of the car. She held a flashlight in one hand and the gun in the other. Now she rummaged in her pocket for something, with the flashlight in one hand. Where was the gun? Tess spotted it tucked into Angie's waistband. Angie came around to Tess's door and opened it. Tess shifted so she faced Angie, to hide her hands, which were free now. Angie had a knife in one hand. Tess blinked her eyes as the flashlight came on, and she was temporarily blinded. Then Angie bent to cut the tape at her ankles. Angie couldn't be holding the flashlight and gun in the same hand. The gun must still be in her waistband. She stooped to cut the tape from Tess's ankles. "What was the evidence you left in Rose's car?" Tess said as Angie freed her feet. Angie paused, bent over with the knife still in her right hand. Tess barreled out of the car into her, and heard the wind suck out of Angie's lungs as she hit the ground. Tess felt around Angie's waist for the gun, while Angie flailed her arms, gasping for breath and striking at Tess with the knife. Tess felt the gun beneath her. She backed away enough to grab it and then rolled out of Angie's reach. Tess stood and backed away, trying to gauge, without looking behind her, how close she was to the drop off. She didn't dare take her eyes off Angie. All of a sudden Angie laughed. "You won't shoot me. You can't shoot a deer! Look at you. You have no idea what you're doing with that thing." Tess thought about that, and knew if Angie came a step nearer she would shoot. But she'd never used a gun before, so she wasn't certain she could operate the thing. Tess leveled the gun at her. "I planted a crossbow and bolts with double-bladed broadheads in Rose's car, the same one I used to shoot the van's tire. Did you know when Rose and Trent were dating they used to practice archery together? Until she got fat again and he grew disgusted with her. I visited Alan's gallery last week, and I heard Rose mention she needed to learn something about hunting. I offered to loan her my books. She came to Stoneway to get them. She was fascinated with my crossbow and had never used one, so I let her fiddle around with it. Her fingerprints are all over it." Angie moved closer to Tess. "Aren't you going to shoot me?" She kept coming closer. Tess took aim and fired. Then Tess was falling, sliding backwards, into the gully, falling and sliding in the snow down the steep slope. She flailed her arms, and then grasped at the branch of a bare shrub as her body slid over it. She grabbed and held on, the bark and smaller twigs scraping and biting into her hand as she shifted her grip to the thicker base of the branch, praying it wouldn't break. It held her weight, for now. She held onto the branch, which was all that kept her from tumbling the rest of the way down, through the snow and rocks, to the place where her family had died.
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Tess held on, and peered up at the side of the road, wondering if Angie was dead, wondering if anyone would find her here before she lost her cold, bare-fingered grip and fell the rest of the way. Then she saw the beam from the flashlight. Angie's head appeared there above her. Angie towered above Tess, up there on the roadside, looking down from what seemed an immense height. The beam of the light hit Tess in the face, blinding her. She heard Angie laugh. "You missed. Has a hell of a kick, doesn't it?" The beam of the light moved. When Tess was able to focus, she saw that Angie held the gun now. She aimed it at Tess. The bush Tess held onto had grown out beneath and to the left of a large overhanging rock. Tess shifted, and tried to squeeze herself against the face of the slope, under the rock where Angie couldn't see her. But Tess's fingers were numbing with the intense cold, her hands aching and shooting sharp pains up her forearms. She didn't know how long she could hold on, or how long the branch would. She strained to keep her grip while Angie simply moved further down the road, and took clear aim at Tess again. All Tess could do was hang there and pray. Angie glanced over her shoulder at the sound of an engine, and Tess recognized the miraculous sound of Joe's truck, up on the road. It must be him, he must be alive. Then Tess heard another engine, and a flashing blue light reflected on Angie's face. The police? "Stay away or I'll shoot her!" Angie yelled. A male voice told her to put down the gun. It sounded like Duane Prescott. "Oh please!" Tess breathed, sobbing and fighting not to lose her grip on the branch. "Please don't let me fall now." "Tess is down there, and I'll shoot her if you don't back off right now. Let me leave, and she lives. Tess, you'd better yell so they know you're there, because if they come any closer you're dead." Another car drove up, and stopped. "I'm here," Tess called in a desperately thin voice. "Tess!" Joe called back. "Where are you?" "Stay back!" Angie warned. "Let me see her, Angie," Joe called. "Please." "Over there, that's close enough. Move to the edge and you can see her," Angie motioned to him.
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A few seconds later Joe spoke, some ways behind Tess. "Hold on, Tess. Honey, hold on. It'll be okay." How could he say that? He sounded too calm. Tess nodded, wanting beyond all else to believe him. Angie still held the gun on her, and Tess's hands and arms ached, her bare fingers growing numb and slick. Her grip threatened to give out any second. She looked at Angie again. Then Tess heard a thwack and a surprised, gasping cry. Angie stumbled backward on her feet. Then Tess saw Angie's attention shift to something on the ground. She moved closer to the edge and bent to reach for it. The snow took her, giving way under her feet as it had under Tess. Angie toppled, screaming. She fell past Tess, and tumbled down the snowy slope, all the way to the bottom of the ravine. Tess cried out, terrified of the same fate. But she held on, believing again that she might well survive. She listened to Joe's vibrant, deep voice, warmed to the sound of it, and followed his and Duane's instructions while Duane lowered Joe down on a rope to get to her. When at last Joe lifted her onto firm ground, he held her there for one long, wondrous, grateful minute. "What happened to Angie?" Tess finally said, teeth chattering as she spoke, with reaction and cold. Distant sirens moved closer. "Rose." Joe shifted his gaze from Tess, nodding toward the side of the road, where Rose stood holding a crossbow. Rose peered down into the darkness where Angie had fallen. As Duane approached with a flashlight, Rose turned and handed the crossbow to him. "There was no way out for her," Rose told Duane as they moved closer to Tess. "She would've killed Tess once she realized that." Rose sounded calm. She looked serene. She reminded Tess of an angel. Two more sheriff's cars arrived, sirens blaring and lights flashing. Duane directed them to where Angie had fallen. The other officers, and the search and rescue team who joined them minutes later, prepared to climb down there and get Angie out of the gully. Rose came over to Tess and Joe. "Are you all right, Tess?" Now her voice quivered. She hugged them both, weeping. "How did you get here?" Tess asked Rose and Joe, while Joe took tight hold of Tess's left arm and held her close to him in a protective, clinging embrace that Tess didn't understand. It reminded her of Jessica Laine. "I was so worried about you, Joe! She hit you with the shovel." Tess tried to turn to face him, but he made her sit still. She wanted to hug him again, but he was more intent on gripping her arm.
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"She only stunned me," he said with a grin. "I'll live. I don't need a doctor. You on the other hand--" Tess turned to his sister. "Rose, how did you get here?" "I was feeling glum after Harry and Paige left. I dawdled around the house and tried to write, but I couldn't concentrate. So I drove down to see you and Joe . . . and the kittens. I saw a light on, but no one answered the door. I could hear Joe groaning inside, so I went around and got in the back door, where Ned broke the glass. I found Joe tied up in the foyer. I cut him loose, and he ran out to his truck. He told me to stay and call for help. I could hear the sirens by then. Duane must've already been on his way. I ran out to my car and followed Joe. When I drove up, and saw the cars here, I opened the window and heard Angie threatening to shoot you. Then--it was the strangest thing. I looked down, and there was this crossbow beside me, on my front passenger's seat. It was like--a gift. Angie didn't notice I was here. She was focused on Duane and Joe." Rose looked into Tess's eyes. "I wasn't about to let her take you away from us." Duane Prescott brought a blanket over. "I'll go to your house with you, Tess, to get statements from the three of you. That way you can all at least get warmed up." "How did you get here when you did, Duane?" Tess asked him, still amazed at the miracle of them all coming to her aid when they had. He shrugged. "I went to Stoneway looking for Angie. Kevin paged her, and I was right there beside Kevin in the office when Angie called and Kevin answered. He told her I was there, that I wanted to talk to her. She told him she was on her way. I could see the number she called from, on the phone's display. It was your number, Tess. She forgot about Caller ID." He held the blanket out to Joe, who motioned for Rose to take it. She wrapped it around Tess, covering only one shoulder, while Joe still clung to Tess's left arm. Duane's gaze shifted to Joe's hands, and he straightened. "We'd better get you to the hospital, Tess." He motioned them all toward his car. "No. No, I want to go home. I'm fine." "Tess, you're bleeding." Rose drew her attention to the gash on her left arm, where her jacket sleeve was soaked with blood, and she realized what Joe had been doing, putting pressure on it to control the bleeding. "That's not all," Joe said. "You got cut up by the brush when you fell. Let's get you taken care of." "I--" Tess stared at her arm. Angie must have cut her with the knife when Tess was grappling with her for the gun. She looked at Joe. "You can stitch it up, can't you, Joe? I don't want to go anywhere else tonight. Please." She wanted to collapse in his arms right now, and have a good cry. She started shaking, as reaction set in.
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"Joe, if you think she can wait that long, I'll call Peter," Duane offered. "He can meet us at his office. Heck, if I sweet talk him, he might come out here to take care of you, Tess. Peter used to work in an ER." He grinned and gestured at Joe. "This guy's a vet, you know, whatever he's told you. Come on. I have a first aid kit." Duane glanced down the ravine again as they moved toward his marked vehicle. The other officers were rigging ropes and a back board. "Do you think Angie's alive?" Rose asked. Duane shook his head. "I doubt it, after that descent. There are some deadly rocks and tree branches down there. We can't see where she landed yet. But there's a chance. The snow may have broken her fall. They'll get to her, and if she's alive she'll get medical care. Shooting her in the hand," Duane said, looking at Rose, "you took an awfully big chance of missing altogether with that thing." Rose shuddered visibly. "I did miss. I was aiming at her torso. I thought trying to shoot the gun out of her hand was too risky for Tess." Rose looked at Joe. "I've never used a crossbow before. I'm lucky I didn't shoot one of you." Joe looked at her in disbelief for several seconds. He looked about to laugh at her exploits, but didn't. "I should've told you when you first arrived that Angie had discouraged your parents from having you visit," Rose told Tess as they neared Duane's vehicle. "I made a promise to myself a long time ago, never to gossip. I--" She shook her head. "I didn't want to be like Angie. I thought she was only jealous of you, like your mother thought. I never dreamed Angie would resort to violence. She'd told your mother you kept in touch with her all these years--with Angie--and you didn't want to come home, because of your accident and the gossip. She told them you didn't tell them that because you didn't want to hurt them. I hoped you'd learn the truth from Cathy's journals, so I kept quiet." "So tell us, Rose, what were you so busy doing when Trent and Angie ransacked Tess's house the other day?" Joe asked her. "I'd like to hear that too," Duane said. He held the door for Tess, and Joe climbed into the back beside her. Once they were all in and he'd started the engine, Duane looked over at Rose. "Well?" "You were writing, weren't you, Rose?" Tess said, in a knowing tone. Rose looked back at her and nodded, smiling mildly. "I ran into the house to jot down a single thought. I got so caught up in the story I completely lost track of time." Joe frowned at her. "That's nuts, Rose." "No." Tess knew the experience of losing herself in the flow of her creative work. "That's art."
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Chapter 24 Angie didn't survive her fall. Hours later, when they'd all made their statements, Duane took off to file his reports. Tess's arm was stitched and bandaged, and everyone was satisfied that neither Tess nor Joe had suffered any further great damage. Tess drowsed in her own warm bed under the effect of a mild sedative. Paige and Rose were spending the remainder of the night in warm beds elsewhere in this house that Tess again called home. None of them wanted to be alone tonight. The kittens were sleeping with Rose. "She's decided she's not allergic after all." Joe got into bed beside Tess, and held her close. Her muscles had gradually warmed and relaxed over the past few hours. She still felt the effect of her fear and her struggle to hold onto life. The sedative didn't completely smooth the edges of a night like tonight. She knew she would dream, and she didn't look forward to those dreams, but she sank deliciously into the warmth of Joe's arms, glad to be safe with him. "What about the letters?" Tess said. "Do you think we'll ever find them?" "Oh." Joe reached over the side of the bed, and picked up a brass headed wooden cane. "You were up here getting doctored when Duane and I found this. After what you told us Angie said, about your dad falling out front that morning and leaving the cane there, I got to thinking about all the snow that had fallen since their accident. It's a wonder Angie didn't find the cane when she messed up your snow angels with the snowmobile. It was there, under the snow. Duane was kind enough to take a photo and the letters, as evidence, and leave the cane." Joe unscrewed the brass head of the cane, to reveal a slender, hollow compartment inside. "That's where the original letters were, rolled up, safe and dry. Sheriff has them now." "You knew that was where Dad would've put the letters?" "I suspected so. He loved this cane, and that feature was part of the reason he loved it. He used to joke that it made him feel like a secret agent." Tess had to digest this for a minute. "So the sheriff knows the whole story now?" "Including your family's portion of it. There are still bits and pieces they'll have to get from Trent and Ned, if they can get them to talk." A few minutes later Tess said, "Poor Kevin." Kevin hadn't been part of his sister's scheming, but he would suffer plenty as a result of it, including the death of his only close family. "Poor Kevin," Joe agreed.
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"Did I do that to Angie? Was I such a terrible friend that I made her feel so abandoned she became . . . what she became? That she hated enough to betray me and kill my family?" "There are two other friends of yours in this house tonight who would agree with me when I say absolutely not," Joe told her. His breath was warm, his voice a low, velvety sensation in her ear. "But I think we'll all wonder for a long time what we could've done for her." "There won't be any trouble for Rose over this, will there?" "We'll take care of Rose," he said, and kissed her cheek. She snuggled in closer to him. "Yes, we'll take care of Rose. Will you help me with something tomorrow, Joe?" "Name your kittens?" "Well, that too, but--" She hesitated. "It's silly." "What?" "There's all this new snow. We need to make fresh snow angels. After all, that's where the answers were. Under the snow angels." Tess drifted off to sleep, to the sound of his low chuckle. "Goodnight, Snow Angel." That was a woman's voice. Was it a dream? Her mother's smile, her warmth, her voice. A contentedness that washed everything in a new light. For the first time in many years, as Tess dreamed that night, she felt truly loved.
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The Billionaire's Proxy by Yvonne Lindsay Even billionaires need a break. Between his father’s death and trying to discover his step-brother’s next scheme to seize control of their company, Jonathan Windthorpe is looking for some peace at the famous Tautara Estate. But he isn’t going to get it. There’s no question that Robyn Mackenzie is a beautiful distraction. Jon knows all too well just how good she looks—and feels and tastes…. And just how good she is at breaking his heart. Whatever she wants, he isn’t going to give it to her. Robyn didn’t fly to the middle of nowhere to revisit the past. In fact, she came to Tautara to ensure her future. All that is standing in her way from achieving everything she’s always wanted is Jon and the billionaire’s proxy….
Chapter One Jonathan Windthorpe looked up as the blades of a helicopter whirled into the distance. Aerial sightseers, he hoped, and not hikers who might want to stop on their journey. He was enjoying the uncharacteristic solitude of his self-imposed sabbatical. In particular, he was for once able to enjoy not being constantly on edge and wondering what on earth Bradley was planning next. Not this time. No, this time he knew exactly what his avaricious step-brother was up to and he planned to stop it. Since Jon’s father’s death a couple of months ago, the competition between them had ramped up on so many levels it left Jon wondering whether the continued fight was worth it. At his lowest point he’d even considered whether it was past time for him to step aside and let Bradley assume full control of WindCorp Industries. But then he’d caught wind of Bradley’s latest scheme. Bradley’s divide and conquer tactics at the South Island plant had already seen the decimation of one small town, forcing the bulk of the working population to seek jobs further afield. Jon wasn’t prepared to see that happen again. Duty to his family’s firm and its employees sat firmly on his shoulders and in his heart. He wasn’t a quitter, not by any standard. The sun was bright in the early summer sky and a growl from the pit of his belly told him it was time to head back to the cabin and prepare some lunch. He packed up his gear and gathered it together with the trout he’d caught for his evening meal. But as he approached the cabin, a frisson of caution licked across the back of his neck. Movement on the front deck sent every muscle in his body into full alert. Movement he instantly identified as Robyn Mackenzie. No wonder his instincts had forewarned him. His body was intimately attuned to hers, a fact that had made the last six months working with her on the executive floor sheer torture. His eyes raked over her. She stood tall and slim at the railing. The pale pink top she wore offset her ivory complexion. She’d ruthlessly pulled her lush, golden brown hair in a ponytail, unwittingly exposing the smooth planes of her uncharacteristically pale face with its high cheekbones to perfection. If she’d arrived by chopper it was no wonder she was pale. She loathed flying. She was the last person he expected—or wanted—to see, though the lower half of his body called him a liar. As he got closer he met her cool, blue-eyed stare head on. “What the hell are you doing here?” he growled.
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Without waiting for her response, Jon stomped past her and pushed open the door to the cabin. But even as he did so, the enticing fragrance she wore wrapped around him with the familiarity of a lover’s caress and teased his senses. Every cell in his body clenched, determined not to fall prey to her proximity. Spicy. Sweet. Alluring. Just like her. Or at least just like the woman he’d thought she was. The first day he’d met his then-secretary, their attraction to one another had been instant. Their inevitable reaction, incendiary. But he hadn’t counted on her motivation for their affair, made painfully clear the instant Bradley had dangled a promise of promotion in front of her pretty little up-turned nose, and she’d thrown Jon over just like that. And he hadn’t appreciated being taken for a ride But despite the pain she’d inflicted, he couldn’t help but wonder…did she scorch Bradley’s sheets now too? Jon’s step-brother had a habit of working “intimately” with his female staff—something Jon himself had avoided until Robyn came along. And Bradley constantly dropped none-too-subtle hints that there was more than a purely professional relationship between them. On the other hand, perhaps Robyn was still holding out for that promotion, having learned from him that bedding the boss wouldn’t instantly further her career. The thought soured Jon’s mouth and carved an ache in his chest. He leaned his fishing rod against the side of the cabin and toed off his boots before going inside, leaving her to stand alone out on the deck. He’d be damned if he’d invite her in. It was churlish, he knew, but he gave the door a nudge with the back of his heel anyway so it would swing shut behind him. But the telltale “snick” of it closing never reached his ears. “Good fishing?” She’d followed him in all the way through to the kitchen. She’d always been tenacious. A trait he’d admired—initially. “Good enough.” Jon laid the fish on the shining stainless steel counter and turned to face her. “So, what are you doing here, and how soon can you leave?”
Chapter Two Twin spots of color lit her cheeks. Good, he’d gotten under her skin. A lick of satisfaction beat back some of the resentment he felt that she’d interrupted his holiday with work. And it had to be work. They’d long past being anything else. “What? Not even an offer of a cup of tea?” Robyn shot back. “I never knew you to be rude, Jon.” “I never picked you to be the kind of person who’d do anything for promotion, either.” Robyn stiffened her spine. She hadn’t exactly expected him to welcome her with open arms but outright hostility was uncharacteristic, even for him. “I never lied about my ambitions within WindCorp,” she said quietly. “No. Nor did you wait for our sheets to get cold before sidling up to Bradley.” He made a frustrated gesture with his hand. “Whatever, it’s in the past. I’ll ask you one last time. Why are you here?”
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Robyn chewed her lower lip a moment before deciding to cut straight to it. It was quite clear that Jonathan wasn’t in a mood to beat around the bush. She almost smiled at the pun, ironic considering the density of native growth surrounding the cabin. They were a far cry from his top-floor corner office in the city. “There’s a board meeting on Friday. We need your proxy.” “There was no notice of this meeting before I left the office last week.” Suspicion narrowed his steely gaze. “No, I know. But since the meeting has been called, and since you’re scheduled to be out of the office for the next three weeks, I’ve been sent to get your proxy.” Robyn fought to quell the quiver of apprehension that rippled through her. His step-brother had sent her to get the proxy one way or another. Her promotion depended on it. Would Jon suspect what Bradley was up to? “And just who will hold it?” “Your brother.” “My step-brother. And the answer is no.” Jon turned away from her and started to clean the fish. “Shouldn’t you be doing that outside?” He looked back over his shoulder, raising one brow. “You’re still here?” “Jon, don’t be ridiculous. Just sign the proxy and I’ll be on my way.” “And that’s all it’ll take to get rid of you?” “Yes.” “Show me the agenda for the meeting.” Robyn put her briefcase on the native-wood kitchen table and flipped the catches. She sorted through her papers and extracted the sheet he’d requested. “Here you are. I think you’ll find everything in order.” Jon rinsed his hands and dried them off before taking the proffered agenda. He skimmed the listed items. Yes, everything was in order. And that was the precisely the problem. He smelled a rat. A Bradley-sized rat. Clearly the other man couldn’t wait to strike. Jon hadn’t even been out of the office a week. “What about the ‘Matters Arising,’ any indicators there?” “Not to my knowledge.” Jon studied her frank, blue-eyed stare to see if she was hiding anything. It appeared as if she was telling the truth, but something still didn’t sit right. “Get them to reschedule the meeting for when I’m back. I see nothing here that’s so urgent it can’t wait until then.” Jon thrust the paper back in her hands and returned to filleting the trout. “Look, the meeting’s scheduled. All of the executives have been notified and have signaled their attendance. All you need to do is sign the proxy.” Robyn made one last push, fighting to keep her tone as conciliatory as possible. “Really, Jon. When did you become so paranoid?”
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“Oh, let me think about that.” Jon tapped his filleting knife against the fish. “Ah, yes. About when you expected me to sign over my voting power to a man we both know would do anything to nay-say what I believe in, no doubt for a decision affecting the company I run, without even knowing what he really has on his agenda. Go back to the office, Robyn, and tell your lover that you failed. I’m not signing anything.” “He’s not—” Robyn choked on the words. “Not what? Your lover?” Jon made a derisive sound. “You forget—I know how you work. Tell me, do you ever get tired of always having an eye to the main chance?”
Chapter Three Robyn bit back the words that crowded in her throat. She couldn’t refute Jon’s allegation, not without alienating him even further. And if that happened, he’d never sign the proxy that would assure her promotion. But no matter what Jon thought, Bradley was not, nor ever would be, her lover. She had absolutely no trouble controlling herself around him. Jon, however, was another story completely. From the first time they’d met she’d felt an unequivocal pull, a tingle of electricity connecting them both—a tingle she felt even now no matter how hard she fought to ignore it. Dressed in casual jeans and a well-washed T-shirt, his dark hair wind-tousled, he was a million miles away from the Queen Street sharp dresser she knew so well. Come to think of it, she’d only ever seen him in a suit—or naked. Her insides somersaulted at that thought and her mind flooded with images of him over her, under her— inside her. She swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. Tried desperately to control the swell of need that surged through her. She’d allowed emotion to rule her head once and she’d paid the price. Sleeping with the head of WindCorp had done nothing for her career. It had only set her up for failure—and Mackenzies didn’t fail. Hadn’t she had that drummed into her often enough during her childhood? And even in adulthood. She remembered the look of disdainful disappointment on her parents' faces when they’d found out she was dating her boss…. You’ll never be anything more than a secretary now, Robyn. He’ll want to keep you right where you are, as his beck-and-call girl, and the other executives will think you’re a joke, if not worse. And they’d be right. She’d learned they were right—emotional need did not overcome necessity. And it was necessary in order to climb the corporate ladder. To be a success. To be someone if she was ever to garner her family’s respect. They’d quietly put down her ambitions for years, not understanding for a moment that she was cut from a different cloth to them. Both her parents were academics—highly regarded internationally in their fields. When she’d shown no such bent they’d quietly resigned themselves to what they’d seen as her mediocrity. But she was damn good at what she did and she knew she could do better, be better. Bradley had offered her the chance to be the person her parents could be proud of, and she’d grabbed at it with both hands. So she’d had to surrender to his condition that she break things off with Jon, as painful as it had been. This was her life, her future, her chance to be the very person she wanted to be. And that was finally in her grasp. Bradley had promised it to her—as long as she returned with the proxy. But as she stood with Jon’s back to her, she could see her promotion sliding from her future with the speed of light. Somehow she had to convince him to sign the proxy. But how? “What is it between you two that you find it so difficult to work together? You grew up together didn’t you? Can’t you just pick up the phone and sort this out with him?”
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Jon snorted. “Not in this lifetime. Besides, I’m here for a break.” The way he said the word “break” raised a flag of unexpected concern. She was suddenly struck by the tiredness around his deep-set gray eyes. He’d lost weight in the past couple of months—since his father’s death on the golf course from a massive heart attack. They said Jon himself had done CPR on his father until the ambulance crew had arrived. But it hadn’t been enough. Having fought so hard and then losing had to take a toll. That failure combined with the shock of losing a man everyone had thought invincible had obviously been difficult. Whatever their personal differences, there had been deep-seated mutual respect between father and son. Jon had to miss him. Without thinking she stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?” The muscles in his arm bunched beneath her hand, the warmth of his skin and the crisp hair on his forearm making her fingertips prickle with awareness. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw his gray eyes darken, his pupils dilate….
Chapter Four Jon pulled away from the sizzling sensuality of her touch, cursing himself that she could still affect him like that. Hadn’t he learned his lesson with her the first time? You don’t mix business with pleasure. It was a sure-fire way to disaster. “Of course I’m okay. I’m on a long overdue holiday, and frankly, you’ve overstayed your welcome. I assume you’ve arranged transport back to Tautara?” “Well, actually, no. I haven’t. I thought we’d talk, you’d sign the proxy, and then I could call up the chopper again to come and get me.” Jon rolled his eyes. City girls. “And what did you expect you’d use? Your cell phone?” His short laugh lacked humor. “Look around you, Robyn. It may have escaped your attention, but we’re miles from anywhere. There’s no signal here. No reception. Tautara provides a satellite phone for use in extreme circumstances only. Still, given your loyalty to your job, it’d be worth it, wouldn’t it?” “And the proxy?” Robyn had to try one last time. “You’re a lot of things, Robyn. Beautiful, sexy, good with your hands…” He gave her a once-over that set her teeth on edge—yet still had the ability to send fire through her veins. “But I know you’re not stupid. Forget the proxy. I’m not signing it.” Robyn watched in silence as he poured a sesame and ginger dressing in a large shallow dish and added honey, soy sauce and garlic and deftly mixed it with lime juice and brown sugar. “I never thought of you as a gourmet cook,” she finally managed, as he added a dash of hickory barbeque sauce and some sweet chilli sauce before mixing the marinade and layering the fish fillets, skin side up, in the dish. “You never thought of me as anything but a fast track to a corner office, now, did you?” Jon’s voice was pitched low, but there was no mistaking the anger behind his words. “That’s not true! I—” Jon put up one hand to halt whatever she was going to say. “Please. Don’t insult me by trying to say you loved me. We both know that when Bradley offered you the position as his Executive Assistant you broke
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things off between us. Clearly I wasn’t going to give you what you wanted. Pity was, I thought what you wanted was me.” An all-too-familiar chill struck deep in Robyn’s heart. She couldn’t refute his accusations. Bradley had made the end of her affair with Jon a condition of her position, citing a conflict of interest between her role as his EA and her relationship with Jon. At the time she’d thought it was what she’d wanted. That she’d be able to walk away from their relationship—from his bed—and remain heart-whole and focused on business. In the male-oriented climate of WindCorp, she knew if she was going to get anywhere she’d have to play by their rules. Her parents had always played by the rules. She knew by their example what dedication and sacrifice could bring, and she was prepared to do it. She had loved Jon. Loved him and lost him—all for the sake of a promotion she still hadn’t received. But she’d get that damn promotion now, if only she could get past Jon’s stubbornness and have him sign the proxy. “I’ll call for your ride.” Jon put the dish he’d prepared in the refrigerator, cleverly hidden behind integrated Rimu wood-faced cabinetry. “Wait!” An alternative suddenly suggested itself to her. “What if you signed the proxy over to me?”
Chapter Five “You?” Incredulity colored his voice. “No. Besides, you don’t have the authority.” “I will have the authority with my promotion to Junior Director of Operations.” It was company policy to let junior directors have responsibility for proxies where practicable. Jon’s father had felt it important to give his junior executives a taste of the duty they’d be expected to perform if they reached upper management in the firm. “Jon, you can trust me to do what’s right.” “What your boss tells you to do, you mean.” “No, what’s right for WindCorp.” Which was in more jeopardy than Jon knew. But maybe, just maybe, she’d have a chance to head Bradley off, but only if she got the promotion—and if Jon would give her his proxy. If she was right about what Bradley had planned, she knew without a doubt that Jon would vote against his proposal. But she couldn’t divulge her concerns to Jon, not without breaching the confidentiality clause in her contract. So the only way to keep her job and save the company was to vote for him. She could do that for him. For the company. He fixed her with a flat stare and for a second she thought she had it within her grasp. “And if Bradley changes his mind about your promotion? I don’t think so, Robyn. No.” “Please, Jon.” Robyn waved the sheet of paper redundantly in the air, frustration making her want to stamp her feet. She was caught between a rock and a hard place. If she straight out told Jon her suspicions, she’d lose her job. But if he didn’t agree to sign the proxy over to her, everything he and WindCorp stood for were lost. She had to try one more time. “What can I do to convince you to sign this?” Jon stilled and faced her. Suddenly, his eyes were as cold and dark as an Antarctic winter. “To convince me?” His voice was as deadly as fine honed steel. “Is that what Bradley told you to do? Convince me? You forget, Robyn. I’ve tasted your charms, and yes, while they’re many and deliciously
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varied, they’re old hat now. Besides, I’ve made it a habit, since my father foisted Bradley into my life, not to take his leavings even if he’s quite happy to take mine.” Robyn gasped in shock. She’d heard a few insults in her time, but this really took the cake. Fury swelled within her until she could barely see straight. “Now just a minute,” she demanded, as Jon walked past her into the spacious and well appointed sitting room. “I resent your implication that I’d sleep with you to get the proxy signed. You know things have been precarious since your father’s death. With you now incommunicado as well, everyone’s getting restless.” “Are you quite finished?” Her words hadn’t so much as ruffled him. If anything the look of boredom on his face told her in no uncertain terms that she was pitching at windmills. Failure settled on her shoulders with the weight of a leaden cloak. “Yes.” More finished than he knew. But there was no point in trying to appeal to his philanthropic nature. He’d made his position patently clear. Robyn watched in frustration as Jon picked up the bulky sat phone from the sideboard lining the living room wall and made the call that would see to the end of her dreams for promotion and saving the company. She let the deep rumble of Jon’s voice wash over her, not paying any attention to his words—until the timbre changed. “What do you mean it’s a no-fly zone? You just dropped her off…. I see. Well, let me know the instant there’s any change.” Jon flung her a look laced with fury as he disconnected the call. “You’re stuck here.” He dropped down into the long sofa behind him and sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “Why did you have to come today of all days?” he muttered, more to himself than to Robyn. “What do you mean, stuck?” Jon cracked a sardonic smile. Even knowing there was no humor behind it her heart skittered in her chest. She’d always been helpless in the face of his smile and the way his eyes crinkled slightly at the corners. “Seems there’s a hush-hush visit to Tautara by some overseas president and his wife for their wedding anniversary. Turns out she read about the lodge in a magazine and arranged it as a surprise. Great timing, huh? For the duration of their stay, only aircraft engaged in the security detail are permitted to fly in the area. Orders from the Diplomatic Protection Service.” He rubbed his hand across his face again in a weary gesture. “It gets worse. The visit is expected to last two to three days.”
Chapter Six “Two to three days!” Robyn couldn’t hold back her alarm. “But that’s ridiculous. I can’t put my life on hold for that long. I need to be back at work tomorrow. Surely there’s some way…” “Look, I’m no happier about the situation than you are. But short of a miracle we’re stuck together.” He made it sound like he’d rather have all his teeth pulled. And Robyn had to agree. There was still too much unfinished business between them—too much animosity. And yet, here was another opportunity for her to get him to sign that wretched piece of paper.
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She thought briefly of the correspondence she’d seen flying across Bradley’s desk in the past couple of weeks. Of the figures he’d requested she pull up and the projections she’d reported on. She’d have to be blind and stupid not to have worked out what Bradley had planned. Jonathan would be vehemently opposed to it. She’d even brought several of the papers with her to study tonight while wrapped in the luxury that Tautara Estate boasted before setting off for her flight to the office early tomorrow. Whatever Bradley’s intentions, he was her boss and she had to remain within the boundaries set by her confidentiality clause. It wasn’t her place to question—not yet anyway—but to see to it that her work was carried out with the utmost efficiency. And yet, she still struggled with wanting to do what was best for WindCorp—without compromising herself or her role within the company. It was a damnably fine line to tread. If only she could get Jon to sign the proxy over to her. Bradley hadn’t been specific in his instructions that it was to be signed over to him, although his implication had been clear. But she could wing it as long as he thought the power had been assigned to him. He’d likely not even want to see it before the meeting. Then she could use the proxy to head off Bradley before he destroyed the company. But if she didn’t get Jon to sign the wretched paper, Bradley had made it clear she’d be without a job. If that happened she’d have to bear her parents’ disapproval once again. She was firmly stuck between a rock and a hard place, not to mention being stuck here now with Jon. The irony of her situation wasn’t lost on her. Robyn sighed and sat in the chair opposite Jon. “So what are we going to do?” Jon watched as she perched on the edge of the chair, tension visible in every line of her delectable body. The worn denim of her jeans stretched across her thighs like a second skin, the designer top clinging to the soft roundness of her breasts like a lover’s caress. Like his caress. He fisted his hands in an attempt to rid himself of the tingling in his fingers—of the long ago sensation of the silken texture of her skin. This was impossible. There was no way he could be in the close confines of the cabin and not be driven mad with the need to touch her, to coax murmurs of pleasure from the smooth column of her throat. To swallow her moans of delight as he stroked her, cupped her breasts and teased her nipples into tight buds of desire. He may be mad as hell at her for the way she’d ended their affair, but he still wanted her. Wanted, but wouldn’t have. “Do?” he replied. “Try and stay as far apart from one another as possible under the circumstances.” He got up and made for the front door, determined to increase the distance between them before he did something stupid. Like kiss her. His appetite for lunch had long since diminished, but his appetite for Robyn… That was something else entirely.
Chapter Seven From the front door, Jon gestured to the phone he’d left on the coffee table between them. “You’d better use that to call Bradley and let him know what’s happened. I’m going for a walk.” “Could I come with you?” “I’m putting up with you because I have no choice, Robyn. Don’t expect me to want to spend more time with you than I have to.”
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“Look, you’re not the only one who isn’t happy about this situation. If you’d left a general power of attorney before escaping to this…this wilderness, I wouldn’t have had to come hunting you for your proxy in the first place.” She was stunning when she was mad, he’d give her that. The flush of color in her face, the flare of challenge in her blue eyes—even her defensive posture—every bit of her was beautiful and dangerously appealing. Jon barked out a laugh. “This is hardly the wilderness. And my position on a general power of attorney and the proxy is clear. There’s no one I trust enough at WindCorp at present to represent my interest, so my interest remains with me.” And with that he walked out the door. An hour later Jon returned from his walk clearer in his head than when he’d left and full of new determination to get through the next few days as easily as possible. As he entered the cabin he listened for Robyn, but heard nothing but the blissful silence that had drawn him here in the first place. He cast his gaze around the room, his eyes settling on Robyn’s supine figure on the couch. Her lashes lay in dark crescents on pale cheeks and her lips parted slightly on each outward breath. Something hot and hard fisted in Jon’s gut as he drank in the sight of her laying there. Vulnerable. Open. He’d loved to watch her like this after they’d made love. When she’d collapsed into sleep in the aftermath of their passion. He’d trace the wings of her dark brows, follow the line of her long, straight nose and let his gaze rest upon her wide, full lips. Just as he was doing now. As if she sensed him, Robyn lifted a hand to swipe at her face then settled back into sleep. Jon spun on his heel and headed back outside. There must be another hill that needed climbing. If not, the next three days would be sheer hell.
*** Robyn’s eyes flew open as she was woken by the slam of a door. She bolted upright and scrubbed at her eyes, forcing them to focus on her surroundings. She checked her watch. Good grief, she’d been asleep for nearly four hours. Jonathan must be back, she realized. She pushed up from the couch and wandered through to the kitchen. Her briefcase, which she’d left on the table earlier, had been tucked away against the wall. A sudden panicked thought occurred to her: had she remembered to lock it when she’d put the proxy back inside? The documents that hinted at Bradley’s plan were in there. A swift check confirmed her case was secure and a small sigh of relief escaped her lips. Being here with Jon had rattled her so much she couldn’t even be certain she had followed security procedures properly. The scent of ginger and smoked hickory wafted through the open kitchen window. Should she go outside to where Jon was obviously barbequing the trout or stay in here and avoid confrontation for at least a few more minutes? Avoidance had never been her style. Robyn pushed open the back door of the cabin and stepped into a hard wall of male strength. Instantly she put her hands up in an attempt to regain her balance. Strong hands gripped her upper arms, steadying her. Strong hands that sent spears of electricity sizzling through her veins. Instead of pulling away, Robyn felt herself being drawn inexorably toward him. Toward the strong plane of his chest, against the hardness of his abdomen, within the cradle of his hips. She couldn’t help herself—she flexed her hips against him, felt the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Her breath hitched in her throat and she tilted her face up to his. His eyes darkened to the color of charcoal and
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narrowed. Tension spiraled through her body leaving licks of flame in its path. His mouth lowered toward hers.
Chapter Eight The touch of his lips was familiar yet foreign at the same time. It had been so long since she’d encountered this level of intimacy with Jon—and she’d missed it. Missed him. So very, very much. But he’d changed. There was an edge to him now she hadn’t felt before. As he claimed her lips, a shudder drove through her. A cry of longing tore from her throat, only to be absorbed by him as he plundered her mouth. Her hands fisted in the cotton of his T-shirt, holding him to her as if she never wanted to let him go. And she didn’t. She’d made the worst mistake of her life when she’d told him they were over. They were far from over. Jon’s hands lessened their iron grip on her upper arms and slid gently to her shoulders, cupping them. For a second he pulled her closer, his fingers burning through the thin silk of her top. Robyn pressed against him, aligning her body along his, absorbing his heat, his desire—answering it with her own. Tears burned behind her eyes. Could she begin to believe they had another chance? Jon wrenched his lips from hers. “No!” His growl was emphatic. Jon pushed her from him. His body instantly regretted his decision, but his mind told him he was right to break the web that had suddenly and so irrevocably bound them together again. The evidence of what he’d seen in her briefcase was irrefutable proof she worked hand in hand with his step-brother. Lust was one thing. Betrayal quite another. “Wha—” “What part of ‘no’ is so hard for you to understand, Robyn? Oh, I’ll give you points for the element of surprise. If you were trying to prove a point, you have well and truly proven it.” “A point? I don’t know what you’re trying to say. Jon, please, can’t we—” “No, we can’t.” He took a step back from her. “The point being that while I might desire you, I don’t want you.” She reeled back from him as if he’d slapped her. Deep inside of him something cracked and the shaft of pain that crossed her face mirrored his own. But within seconds it was as if he’d said nothing—her face was composed in its usual smooth serene lines. “Well, I suppose that’s putting it bluntly,” Robyn answered, but the betraying wobble in her voice belied the cool, collected exterior she projected. “Robyn—” “No, seriously. Don’t worry. I should have expected it. I’ve put us in an untenable position by coming here and invading your peace and quiet. Really, I should have just watched where I was going.” She bent to the kitchen table and smoothed an imaginary speck of dust from its surface. Jon watched— biting down so hard his jaw ached. His pulse still drummed a crazy beat in his veins. He muttered a
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vehement curse and went outside to retrieve the fish from the barbeque hot plate before it turned to charcoal. His hand shook as he scooped the fillets into a dish and for a moment he stood there, willing his body back under control. Clearly six months separation had done nothing to ease the rampant need he had for the touch and the taste of Robyn Mackenzie. The one woman, above all others, he shouldn’t love.
Chapter Nine They completed their meal in silence. He barely tasted the delicate flavor of the trout or the crisp fruit flavors of the Pinot Gris he poured to have with their food. Instead his senses were still clouded with the feel of Robyn in his arms, of the taste of her on his tongue. He could have sworn her passion was genuine, that it hadn’t been some trumped up scheme to woo him into signing that blasted proxy. But she’d so swiftly become aloof straight afterwards, even while he’d struggled to bring himself back under control, he couldn’t help but wonder if she was comparing him to Bradley—and the thought stung far deeper than he wanted to admit. The mere notion that his step-brother had kissed her the way he’d kissed her. Had touched the welcoming curves of her body, tasted her sweetness, given her pleasure. It was enough to drive a man crazy. His instincts, his very pride, demanded he stamp out any memory of his step-brother from her mind and her body. To leave the imprint of the pleasure he and he alone could bring her. But Jon hadn’t reached his place in the world by being driven by physical need. He reminded himself of what he’d seen in Robyn’s briefcase when he’d shifted it from the kitchen table and it had flung open, sending papers cascading to the floor. Reminded himself of the damning figures neatly detailed in her handwritten notes that confirmed his suspicions about why his step-brother had called this special meeting in his absence. Of the confirmation of Robyn’s duplicity in the whole deal. Oh yes, he could resist her all right.
*** When they’d completed dinner, Robyn offered to clean up and Jon disappeared into the master bedroom. The sat phone was missing from the coffee table where she’d left it yesterday, and from the quiet rumble of his voice behind the bedroom door she assumed he was busy making some calls. Who to and what for she didn’t know, but something niggled at the back of her mind. He’d said the phone was primarily for use in emergency situations and he’d been adamant about his privacy here. So who had he found it so important to talk to this evening, and why? She spent the rest of the evening checking the contents of the well-stocked bookcase in an alcove off the sitting room. But even though she found several of her favorite authors’ latest releases, she couldn’t settle to anything. Her own company had never bothered her before, but here, in such close proximity with the man who had the ability to send her blood pressure soaring sky high with little more than a look, she found it difficult to keep her mind occupied. The sound of the bedroom door opening had her whirling around. “I’m turning in early,” Jon said. “I thought you might want to use the bathroom before I hit the sheets.” Instantly a vision of his naked form tangled in bed linen strafed her memory. She blinked hard to clear the image from her thoughts. “Thank you,” she finally managed.
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“I’ve left a T-shirt on the vanity for you to sleep in.” As opposed to sleeping naked? She wondered if that was for her benefit, or his. “Thanks, that’ll be great. Do you mind if I rinse a couple of things out so I can be fresh tomorrow?” “Whatever you need.” He was so damned polite and frozen it was like talking to an android. If she hadn’t been left so shaken by their earlier encounter she’d almost be tempted to try and rattle him again. Anything, even his anger, was better than this courteous stranger.
Chapter Ten Robyn took her time in the bathroom, rinsing out her bra and panties and spreading them on the top rail of the shower stall. Jon had even put out a toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste for her. No doubt all part of the accoutrements provided by Tautara Estate, but she appreciated the gesture. She completed her ablutions and smoothed the oversized T-shirt over the tops of her thighs as she went back through to the sitting room. He’d been busy here, too. He’d covered the couch with a crisp, clean white sheet and a light throw rug. A pillow lay against the armrest. “All done?” He turned from the window where he’d been gazing out into the darkening night. “Yeah, thanks.” “I’ll see you in the morning, then.” No doubt bright and early, if the unfashionably early hour they were going to bed was any indication. What a change from a few months ago when an early night would have meant anything but sleep. Robyn lay down on the couch and pulled the blanket over her. The couch had been so comfortable earlier, but now it was as if she’d made her bed on a sack of coal, and she tossed and turned. She couldn’t be mad that Jon hadn’t offered her his bed, but it rankled somewhat that he hadn’t. The expanse of the super-king-sized mattress that she’d glimpsed at in the master bedroom of the cabin on her way to use the bathroom had screamed comfort and luxury. A far cry from a light blanket wrapped around her here on the couch. She touched her fingertips to her lips, reliving the kiss they’d shared earlier. The kiss that had reignited the constant craving she’d thought she’d finally managed to get under control. She dragged her fingers down her throat, across her chest in an attempt to ease the yearning inside, but it was Jon’s touch she ached for. The night stretched out before her, long and lonely.
*** As if his sleepless night hadn’t been bad enough, Jon stared at the reminder that Robyn wore no underwear. The flimsy white pieces of lace and sheer fabric hung above the shower stall with all the subtlety of a matador’s cape to a bull. He snatched them down and tossed them on top of a laundry hamper. He certainly didn’t need their provocation while having his shower this morning. Just the thought of Robyn asleep on the couch in the next room was quite enough. The morning sun was already warming the cabin and Jon kept the shower setting cool as he stepped under the spray. It would need to be cool anyway after the dreams that had tortured him and ensured he’d spent more of the night awake than in slumber.
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Two more days at most, he consoled himself. Two more days to endure her under his roof—tormenting him with her unique scent and the graceful curves of her body. Driving him crazy with the memory of that kiss they’d shared last night. He bent his head and let the water pound the back of his neck and his shoulders. What on earth had driven him to kiss her like that? Sure, she’d walked into him. Big deal. People bumped into one another all the time. But it had been a big deal. No sooner had her hands flown to his chest than his heart had begun a crazy tattoo and his pulse had leapt up several beats. Heat had flooded his body, heat and an insidious longing to take what was on offer. For a split second he’d forgotten where her loyalties lay and he’d succumbed to the need to assuage a hunger that had simmered beneath the surface of the civilized veneer he presented to the rest of the world. She’d tasted divine. And he wanted more.
Chapter Eleven Jon cursed long and low as he snapped the shower off and grabbed a thick fluffy towel from the rail. He briskly rubbed himself dry then draped the towel around his hips and grabbed his shaving gear. “You’re a bloody fool,” he told his reflection in the mirror, but the clear gray-eyed stare that met his gaze told him he was so much more than that. That he was still attracted to Robyn was undeniable. What he was going to do about it, well, that was something else entirely. He couldn’t act on it, although it would be the ultimate twist in the link between Robyn and Bradley. Perhaps even the ultimate revenge on them both. A hollow ache started in his chest. He wasn’t about revenge. Not now. Sure, justice would come—but all in good time. Right now his priority was WindCorp. The papers in Robyn’s briefcase last night had confirmed his suspicions about his dear step-brother’s secret agenda and justified his decision to plant a spy in Bradley’s department. The call he’d made to his informant last night had merely backed everything up. His decision to “hide” away had been spot on. It had flushed the rats right out the drain pipe. And one of them was sleeping on his couch. A gentle knock made Jon whip around. He drew in a hiss of pain as a sharp sting of steel bit into his jaw. He yanked open the door then grabbed a tissue to stem the trickle of blood from where he’d nicked himself. “What?” he growled as Robyn stepped inside. Robyn tried to avert her eyes as she stepped into the bathroom but she couldn’t tear her gaze from the broad expanse of his chest, or from the tiny droplet of moisture that trickled down his ridged abdomen and toward the edge of his towel. “I…I, um…” she finally managed to tear her eyes from him and spied her underwear on top of the hamper. “I need these.” She snatched the wisps of fabric into her fist and turned to leave. “I’m done in here. You can shower if you want.” Jon’s voice was flat, emotionless. A far cry from the man who’d kissed her senseless last night. His cold stare made her all too aware of the fact that she wore his T-shirt and nothing else. Beneath the soft cotton she felt her nipples tauten and peak. The stain of mortification burned her cheeks as his gaze
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dropped enough to let her know her reaction hadn’t gone unnoticed. She saw the instant his eyes darkened, a certain sign he wasn’t as immune to her as he’d steeled himself to be. She waited for the sense of satisfaction that should come from knowing she could still affect him like this but instead only felt the pull of her womb as her insides wound tight on the sudden swell of desire that rode through her body. She hated being hostage to her body’s weakness. And it was weakness as far as Jon was concerned. He’d made his position perfectly clear last night and she’d sweep streets before she’d beg for his attention again. The instant he left the bathroom, Robyn closed the door firmly and leaned her flushed cheek against the cool wood of the door. A ragged breath shuddered through her chest. She couldn’t wait to get out of here and back to the city—away from the constant reminder of what she could have had if only she hadn’t been so driven. In the dark hours of the night she’d had plenty of time to think about her choice to terminate her relationship with Jon as well as to consider the promotion she’d hinged all her hopes for the future on. A niggle of doubt had begun to creep in. What if Bradley didn’t offer her the junior executive position he’d promised? Would she then have thrown everything away for nothing? Suddenly it seemed all the more urgent that she get back to the office. Here she had too much time to think—to worry. And she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face the truth about her feelings for Jonathan Windthorpe. If she did that, something told her she wouldn’t like what she saw.
Chapter Twelve She must have been up before dawn, Jon decided as he entered the kitchen. She’d cleared away all evidence of her bed in the sitting room, and by the aroma coming from the compact wall oven, she’d already grilled bacon and made scrambled eggs for breakfast. His favorite. Something warm and familiar flooded his veins, something he’d ruthlessly quashed when she’d broken off their relationship to take up her role as Bradley’s right hand. What was she up to? Playing house? Trying to recapture the closeness they’d once shared—perhaps even with a view to rekindling the love he’d thought she’d reciprocated? Instantly he eschewed the idea, as much as he wished it could be true. If he knew Robyn at all anymore, it was more likely that she was trying to soften him up to get him to sign that blasted proxy. He smiled, a wry curl of his lips totally lacking in humor. Well, she could try. He poured himself a coffee and leaned back against the kitchen counter, sipping the fragrant brew. A glance outside showed the weather had deteriorated. A leftover of spring’s inclement chill caught in the air and a steady drizzle had begun to fall. Well, it wouldn’t matter to him what the weather did, he’d be in his waders enjoying the river. Robyn could amuse herself for the day—no doubt by working through those papers in her case. Jon grimaced. The coffee suddenly soured on his tongue. He could have borne her ambition had it not been so heavily laced with disloyalty at the same time. A movement at the door made him look up. Robyn stood there, looking uneasy. Guilty conscience perhaps? She must have taken the shortest shower on record, he thought. His coffee hadn’t even begun to cool in his cup. Her hair, usually straightened and sleek, had begun to curl in a cloud around her face, making her appear softer, more vulnerable. As if he could give in to impulse—forget the chasm of suspicion that yawned between them, and simply step forward, tangle his fingers in those soft brown curls and drag her to him before slanting his lips against hers to plunder her unadorned mouth. Something of his thoughts must have reflected on his face because he heard the skip in her breathing as she made eye contact with him and he saw the sudden widening of her eyes and the faint flush of color that spread across her cheeks.
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Jon slammed the shutters down on his wayward thoughts. He needed to stay in control, especially if he was going to expose Bradley and his crooked assistant for exactly what they were. “You haven’t started breakfast,” Robyn commented unsteadily as she moved to the oven, sliding out the dishes that had been warming and placing them onto the table. “I thought I’d wait for you seeing as how you’d gone to so much bother.” “It was no bother.” Robyn dished up a generous portion of bacon and egg onto his plate and slid a dish with buttered toast on it toward him. “Toast?” “Thanks.” The civility with which they had breakfast stood in stark contrast to the dinner they’d shared the night before. As with last night, Robyn got up straight after eating to clear the table. “So,” Jon leaned back in his chair, determined to provoke something from her that wasn’t this guarded form of homemaking. “Are you this domesticated with Bradley?” “What? No. Of course not.” Indignation painted a flush of pink across her cheeks and throat. “He does the cooking then? Strange, he never struck me as much of a chef.” “No, he doesn’t. And I don’t. I told you. Bradley and I aren’t that way together. I’m his Executive Assistant. That’s all.” Did she protest too much? Jon wondered. He wished he could savor the hot flare of satisfaction that bloomed inside him at her denial of a relationship with Bradley. But how could he believe her when his ears had been poisoned by Bradley’s insinuations—by the not-so-veiled hints at how much he enjoyed “working” with Robyn? “You were my secretary before that, though, weren’t you? And yet you were so much more.”
Chapter Thirteen “Don’t, please,” she begged. “Don’t sully what we had together. It’s not like that between Bradley and I. Why won’t you believe me?” Robyn argued back, her heart heavy. Was Jon’s opinion of her really so low? “Believe you? I want to believe you. But can you honestly tell me you wouldn’t do just about anything to get that promotion you’re so determined on getting in Bradley’s department?” “I—” Robyn hesitated. Jon pressed on. “You can’t tell me that this entire trip is based on your loyalty to my dear step-brother. I know how terrified you are of flying and I also know it would take a heck of a lot to get you to do what you did yesterday. How can you expect me to believe there’s no more to your visit than dedication to your job?” “But I am dedicated to my job and to WindCorp. Jon, give me your proxy. Let me prove to you I can do what’s best for the company,” she implored. “How can I trust you not to side with him?” “Did our relationship mean nothing to you? You can trust me.” “Did it mean nothing to me? You left me for a job!”
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“You never asked me to stay.” Her voice dipped so low he could barely hear her. “What’s happened to you Jon? I never thought that what happened with me and Bradley could turn you into someone so angry and bitter.” Tears filled her eyes and emotion choked her throat. “Bitter? I’m not bitter—not anymore. But I don’t appreciate being taken for a fool. Tell me, Robyn. Does your heart race when Bradley stands this close to you?” Jon moved so quickly he took her completely by surprise. He loomed over her, the heat of his body radiating out to consume and ignite her. “And when he does this,” he reached out and traced one finger over the curve of her breast. “Does he set a fire in your blood?” Robyn felt her nipple tighten into an almost painful bud of desire. Need flooded her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Need—and something else. Something not as physical. Something that begged for Jon to want this attraction between them to be more than just another way to get back at his brother. She desperately gathered her thoughts. She couldn’t allow him to confuse her—to fog her mind with wanting him. He stroked his nail across the hardened nub that pressed against the thin fabric of her top and she gasped at the pleasure-pain of the jolt of sensation that speared through her at his touch. Jon bent his face to hers, his lips bare millimeters from Robyn’s. “And do you cry his name out when you come? Or are you thinking of me?” Slap! Robyn took a step back and nursed her stinging palm. God, she’d slapped him. She’d never slapped anyone in her life before. But she’d never been this angry before, nor this frustrated. “How dare you!” Robyn finally managed through lips that could barely move. “I’m not standing for this. Not anymore. I’ve tried to be civil—I’ve tried to be professional. But you keep dragging up the past. Let it go, Jon, or one day you’re going to wake up a very lonely and cynical old man. I’m out of here. You can drive yourself crazy all you like with your stupid allusions on your own.” She spun on her heel and stumbled through to the sitting room and quickly pulled on the hiking boots she’d worn yesterday. Damn him for getting to her like that. “Robyn! Stop. Where do you think you’re going?” “Back to Tautara, where else?” She tied the laces and marched to the front door. “I’m sure as hell not staying here with you.” “Look, I’m sorry. I overstepped the mark. You had every right to put me in my place.” “Yes, I did. But your apology means nothing to me, Jon. Just like I clearly mean nothing to you anymore. I came here to help you, dammit! But you’re too stubborn and too bitter to need anybody, aren’t you?” Her voice broke on her words, their finality punctuated by the solid slam of the front door closing behind her.
Chapter Fourteen And just like that she was gone. It was what he’d wanted all along, he tried to tell himself. But he knew he lied.
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Jon rubbed his cheek. Man, she packed a wallop. And he’d deserved it. He’d goaded her mercilessly and he’d had no excuse other than pathetic jealousy. The thought of his step-brother touching Robyn the way Jon had, tasting her—it had driven him temporarily insane. A slither of shame slid uncomfortably down his spine. He owed her an apology. A big one. And he had to go after her. What if she strayed off the track, or worse, hurt herself? No one would know. He checked around the immediate perimeter of the cabin and there was no trace of Robyn. He’d hoped to find her sitting on the edge of the front porch steps, waiting for him to be reasonable. But that wasn’t Robyn’s style. She was way more self-sufficient than that, and she was mad enough to walk all the way back to Tautara as she’d said. Niggling concern for her condition made him edgy. She wasn’t dressed for the trek back to the main part of the estate and it had turned chilly. Sure the trails were marked, but without food and water or even a rain jacket, she’d be struggling before too long. She had a thirty minute head start on him but he knew he could shorten her lead. His decision made, he stuffed a small backpack with energy bars and a couple of water bottles. He hitched on the pack and hit the ground off the front deck at a run. Hopefully he’d catch up to her before she got too far and maybe she wouldn’t still be so angry with him. And if she was, well, he’d duck this time. The drizzle had intensified to a steady rain and the track was slippery in places. Jon cursed as he slid for the third time. He’d seriously believed he’d have caught up to her by now but she’d been in such a rage it must have propelled her along the trail at a faster rate than he’d given her credit for. In the distance he could hear the roar of the river. The crossing wasn’t overly deep, but it could be tricky for anyone who was attempting it for the first time, let alone doing it on their own. Concern for Robyn’s safety spurred him along the pathway and he broke through to the clearing just as she reached the middle of the river. Water foamed and bubbled up to her thighs and he watched with his heart in his mouth as she wavered slightly before regaining her balance. “Robyn! Stay where you are. I’ll come across to you and lead you to the other side.” “I don’t need you!” she yelled over her shoulder, looking back at him as she took another step forward. And that step was her undoing. Before his horrified gaze she slipped on an unstable rock and pitched into the chilled mountain water. He saw her hit the water with a frightened cry. It wasn’t deep and the current wasn’t too strong here. She should be able to make it to her feet without any difficulty. Unless she’d hit her head. Jon unhitched his pack and threw it to the ground, suddenly desperate to reach her.
Chapter Fifteen The sheer cold shock of the water knocked the breath out of Robyn’s chest as she foundered on the hard uneven surface of the river bed. How the water could still be so freezing cold defied belief. She struggled to keep her head above water while she tried to gain a foothold, anything to get some purchase on the slippery rocks and get upright again. Strong hands suddenly hooked under her arms and lifted her clear, holding her steady as her feet found some stability in the raging water.
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A shiver rocked through her. Strange, the rain actually felt warmer than the river coursing around her legs, and Jon’s hands were even warmer. “Come on, I’ll take you back to the cabin. You can’t go on like this.” She wanted to argue with him, to tell him where he could stick his cabin, but the lure of a hot shower spoke volumes to her frozen skin and chattering teeth. “Okay,” she managed begrudgingly. They completed the journey back to the cabin at a surprisingly quick pace. She wasn’t sure if it was Jon’s intention to keep her moving to warm her up, or whether he was simply eager to get out of the weather. It was depressing to realize how little distance she’d actually traveled in her attempt to strike out for Tautara on her own. At the rate she’d been going, even if she’d made it safely across the water, she’d have been lucky to get to the lodge by evening. She was so lost in her thoughts, she never noticed the broken branch across the path until her foot caught in it, pitching headlong toward Jon’s back. He spun around even as she cried out and arrested her fall, pulling her hard against his body. She relished the sensation of warmth and comfort as his broad hand spread across her back. “You okay?” he said, his voice gruff. “I’ll be okay. I’m too tired to look where I’m going—and now I’ve made you all wet.” “It’s okay. We can both warm up in the hot tub when we get back. It’ll do us the world of good.” He took her by the hand and to her shame she clutched onto him like a grateful child. “Hot tub?” Robyn didn’t remember seeing a tub in the bathroom. While the fittings had been undeniably luxurious they hadn’t extended to a tub. “Yeah, through the French doors from the bedroom. C’mon, we’re only about five minutes away.” It was the longest five minutes of her life. The constant drum of the rain through the dense foliage, the slipperiness of the path and the tiredness that assailed her all conspired to make her feet drag and her head swim. By the time the cabin came into view it was all she could do to ascend the steps to the deck. “Here, you look shattered.” Jon hooked an arm around her waist and led her around to the side of the cabin. He propped her against the wall. “Stay there while I take the cover off.” Robyn knew she should move, do something—anything—to get the soaking wet clothing away from her body and to remove the boots that had begun to chafe during their trek back, but everything was too much effort. Get a grip on yourself, she silently chastised, and forced herself to bend down to attempt to undo her laces. Her fingers were stiff and uncooperative. Long strong fingers gently brushed her hands away and Jon eased the stubborn laces loose on her boots and slid the wet leather from her feet. Her socks and jeans were swift to follow, then her top. The silk would never be the same again, she realized with a woeful thought as he peeled the fabric from her upper torso. Without pausing he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the tub, gently settling her in the water. She drew in a sharp breath as the heated water stung her skin, then closed her eyes and relaxed her head back against the cushioned headrest on the side of the tub. A swish in the water made her look up.
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A new kind of heat drew suddenly from her inner depths to bloom across her skin. Jon stood before her in the water. Like her, he’d stripped off his wet clothes, but unlike her, he’d removed his underwear. Which left him totally naked.
Chapter Sixteen Jon settled onto the bench seat and welcomed the heated water as it lapped over his skin. Every instinct in his body demanded he draw Robyn into his arms, to comfort her, to warm her. She’d scared the living daylights out of him when she’d fallen into the river, and her lethargy as they’d neared the cabin was even more frightening. That fall had made him face facts. He still loved her. Deeply. And he needed to find out if she still felt the same way about him. “You never asked me to stay.” Her words echoed in his mind. Had the long-standing rivalry between him and his step-brother clouded his reason? Could he have fought for Robyn? The answer to both was an unrelenting “yes.” He’d allowed his family bitterness to stand in the way of reason. He had to separate what he felt for Robyn from the business But first he had some groveling to do. “I’m sorry I provoked you before. I didn’t mean to drive you away,” he said. “I overreacted. It was stupid to rush off like that so unprepared.” “You took ten years off my life when you fell in the river. How are you feeling?” “A bit sore,” she answered, tipping her head back again and closing her eyes. “My feet and calves in particular. Next time I go hiking I’ll make sure I train first.” A small smile tugged at his lips at her attempt at humor. “Here,” he said, reaching for one of her feet under the water and pulling it to sit on the top of his thigh, “let me massage your feet for you. It’ll hurt at first, but you’ll feel better in the long run.” Jon began a deep rhythmic stroke along the underside of her foot, massaging up to her ankles and then back down again to the tips of her toes before starting over again. “God, that feels good.” Robyn groaned a deep-throated sound that hit him straight in the solar plexus and made him instantly hard. Through the water he could see the dusky pink tips of her nipples straining against the sheer fabric of her flesh-colored bra and he recognized the stain of color that gently spread up her chest and to her throat as the mark of desire. Despite their differences, she still wanted him. Probably about as much as he wanted her. A glimmer of hope glowed to life deep in his chest. Jon stroked higher up her leg, working into Robyn’s calf muscles. Her foot flexed in his lap, brushing against the evidence of his desire. Her eyes flew open. Instead of shock he could only see the answering echo of his need for her. He pressed his hard flesh against the softness of her instep and saw her pupils dilate even further, her lips part on a breath. He reached for her other foot, still maintaining eye contact, and mirrored the attention he’d paid to the aching muscles of her other leg.
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“I meant it when I said I’m sorry,” Jon said softly. “To be honest, the past six months have been hell.” “For me, too. I’ve missed you.” Jon stopped massaging her leg and reached forward to pull her into his arms, hope swelling into anticipation when she made no protest. She settled astride his lap—her shielded core only centimeters from his arousal. He lifted a hand and smoothed her damp hair from her face. “Show me,” he whispered, “show me how much.” “Like this?” she breathed softly into his ear before licking at his lobe then trailed a series of tiny bites down the column of his neck. “Yes,” he groaned as he nuzzled the hollow between her neck and her shoulder, forcing himself to hold back the tide of need that threatened to swamp them both. She reached behind her and unsnapped her bra, sending it sailing through the air to land ignominiously on the deck then slid off him long enough to slip off the scrap of fabric that was her panties. Naked, she shimmied back onto his lap. Jon gripped her hips to position her at the tip of his shaft. His ears filled with the addictive sigh of satisfaction that eased from her throat as he slowly lowered her onto his length. He settled deep inside of her, relishing the sensation of her clamping against him, feeling a sense of rightness in his world that had been missing for six long months. Robyn sighed as her lower body began to undulate as if she no longer had the strength of will to control herself. “Oh, Jon, I’ve missed you so very much.”
Chapter Seventeen And she had missed him—in more ways than merely the physical. Knowing he’d suspected her and Bradley of being lovers had been a painful blow. There’d only ever been one Windthorpe man for her and it had always been Jonathan—no matter what he thought. Letting him go had been one of the toughest decisions of her life. But she could no more pull away from him at this moment than she could stop breathing. His hands held her hips firmly, halting her movement. Determined not to ease up she squeezed her inner muscles against him, urging him to do what they both needed to ease the conflagration building inside. She tilted her pelvis ever so slightly so her sensitive nub rubbed against his pubic bone. Instantly a spiral of pleasure sent spasms through her body, making her clench him with an intimacy that only lovers shared. It was his tipping point. He instantly let go of her hips and allowed her body the movement she desperately craved—allowed her the pleasure she knew belonged to them both. His broad hands slid up to her rib cage, his thumbs caressing the sensitive underside of her breasts then scraping up and over her nipples in tandem, teasing the taut points into an ache that went soul deep.
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She increased momentum, desperate now to find release—desperate to draw from him the culmination of the longing she’d suppressed for far too long. Her climax hit her hard and fast and her voice rang out as pleasure soared within her. Jon’s body stiffened beneath hers and she felt his hips thrust against her as he scaled the peak with her. She collapsed against him, letting her body melt into his. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, or was it his? Even the ragged breaths they drew were synchronized. Eventually Jon stirred beneath her. “C’mon. Let’s take this inside. We have a lot of catching up to do.” Robyn lifted herself off his body on legs that barely seemed capable of supporting her. Jon swung his legs over the side of the tub and, as he had before, scooped her into his arms. She didn’t feel cold anymore, and even the constant rain outside the sheltered deck could not diminish the light that shone within her now. Jon pushed open the French doors leading to the bedroom and laid her almost reverently on the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning from the bathroom with two large fluffy towels, proceeding to dry her with one. Not to be outdone, Robyn grabbed the other towel and dried him as he hovered over her body, one hand stroking the coiled strength of his shoulders and his upper arms, while the other dragged the towel across the parts of him she could reach. He grabbed the towel from her hands and hooked it loosely around her wrists, stretching her arms up over her head—leaving her prone to his look, his touch, his mouth. He settled his body between her legs and when he lowered his mouth to her breasts Robyn knew it didn’t matter where she was anymore. As long as she was with Jonathan, she’d come home.
Chapter Eighteen Dawn crept across the now clear sky, but Jon was oblivious to its beauty. In his arms was a woman he silently acknowledged he irrevocably loved. Yet, he had loved her before and that hadn’t been enough for her. Had any of that changed? The papers in her briefcase still bore mute testimony to her duplicity. As much as he wanted to keep his relationship with Robyn separate from the machinations of the company, could he trust her? The test would be in what she decided to do. She said she’d come here to help him. So now, would she choose Bradley, or him? It was full light by the time Robyn stirred. His body leapt to life as she stretched languorously beside him but instead of urging her to full wakefulness he pushed himself out of bed before he succumbed to her charms again. It was hopeless. He wanted her as much now as he’d wanted her the many times they’d made love during the night. He could not allow himself to be drugged by his addiction to her again. Before he could reveal his true feelings to her, he had to know exactly where she stood. In his life or out of it. He drove his body away from hers, toward the bathroom, toward the sobering cold spray of the shower. Toward reason.
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As he came out of the bathroom he heard the sat phone ring. By the time he disconnected the call he couldn’t decide if it was precisely the news he needed, or if it was an unwelcome coercion to carve the truth from Robyn. Eventually, he forced himself back to the bedroom. She lay in the tumble of sheets that were still redolent with the scent of their lovemaking. Each crease was a silent witness to their hunger for one another. Each fold was a testament to the passion that demanded acknowledgement. Jon took a moment to steel himself for what was to come. Took a moment to savor, however fleetingly, what they’d shared. He leaned forward to lightly touch her shoulder. Her skin was like satin—he would never grow tired of the texture or the exquisite sensation that touching her brought him. A piece of him wanted to forget all about the phone call, to sink back into the bed and into the welcoming warmth of her body. But he knew he couldn’t ignore the call or the damning information she’d inadvertently brought to him. It was time for them both to face the truth. She turned into his touch, a soft sigh and a smile on lips he wanted to plunder and take for his very own. “Robyn,” he pulled away from her touch, “Luc Tanner just called. The presidential visit has come to an early end. They flew out about an hour ago.” “They’ve gone?” The cloudiness of slumber was rapidly replaced by her sharp analytical mind. “So the airways are open again?” He watched Robyn carefully—saw the play of emotion across her features. It was time to push for his answer. To push for the truth he dared believe might be his for the taking. “You don’t have to leave. Stay here with me.” She didn’t even hesitate. “Jon, I can’t. You know I have to get back to work.” So, there he had it. The truth. The absolute, irrefutable proof their lovemaking had meant nothing to her. He meant nothing to her. Pain warred with the anger that flared inside him as fast and furious as petrol on a bonfire. “To work? To Bradley, you mean.” He took a couple of steps back, anything to give him the distance he needed. Robyn remained silent in the bed. The bed in which he’d bared his heart and soul to her. The bed in which they’d shared such intimacies that would forever go unspoken. She hadn’t even given staying with him a thought, Jon acknowledged with a hollow pain in the region of his heart as he gathered a belt, a pair of jeans and a long sleeved T-shirt and threw them on the bed. “Here, your clothes will still be soaked. Use these and get dressed. The chopper will be at the landing site in forty-five minutes.”
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“Jon—” Robyn reached for him. “Don’t.” He spun away from the seduction of her touch. “You made your choice. I only hope you can sleep with it.”
Chapter Nineteen Robyn stood outside the meeting room waiting for the executives to filter in. It had been two long and lonely days since she’d returned from Tautara. She’d felt numb from the moment she’d left Jon’s cabin, even more so when she’d opened her briefcase on her return to Auckland and found the proxy on the top of the papers she’d stored in there. Signed over to her. It made her sick to realize that Jon had obviously read the information in her case, and yet he’d still given her the proxy. She had to admit that the documents made her look as if she was complicit in Bradley’s scheme. And yet Jon had still given her the ultimate gift in trust. Trust she’d thrown back in his face when she’d chosen to leave. Pain carved a sharp line through her body. But she couldn’t have stayed. Staying would have meant she’d be giving up her promotion, giving up the chance to make something of her life. She had dinner planned with her parents tonight to celebrate. Already she felt as if she’d earned the right to bask in their pride. But what about Jon? She thought back to his request to stay with him at Tautara. It was a test. A test she’d failed. Six months ago, a promotion was what she thought she’d wanted and she’d been so blinded by ambition she hadn’t grasped the one thing she wanted above all else. Jon. But she could try to make it up to him. She could ensure that Bradley’s plans would not come to fruition. She already had a strong idea of which way the voting would sway, and Jon’s proxy would be the decider. WindCorp had always prided itself on being focused on providing “for New Zealanders, by New Zealanders.” Bradley’s discussions with several overseas parties regarding outsourcing all of their manufacturing showed his clear intention to cease operations in New Zealand. The loss of jobs would be massive. And without manufacturing, Jon would have very little input left in the company. But with her promotion she could stop all of that. Robyn ticked the last attendee off her checklist and followed him into the meeting room. The meeting was called to order and progressed through the agenda at an efficient rate. “Next on the agenda is the matter of Robyn Mackenzie’s promotion.” Her ears buzzed as her credentials were lauded, as her undeniable loyalty to WindCorp was expounded. She continued nervously taking the minutes, as one by one the board voted and…she had it! They’d voted to give her the promotion! Finally she had the right to ensure that WindCorp could continue with the charter Jonathan’s father had always seen for the company. Tension gripped her as the chairman asked for any matters arising. This was it. Bradley took the floor. She had to admit, he was convincing. As he showed charts and projected budgets for the company she could see some of the executive slowly swing in his favor. When
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the vote was called she was shocked to see just how convincing he’d been. The final deciding vote now rested with the proxy trembling in her hand. Bradley looked at her with a smile. “Any proxies?” “There’s one. On behalf of Jonathan Windthorpe—” Robyn paused and took a steadying breath. “—signed over to me. And I vote against,” she enunciated as firmly as she could. The complacent smile on Bradley’s face froze and twisted until his expression turned positively feral. Robyn ducked her head and stared fixedly at the table. A sudden commotion at the door made her life her gaze. Jon! He was here! Her heart skittered in her chest as Jon’s painfully familiar figure entered the room. With Jon’s presence the proxy was null and void. He voted for himself and unequivocally quashed Bradley’s push to move manufacturing offshore. Bradley’s face contorted in anger, but he remained silent for the rest of the meeting. Robyn went back to her office and sorted through the mail on her desk. She was relieved that while hope for their love had been irretrievably stomped into submission by her actions, hope for WindCorp still thrived. Movement at the door to her office caught her attention and her heart stopped. Had Jon come to talk to her? The flutter of hope slammed to a halt. It was Bradley. He wasted no time in getting to the point, his voice laced with vitriol. “I hope your foray into the bush with Jonathan was worth it, because that’s about as close as you’ll ever get to management in WindCorp again. You can forget about your promotion. It’s clear you breeched the terms of your employment. Why else would Jon have turned up today? You’re fired. I want you to clear your desk and be out of here by the end of the day.”
Chapter Twenty She’d always known Bradley could be vicious but firing her was going too far. “But I didn’t tell Jon about your plans for WindCorp,” she protested. “So you deny he found out the information from you?” Robyn’s throat closed on her words of denial. Of course Jon had found out from her—or at least from the notes in her briefcase. While she hadn’t told him in so many words, she was still responsible for him finding out. And she was glad. Suddenly the promotion she’d have given anything for meant nothing to her anymore. Not if it meant she had to do the kinds of things Bradley wanted for WindCorp. Not if it meant destroying the lives of hundreds of employees and their families, not to mention the livelihoods of the towns in which they lived. She drew herself up to her full height and met him eye to eye. “I don’t deny he found out from me. It wasn’t deliberate but I’m prepared to take responsibility for my actions. Given the same opportunity I would do it again. And don’t worry about trying to fire me. I quit. I wouldn’t work for you anymore for all the money in the world.”
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Slow steady applause arrested them both. Her heart lurched at the sight of Jon’s sartorial elegance framed in her doorway. “Well said, Robyn. But I believe my dear step-brother has it wrong. It’s you who’ll be leaving, Bradley, not Robyn. Your underhanded action in bringing today’s meeting to order is in direct breach of your conditions of employment. The executives have called for your resignation.” *** Jon closed the door to Robyn’s office firmly behind Bradley’s retreating back. He wouldn’t give up without a fight and Jon had no doubt there’d be a massive legal battle around the corner, but right now he didn’t care. All that mattered was the woman who stood before him. The woman who’d proved her loyalty to him, and to WindCorp, by voting his proxy today. “We need to talk,” he said, crossing over to her desk. “I’m sorry you had to go through that today, but it was necessary to be able to show the board just how underhanded he could be. I’d never have had their agreement to remove his powers if it hadn’t played out the way it did.” He dragged at the tie at his neck and flicked open the top button of his shirt. “You knew about it all along?” “For the past four months, yes.” “You used me.” “I used a person I thought was using me. I was blind as far as you were concerned. Blind and stupid. I thought you would vote with Bradley. I misjudged you terribly and I’m sorry for that too,” he said softly. “Tell me, if you could still have that promotion, would you take it?” She didn’t even need to think about it. “No.” “I understand,” he sighed, “but there’s a massive hole in that department now and it needs a committed leader to shape its future. I know, with guidance, you can be that person.” He could see she was tempted. “I’ll give it consideration,” she eventually murmured. “And what about me. If things were different would you still want me, would you still give us another chance?” “What do you mean?” He saw her eyes lighten and shine, heard the lift in her voice. “Please, Robyn, forgive me today—forgive me the past six months—and I promise you that every tomorrow will be better.” “Forgive you, Jon? I’m just so glad that you can forgive me. I should have stayed with you at Tautara. It was wrong of me to put my ambitions ahead of my heart. Believe me, I’ve learned my lesson.”
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Jon stepped around the desk and pulled her into his arms. It felt so very right. And when he spoke, she knew she’d made the right choice. “Robyn, the past week has proven to me how much I love you. How much it would destroy me to live without you. Will you marry me? Will you stand by me and help me run WindCorp to be the best of what we both want?” “Is that what you truly want?” She hardly dared hope. “Yes.” In that single word he gave her the answer her heart craved. The answer she needed to turn her back on the expectations of her family and embrace the one truth she held most dear. She loved Jonathan Windthorpe and he loved her in return. “Then, yes, I’ll marry you. I love you Jon—I’ll love you forever.”
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Thirty Days by Lilian Darcy What happens when three waitresses in a coastal Australian town try to find love - or avoid it - during a month-long military training exercise involving Australian and American services? Courtney declares the training exercise to be her ticket out of town, and is determined to find a husband. Jen isn’t interested, and is cynical about the whole thing. And Alice isn’t looking for marriage, either - though Jen believes that if anyone deserves a brief, bittersweet and passionate romantic fling with a visiting officer, it’s Alice. Three women...three stories... You’ll be surprised at what can happen in thirty days!
Chapter 1: “The place is filling up fast, and at least half are in uniform,” Courtney reported to Jen and Alice, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. “I knew the new army base would have to pay off soon. This is my ticket out of here!” “If you want to leave Tidewater Bay, there’s a bus to Brisbane twice a day,” Jen told her, not totally teasing. If she ever left Tidewater herself, she intended to earn her own ticket, not rely on someone else. “No, I’m serious.” Courtney was all fired up. “Look at them. Americans, Australians, air force, marines. The newspaper says they’re here on joint training exercises for a month, and since this is the best bar and grill in town, right on the waterfront, that means they’ll be coming in here for a month, which means...” She left her sentence trailing. Then she grinned, hiked up her bra, pulled her tight little top down and fluffed her fingers in her blond hair. Jen and Alice looked at each other and smiled. Courtney described herself as “slightly slutty, but in a good way,” and it was a pretty accurate assessment. “You watch me! I’m going to be married to a hunky, high-ranking military officer in a month, and I’m going to leave this town!” You couldn’t dislike her, even when she came up with crazy ideas like this one. She disappeared to take an order, while Jen and Alice each began to load trays of drinks. The bar staff already looked pumped. Everyone could see it would be a busy night. Jen took a covert look at Alice. Would she handle it? As usual, Alice looked content but a little tired around the eyes, and she’d already put in a full day. Alice’s twins, Jen’s much loved niece and nephew, were fifteen years old, and Jen’s older brother Bruce, the fiancé Alice had never been able to marry, required a huge amount of care. “You’re the one who needs to be swept off her feet in thirty days by a hunky American officer, Alice,” Jen told her. “Me?” Alice looked startled. “What, I don’t already have enough to do?” “You don’t have enough...” Jen searched for the right word. Fun? Excitement? “You just don’t have enough.” Alice shrugged, as if in apology. “A few people might not agree with you on that, Jen.” “No, it’s true. What do you have that’s for you?” How many women would have done what Alice had, Jen wondered. Sixteen years ago, Alice had been just two months pregnant and her long-planned wedding to Bruce less than six weeks away when he’d had the motorcycle accident. He was still in a wheelchair, couldn’t speak or take care of himself. He smiled a lot. He watched TV, and the ocean. That was about it. And Alice had never turned her back on him.
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Now she was watching the men. Thoughtfully. Appreciatively. Because there was a lot to appreciate. They were tall and lean, or stocky and muscular, dark-haired and brown-eyed, or blue-eyed and fair. Their uniforms were laden with insignia. An aura of energy and strength and purpose filled the big waterfront bar, along with voices speaking in different accents, and bursts of male and female laughter. Alice looked at Jen and lifted one eyebrow. “You think so?” “I do! Alice, I seriously do! You’ve given so much of your life to my brother. You’re only thirty-six years old. None of us would blame you if you left - “ “No. Honestly, Jen. I don’t want a ticket out of here, the way Courtney does. You, on the other hand...” “Me? Oh, please! Courtney’s crazy if she thinks she can get one of them to marry her in a month. Take her to bed in two hours, sure, I’d bet on it. But I am not looking to be any man’s one-night stand!” “Famous last words, Jen,” Courtney sang as she skimmed back to the bar. “It looks like a nice town,” Colonel Kieran Hayes said politely to the junior Australian officer. He’d been assigned to orientate him in advance of the month-long joint military exercise on the coast of Queensland. Kieran had to raise his voice to get heard over the climbing noise levels in the bar. On his own, he would have chosen to eat outside on that sweeping deck poised almost on top of the ocean, but the Australian had led the way to this corner table and Kieran hadn’t wanted to pull rank so soon in the relationship. “Yeah, well, don’t let first impressions fool you,” Lieutenant Judd Mason replied. “Apart from the beach, there’ll be nothing to do. We’ll do our best for you, but this is the only decent place in town, and - a word to the wise - if you want Chinese food, do not go to Happy’s. Your guts will not be happy the next day.” He grinned. Kieran had already pegged him as cocky, lazy and not as smart as he thought he was. “You’ve been here before, Judd?” “No, but coming from Sydney, I can tell you these Aussie hick-towns are all the same.” Kieran asked Lieutenant Mason a few more questions because he never considered any information to be wasted, even when he didn’t fully trust its source. Mason answered with half an eye on every female that passed, including their waitress with her perky breasts and perky announcement, “Hi, my name’s Courtney.” Actually, in Courtney’s case, more than half an eye, Kieran revised. There was a definite flash of mutual and shameless interest between the two. Oh, great, he thought, my supposed right-hand man is going to be thinking below his belt whenever I most need him. Why couldn’t we have gotten the waitress at the next table? She was at least ten years older, a long-haired brunette, with a mature beauty that wouldn’t appeal to someone like Judd. Since Courtney and Judd were still flirting over the menu choices, Kieran idly listened to Ms. Brunette instead of Ms. Perky. She said her name was Alice, then outlined the day’s specials in a voice so musical and hypnotic that she could have gotten Kieran to order last week’s leftovers if she’d tried.
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But he wasn’t Judd. He wasn’t in the market for a one-night stand. Before their divorce, Dana had accused him of serial sleeping around, but despite all the time he and Dana had spent apart, he’d never been unfaithful to her. He just wasn’t that kind of man. If Dana had had any real competition, it came from his career. She’d realized this in the end. She just wasn’t military wife material. She had their two kids back in their Pennsylvania home town now, and he saw almost as much of them as he had when their family had still been intact. So why did he miss them so much now? Why did he feel so unready to consider that he might one day marry again? Lord, he didn’t want to think about any of this right now! After gushing over the specials, Courtney was ready to take his order. Quickly, please, said her body language, so she could get on with her work, finish her shift and get physical with Judd on the nightdarkened beach on her way home. “I’ll just have the plain steak,” he said, the words coming out blunter than he’d meant them to. He caught a quick smile in his direction from gray-eyed Alice, who was still waiting for a decision from her table but seemed quite interested in what was going on at this one. So we can’t sell you on our fancied-up specials and over-sauced seafood? the smile seemed to say. “You’re a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy?” she asked with a tease in her voice. He smiled back. “Yep, that about sums me up.” And for the first time since the divorce, he didn’t feel as if he had to apologize for it or try to be anything else. “I’m here to meet someone. Is it okay if I take a look?” Yet another American officer, Jen registered. The uniform and the accent left little doubt. She’d never seen the place this packed, not even during the annual surf carnival. “Well...I’ll get you a crowbar,” she said to him, “but we may hit closing time before you’ve worked your way into the room.” For about five seconds he looked blankly back at her and she thought, uh-oh, no sense of humor, I’ve created an international incident, but then his universal translator kicked in or something, and he laughed. He had a nice laugh. Real. “Maybe you can call a fire drill,” he suggested, “and I can look for him as people pour out.” “That’s a better plan,” she agreed, noting that he had nice eyes, too. Dark ones, in a coffee-cream face. Eyes that met hers for a second and gave her a weird feeling of recognition. “It’s why I have the most stuff on my chest,” he said, pointing to his left breast pocket. Well, he didn’t have the most, but he had quite a bit. Jen didn’t know what any of it signified, and she wasn’t about to be easily impressed. Humor always scored more points in her book. Without requiring the crowbar, he made powerful inroads through the press of uniforms and laughter and heat, and she lost sight of him almost at once. “Is this a zoo, or what?” said Courtney ten minutes later.
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“Courtney, tell me you’re not speaking with an American accent!” Jen answered. Courtney shrugged. “It’s so easy to pick up. Hey, did you see the cute guy - not American, by the way!” “I can see twenty-seven cute guys. Which one? And I thought cute would have to equal American for you tonight.” Courtney shrugged again. “Chemistry’s unpredictable. What can you do? But he’s from Sydney.” “So that still fits with the escape-from-Tidewater plan?” “I’m playing it cool. I’m not seeing him until Sunday.” Jen let out a laugh. “Two days? That’s playing it cool?” “Hey, I only have thirty days. It’s a tricky equation. I think two days is pitching it right. No, don’t bother looking for him; he’s still at the table with that older guy. You can’t see him from here.” “I wasn’t - “ Jen began, then stopped. I wasn’t looking for him; I was looking for Fire Drill Guy. But Courtney wasn’t listening, so Jen didn’t need to find a new way to finish her sentence. She didn’t need to look for Fire Drill Guy, either, but for some reason she kept doing it. Not even consciously. Just in the back of her mind, while her aching legs waited for the long night’s shift to end. *
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Courtney’s legs ached, too, all the way home in the car. Turning into her parents driveway - yes, she still lived at home, another good reason to get out of Tidewater, even though her parents were pretty nice - she was amazed to see light spreading down the adjacent driveway as her neighbor’s garage door opened. She had time to get out of the car and walk halfway toward the mailbox before Connor Gallagher’s car hummed past her in reverse. “Hello, Night Owl,” he said, stopping the vehicle and leaning his elbow on the window frame. “Night Owl, yourself,” she retorted, grinning. She’d known him all her life, and had almost gone out with him when she was nineteen. But in her heart she’d known she could do better for herself, so she’d given him some pretty strong we’re-just-friends signals and he’d never gone as far as asking. Since then, his parents had moved to Brisbane, and he’d bought the house from them to help finance their retirement. He was that kind of guy. Way too decent to be interesting. “What are you doing out this late?” she asked him. “It’s after two.” “I’m not out late, I’m up early. Dawn fishing charter.” “Ugh, horrible!” “Fishing?” “Dawn! Three hours before dawn, in fact. Very, very ugh. Didn’t you prefer the bank?” Connor had started a charter boat company with his older brother eighteen months ago, and they both worked incredibly hard now, building up the business. She barely saw him anymore. He’d been employed as
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a bank teller before, but the Tidewater Bay branch of the Queensland Regional Bank had closed. Courtney was sorry about the change. She’d enjoyed teasing Connor about embezzling other people’s funds. “No, I did not prefer the bank, Courtney,” he growled at her, and gunned the car out into the street. Apparently, he didn’t think she was funny. His problem. Or maybe the influence of his terrible girlfriend, who maintained a permanent negative balance in her sense of humor account. Courtney was a bit shocked, though. He’d never spoken that sharply to her before. “Connor Gallagher,” she told the departing vehicle, “you are really getting to be a jerk.” “You guys - and gals - enjoying yourselves in Tidewater, so far?” Jen asked the older American officer seated by himself out on the deck. His name sat above his left breast in small, discreet letters. She’d started looking at their names. Colonel Hayes, in this case. It was a gorgeous Sunday morning, just after seven and not yet too hot, and apparently he was working a breakfast shift just as she was. He’d already been standing at the restaurant’s main door when she’d opened it a few minutes ago, and now he was ready to order. “It’s a very nice town,” he told her. “But I won’t be seeing it for a few days after this. We’ll be in the field.” He took a breath and pointed to an item on the menu, but before he could speak Alice hurried up to the table. “Sorry I’m late,” she mouthed to Jen, because the deck was supposed to be her area this morning, while Jen should have been inside where she already had tables waiting. “It’s okay,” Jen mouthed back. She knew Bruce had had a bad night. Alice and Bruce lived with their twins a couple of streets away from Jen and her family, but Alice often spent the night at her parents’ house when they had Bruce. The extended family had a fluid arrangement for his care, depending on everyone’s commitments. He had two homes, really. That way, everyone helped and everyone got a break. “I’ll take your order, sir,” Alice said, and got out her order pad and pen. Jen headed for the table inside that had just filled up with a party of six - military officers, naturally, and there were some more, coming through the door. Fire Drill Guy was one of them. The other night? The crowbar? He won’t even remember... He did, though. “Hey,” he said a little later, when she appeared at his table. “You did a better job of clearing out the place this morning. I can even hear the ocean.”
Chapter 2: “It’s louder outside on the deck.” Oops, did that sound rude? As if she was trying to get rid of him?
Jen held her breath, then relaxed when he smiled. His smile was just like his laugh. Real. “Yeah, I think so sad to say, these guys like the softer chairs in here - but I got in a three-mile run on the sand, so I’ve had some air.”
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“I ran, too,” Jen blurted out, as if this made them long-lost cousins. “I didn’t see you.” “I saw you. Well, I know now that it was you. White T-shirt? Black bike shorts?” “That was me.” One of Fire Drill Guy’s buddies dug him in the ribs. “Quit talking and order, Jonah. We don’t have long today.” Jonah. Jen took a look at the rest of his name. Longman. Lieutenant Colonel. Information she didn’t need and could forget right now, she told herself. The place was already beginning to fill, and all the talk was about needing to eat and get out of here, because playtime was over. They were heading into the bush today. Meals would be eaten on the run. The soldiers probably wouldn’t get back for two weeks, and even the senior officers would have limited free time in town. Glancing out to the deck, she saw that Alice was still talking to her guy, Hayes. Alice laughed and threaded some silky hair behind her ear. The officer seemed to appreciate her body language, and if he was in a hurry to eat like the others, it didn’t show. Alice looked flustered at the kitchen serving hatch a few minutes later - flustered like Jen felt every time she caught sight of Fire Drill Guy...Jonah. She didn’t need to call him Fire Drill Guy anymore, but she’d been thinking of him that way a little too much since Friday night, so the habit was hard to drop. “He kept me talking,” Alice said, sounding breathless. “Yeah, I saw. What did he say?” Alice flushed. “You won’t believe this, Jen. He asked me out. Lord, I’d forgotten how that felt! So weird and unlikely and out of the blue!” Jen gulped back a shriek. “Alice!” “I-I’m feeling...“ “You should go! I don’t know what you said, how you turned him down, but go back out there this minute and tell him you changed your mind!” “Changed my mind?” “Yes!” “Do I have to, Jen?” Alice spread her hands in a gesture that was almost an apology. She gave an upsidedown smile. “I already said yes.” “And Alice told him yes,” Jen said to Courtney, during the Monday breakfast shift. “And they’re going out Wednesday night.” “Oh, wow!” Then Courtney frowned. “But I thought they’d all gone off into the bush, out of civilian contact. Judd said he wouldn’t be able to see me for days.” She sighed. “And what about your brother?”
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Jen felt the wave of sadness they’d all grown accustomed to over the years, as she answered. “Bruce won’t know. He barely would, even if Alice kissed another man right in front of him. He doesn’t have that awareness. Which is why she so needs something like this, if it works out for her.” “She’d go off with this guy?” “Oh, Courtney, no, I’m not thinking that way. All I’m hoping is that she’ll have a nice evening out, with a guy who can talk to her and appreciate her and give her something, the way my brother did once but won’t ever again. As for the civilian contact thing, I think Colonel Hayes is pretty high up. He’s overseeing, not taking part. He’ll have more flexibility than most of them.” “I wish Judd did...although I have to say in certain areas he’s very flexible.” “So last night, you and he...?” “No. We did not. I have my feet on the ground about this, Jen. There’s a huge chemistry, but I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. We’re still in the exploration phase, and I think deep down he knows that.” Deep down? Deep in the heart of a man you’ve known for two and a half days? Jen resisted the temptation to roll her eyes at the ceiling as she took her order away. She liked Courtney. Was fond of her, even, like a younger cousin. But she didn’t have a lot of faith in Courtney’s judgment right now. Fall seriously in love in a month? The girl had some growing up to do. *
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”Oh, grow up, Courtney!” Connor Gallagher said, over the back fence at six o’clock on Monday evening. Courtney had seen him from her kitchen window. Last week, she probably wouldn’t have gone out to say hi, but today she wanted to heal that little sense of discomfort generated by his shortness with her on Friday night, so she’d taken advantage of the sun-dried laundry that needed to come off the line. Unfortunately, the healing didn’t happen because the shortness was still there. She flushed at his words. “I was joking, Con.” Another bank joke, which he was obviously sick of. Okay, so she’d have to come up with boat joke material, instead. For some reason that seemed harder. Could she really be bothered? Was their old friendship remotely important to her, other than as a mild ego stroke? She’d always assumed she could crook her little finger and he’d come running, but if she was wrong about that, did it matter? She labored on, still confused about everything. “And I’m twenty-four. If you think I’m still a kid, well...well...” Well, it hurt, actually, she discovered. Clearly, the friendship wasn’t important to him, and he wouldn’t come running anymore. Okay, okay. She’d never intended to crook the finger anyhow. She asked brightly, “So what does Simone think about the boat business, eighteen months on?” Simone was Connor’s awful girlfriend, but he got an odd look on his face when Courtney mentioned her name. “We broke up,” he said blankly. “Four months ago.” “Oh, Connor, I’m sorry...” Not sorry about Simone, because she was critical and demanding and Courtney didn’t know why Connor had put up with her, but...had he gotten hurt?
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“Don’t be,” he said, eyeing her from behind a screen of lashes. The western sun was in his face. “It was my idea, and she’s moved on, now. Your mother didn’t tell you?” “No, she didn’t.” And because she still had this weird, hurt feeling about his prickly, distant attitude, she added, “Might surprise you, Con, but you’re actually not my main topic of conversation.” “Guess not,” he said. He turned away from her, and she hated that he’d refused to rise to her bait. Say something, Connor. Better to fight with you than to be ignored. There was a cold water outdoor shower rigged against the back wall of his garage for when he came back salty from a day on the water and wanted to rinse off. With his back to her, Connor peeled off his shirt, turned on a full flow of water and stepped under it. His dark, baggy shorts were soon soaked and heavy, making them dip low on his hips. He rubbed his body hard, and its curves and angles got caught by the late light. When had he gotten so tanned and muscled? On the boats, Courtney realized. Definitely not at the bank. She opened her mouth to tease him about it in their old, easy way, but then remembered how he hadn’t laughed on Friday night and held her tongue. “Well, hell,” Fire Drill Guy - Jonah - said to Jen, surveying the near-empty expanse of the Tidewater Bar and Grill. He’d introduced himself to her properly on Monday, so she really didn’t need to call him Fire Drill Guy anymore, even though she was kind of fond of it as a nickname. “Will you look at this! I brought the crowbar and I don’t even need it.” He flourished a blunt piece of blue-gray metal in his strong, long-fingered hand, and Jen looked at it and laughed. It really was a crowbar! And she recognized a price sticker still on it from the local hardware store. “You’ll go a long way for a joke, won’t you?” she said. “I didn’t do it for the joke.” Those dark eyes tried to connect with hers, but she wouldn’t let them. She wasn’t Courtney. “You did it because you thought we’d be as busy as last Friday night?” she asked. Her lungs felt tight and her head dizzy. “No, Jen.” He used her name as if he’d known it for years. Showing him to a table by the window, she had a sudden feeling of panic, forgot that she didn’t want to look at him properly and let her gaze shoot to his face as he sat down. “When do you finish?” he asked, dropping his voice. Oh, lord, I can’t pretend this isn’t happening, can I? But I don’t trust it... “Um, soon as the manager says I can go,” she told him. The place was very quiet tonight. It was a Wednesday, and some locals were probably staying away because of the military, whereas most of the military were now crashing around in the bush on their exercise. Lieutenant-Colonel Longman was still staying at the base, he told her, because he was part of the assessment team.
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“But I have to go straight home,” she blurted out. “I can’t - “ “How come? You’re on a curfew? You’re fifteen?” “Twenty-eight. I have to take care of my brother.” “Who’s four.” “Thirty-six.” She told him about Bruce and Alice, said more than she’d meant to and frowned when she said Alice’s name. Jonah noticed and asked what was wrong. “Oh, she’s supposed to be going out tonight, with one of your guys. She’s never done anything like that before; it could be so good for her if they have a nice evening, but I kind of...not pushed her into it...but if it turns sour on her...” Again, she said more than she meant to. “Who’s the guy?” “Brigadier Flight-Lieutenant Admiral Something-or-Other.” She had no idea about military ranks. “Hayes,” she remembered. “Hayes. I know Hayes. He’s a colonel. He’s a nice guy; he won’t turn sour. So that means it’s your turn with your brother?” Jen explained that this was what made it possible for him to stay out of a nursing home -- that they all shared the load, herself, her two sisters, her parents, Alice and the twins. “So we can talk at your place,” he said. He hadn’t even looked at his open menu yet. “Listen, I’m not married...” “Did I ask?” “Are you?” “Married? No. But I work; I have the family thing I just told you about, I’m doing a marine biology degree, part-time.” I’m really not looking for this, whatever it is. Why is my heart beating so hard? Why do I feel as if I’ve inhaled seventeen beers? “Marine biology? So do you dive? Scuba?” “Yes, but I never have time for that!” She threw up her hands, and suddenly it was funny. “You do that speed-dating thing at home, right? You must! Because this is - “ She stopped and shook her head, then noticed that the manager was waving at her from behind the bar. “You can go, Jen,” he called. “It’s not going to pick up tonight.” Lieutenant-Colonel Longman folded his unneeded menu and stood up, crowbar still in his hand. “We’ll talk at your place,” he said. “Someone told me the food was terrible here,” Kieran said. “But it’s been great.” “At Happy’s, you have to know what to order.”
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“Well, you steered me in the right direction.” He sat back in his chair and smiled at Alice, and for the first time that evening, she felt lost and unsure. What happens next? Was it just dinner? What’s he expecting? What do I want? She’d suggested Happy’s because she was pretty sure they wouldn’t meet too many of the wrong people here. The place was too small and quiet for tourists or the visiting service personnel. Most of its business was take-out, and the four eat-in tables were tucked away behind folded Chinese screens, out of sight of Tidewater locals collecting their bags of steaming food. Alice didn’t want anyone to see her here with an American officer and gossip about it. Not everyone was like Jen. Some people would consider it a betrayal to Bruce if she spent time with this man, even though she and Bruce could have no real relationship at all. She’d told him about Bruce, and he’d told her about Dana, and they’d found a connection in such outwardly different experiences. “Strange,” he’d said. “It makes you feel so incomplete, Alice, doesn’t it? And yet you’re scared about looking to make yourself complete too soon, or in the wrong way.” “I know, yes, that’s right,” she’d answered him. “I like talking to you,” Kieran said now, as he signaled for the bill. It was a simple compliment from a straightforward guy. “I like talking to you, too.” And I like looking at you. It’s so long since I’ve let myself look at a man. He had blue eyes, and the hard-packed build and no-nonsense haircut of a career soldier. In the shorn dark strands, there was a sprinkling of silver. He’d told her he was forty-five, and as well as the gray, he had the lines around his eyes and mouth to prove it. Alice loved the lines, because they spoke to her of a full, richly lived life. Joys and sorrows. Hard work and well-earned pleasure. The whole gamut of ordinary and extraordinary experience. She appreciated all of that so much. “Would you like to go for a walk along the beach before I take you back?” she asked him. His eyes sparked. “That would be nice.” Nice... He tended to keep things understated, she’d already discovered, and she liked this about him, also. Often, there was more to a man when less showed on the surface. Earlier she’d picked him up from the Australian army base where he was staying, a short distance out of town. Now they drove in the opposite direction to a sheltered and secluded curve of beach she used to take the twins to all the time when they were small. The pale sand was rolled hard and smooth by the rhythmic slip of the waves, and the moon reflected off the water to give a blue-white light that they could easily see by. He held her hand. Talked about his kids. Asked if she was cold.
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“I’m fine,” she answered, and only realized the missed opportunity too late.
Chapter 3: He would have put his arm around my shoulders if I’d said yes... Her heart started beating faster as he eased his hand out of her grip, quickened his pace and bent to pick up a shell. The shell was just an excuse, she knew. Darn it, I’m not going to let him think I don’t want this! Her whole body began to quake but she ignored it, caught up to him and ran her hand down his bare, strong arm. She took in a breath. Lord, her voice was going to shake, too, she knew it! But I’m not going to let that stop me... “Would you kiss me, Kieran?” she said. “He kisses like a dream,” Courtney said on Friday afternoon. “And he’s called me every chance he’s had they have all these satellite hookups out there, or something - I’m telling you it was phone sex, almost, although I don’t think he was supposed to be using a military line so much for personal stuff...and I’m seeing him when he comes back into town tonight. I can’t believe I’ve only known him for a week.” “Where will you go?” Jen asked, thinking of Tidewater Bay’s limited options. “Not here, after you’ve worked a full day shift.” The three women were to get off at 6:00 p.m. “Happy’s? I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. Fish and chips on the beach. And beer.” “That sounds nice,” Alice said. Fish and chips on the beach. Racecourse Beach. No one goes there at night. Jen took a covert look at her not-quite-sister-in-law. She’d had a glow about her since going out with Kieran Hayes on Wednesday night, but she hadn’t given everyone action replays kiss by kiss, as Courtney had. Had Alice kissed Kieran? What else could account for the glow? Jen didn’t have a glow of her own. She just had a really strange feeling, like jet lag or pregnancy or walking on the moon. Not that she’d ever experienced any of those things, but she could imagine. Since Wednesday night, she’d inhabited a different planet to the one she’d lived on all her life, even though she and Jonah hadn’t even kissed. They’d just talked. All night. Bruce had slept pretty well, but he always made a sound for water a couple of times each night. He’d gotten distressed at one point, too - discomfort, or a bad dream, they never knew - so she’d had to go to him a few times. He slept in the little bedroom off the rumpus room at the back of the house, where Jen and Jonah had sat and Okay, no, they hadn’t just talked. They’d made a midnight meal of toasted bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwiches. They’d watched some of the crazy TV that came on at three in the morning. They’d gone out to
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look at the upside-down Australian moon, and the stars that made up the Southern Cross, and had come back inside with their bare feet soaked in dew. “Do you always sit up all night with him?” Jonah had asked, drying his feet with a towel Jen had given him. His feet were like the rest of his body, supple and strong and that pale coffee color. “Nope. Only when I’ve got annoying Americans with me, who won’t let me sleep.” Coffee was wrong, she’d decided. People always said coffee, but his skin had a warmer tone than that. More like tea - the way her mother made it, milky and strong. His mixed ancestry included Native American, Scottish and Portuguese, he’d told her. “Want to sleep?” She’d never been more wide awake in her life. Jonah had left just before dawn. He wanted to jog on the beach, then back to the base. He had to be the fittest person she’d ever met. “I guess you can’t come with me...” “Bruce usually wakes up pretty early.” And he had, right at that moment, before Jonah even left. Bruce was the only one in the family who knew how long Jonah had stayed, but he wouldn’t have understood what it meant. I don’t understand, either, Jen thought. Because they’d gone running together this morning, twenty-four hours after their all-night talk, and she’d had that same I’ve-known-him-forever feeling, but he still hadn’t even touched her. “Yeah, definitely fish and chips on Racecourse Beach, I think,” Courtney said. “Because that’s intimate, but it means I still have to hold off on sex.” “What’s so impossible about sex on Racecourse Beach?” Alice asked, then she whirled around as if her shirttail was on fire and gabbled, “Oh, my order’s ready, I didn’t notice. Gosh, what’s the matter with me?” Yes, Alice, thought Jen, what is the matter? You look like you suddenly have a fever of a hundred and five degrees. “No, we can’t, Judd, I can hear people coming.” “You can hear me coming if you let me have three more minutes. There is no one else on this damn beach, Courtney! What’s your problem?” Courtney shut her eyes to the crude line she’d left wide open for him with her phrasing. Really, crude was okay. She had half her clothes off, and so did Judd, but there was no way she was letting him go the full distance here and now. Not just because she’d decided ahead of time that she wouldn’t, but because it was uncomfortable and rushed and unromantic. When she and Judd made love, it was going to be earth-shattering, unforgettable and the start of something huge. Marry me huge. He was on a good career track, he was great looking, funny - cynical funny, but she liked that, and she’d get to travel with him; she’d definitely get her ticket out of Tidewater. “There are people,” she insisted. “Listen.”
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There were people. Two of them. They’d come into view, having traveled the path between the dunes to emerge onto the curve of deserted beach. One of them was wearing an American military uniform and the other one looked familiar. It was Alice. Courtney recognized her curvy figure and the cut of her dark hair. Hips wiggling, she struggled into her clothes. Making sounds of frustration, so did Judd. Alice and her companion turned north, strolling lazily with their arms around each other, and Judd said, “They haven’t even seen us. We could have - “ Courtney cut him off with her fingertips pressed softly against his mouth. “No,” she whispered. “It has to be better than this. It’s worth waiting for.” “Is that a promise?” She gave a sexy grin. “I’m good. That’s a promise.” His face lit up and he grinned back. Even in the darkness he was so-o-o good-looking. At home, half an hour later, after she’d turned down Judd’s idea of checking into a motel, Courtney heard from her mother that Connor had stopped in. “To apologize for being so snaky the other day, he said. What did he say to you, love?” “Oh, he’s got no sense of humor, that’s all. I don’t know what’s wrong with him lately.” “Well, he said he’d be home, if you didn’t get in too late and wanted to go next door.” “Why would I want to do that?” Her mother was silent for a moment, then said, “I thought you two were friends.” “Yeah, so did I. Not anymore, apparently.” “But if he came specially to apologize...” Courtney controlled a sigh. “Okay, I’ll go over.” She added casually, “Is it next week you and Dad will be away?” “Next month.” Darn! Maybe it would have to be a motel room...dinner first, definitely. Her red dress. Sexy new underwear. She was still planning the whole thing when Connor answered his front door. He got a guarded look on his face as soon as he saw her, and she wondered why she’d bothered. We used to have such great talks, Con, what happened? He used to tease her just as much as she teased him. He was four years older than her, and it had really felt good at sixteen when she’d discovered she could make him laugh. Why had he suddenly decided she wasn’t funny? Obviously because you don’t ever think of us going out together, anymore, but is the idea of a plain old friendship really that bad? “Mum said you wanted to apologize,” she told him, making it blunt to hide all the questions inside her. “Yeah, come in. Coffee?”
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“No, thanks.” She smelled something. Popcorn, which she knew he always made to go with a beer when he was watching sports. “What’s on?” “Kangaroos versus Swans.” “Could I say yes to popcorn and beer?” She’d grown up on Australian football, thanks to her dad. “Sure, yeah, of course,” Connor said. She followed him in and hung around near the kitchen door while he got another beer out of the fridge and poured the microwave popcorn into two bowls. He moved with swift efficiency, and she wondered if that came from working in the compact galley of Gallagher Charters’ biggest boat. He’d really worked to make some changes in his life over the past couple of years, and they showed in his body, and in the aura he gave off. Courtney felt stuck in a rut by comparison, but then thought about gorgeous Judd, and her determination, and her hopes. “This is the first day of the rest of my life,” she muttered. And that life was going to include her old friendship with Connor. She didn’t want to lose it, even though she’d lost the ego stroke part. She’d learn from Connor himself and put in some work to try and salvage the rest. Giving her one bowl and the beer, he went through to where the game had reached a knife-edge third quarter, with the score at ninety to eighty-nine. “Oh, so close!” she said. “Tell me how it went in the first two quarters.” “Sure. Yeah, it’s been a good game, neck-and-neck all the way through.” That’s better. We’re talking. But she couldn’t help noticing that he waited until she’d sat down before deliberately choosing the far side of the opposite couch. “How is the exercise going?” Alice asked Kieran. To her own ears, as they walked along the darkened expanse of Racecourse Beach, it sounded like exactly what it was - a polite, inane question from someone who knew zilch about anything military. “It’s going fine, but let’s not talk about it, okay?” “Is it secret?” She couldn’t help sounding relieved. “Yeah, there’s that, but even if it wasn’t...look, I don’t express myself all that well with the personal stuff.” “That’s okay.” “So I hope this is going to come out right. I am having such a great time with you, Alice. I hadn’t expected anything like this. It’s like we’re on an island somewhere, and - “ He stopped and shook his head. “When you asked the other night if I could kiss you...” Again he stopped, then said in a tone that echoed Alice’s own quiet desperation, “Can I just kiss you again?” “Oh, yes, please!” she breathed. They stopped in the middle of the sand, while the slow waves kept on scouring the beach. She closed her eyes instinctively as he took her in his arms, and his warmth made the perfect barrier against the chill of a night sea-breeze on her bare skin. Oh, she’d been waiting for this! On Wednesday night, she’d scared herself too much with her own boldness; she’d hardly been able to experience the touch of him while it was actually happening.
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But, oh, she’d lived it over and over ever since! And now, again... This time, she stayed right inside every moment. Her whole body felt like a parched desert newly blessed by rain. It hummed. It sang. So long. It’s been so long. “You feel so good,” Kieran groaned. “So do you...” She felt his strong hands spread across her backside, making the silk velvet of her dark blue dress slip against her sensitized thighs. She felt his arousal, too, big and hard and heavy, and felt the way he tried to angle himself so that she wouldn’t. Oh, Kieran, as if I didn’t know about it, as if I didn’t want it. It’s good. They kissed for minutes, and it felt like hours, and the only reason she wanted to stop was so that she could tell him how much more she wanted from him tonight. Making love on the beach. She’d imagined it over and over. Oh, lord, she’d blushed so hard today when she’d blurted out that give-away question to Courtney. What’s so impossible about sex on Racecourse Beach? She tried to slide her swollen mouth away from his, but he didn’t want to stop, and finally she had to grab both sides of his jaw with her hands and pull him away. He looked shocked. Bereft, almost. “Kieran, you know my situation,” she said desperately, before he could decide that this was a rejection. It was anything but. “With Bruce?” “Yes. I’ll never leave him, never abandon him. I loved the man he was, and he’s the father of my children. I’m not looking for someone else to be with for the rest of my life. But we can’t...I haven’t...and I so want...” She sighed. “I need it, Kieran. I want this, just once, just these few weeks.” “To make love.” “Yes.” His body started to shake. He pressed his face into her neck and his hips against her stomach, at last letting her feel what she already knew she’d done to him. “Where?” he said hoarsely. “Here. My place. I don’t care. The twins are camping this weekend.” “Your place. That way, we’ll have the whole night.” “Here. I can’t wait for the drive.” She was already so close, pushed to breaking point by his mouth and his hands and the power of her own need.
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“Here, and then your place. All night.” The words were intense. Oh, dear lord, yes, she thought, all night. He picked her up effortlessly and she tightened her arms around his neck as he carried her into the empty dunes. Jonah was out of the evening debriefing way later than he’d hoped to be. He’d promised himself that he would find a way - or an excuse? Did she need him to have an excuse? - to see Jen tonight, but it wasn’t going to look good if anyone saw him leaving the base at this hour when he had a predawn start tomorrow. The assumption was that an officer at his level would be conserving his energy for what really counted, and he was already down on sleep after spending all night talking with her Wednesday, and again two days ago. Why had he done that? Talk, talk, talk. Why hadn’t he just taken her to bed? Because she was different.
Chapter 4: He didn’t stop to analyze how he knew this, but he did know it, on the same powerful, intuitive gut level that he’d known he had to keep himself clean of alcohol and drugs on the dirt-poor reservation where he’d been raised, and that he had to get himself and his sister out of there as soon as he could. Yeah, he had a certain talent for that kind of knowing. An intuition of destiny, maybe? It was like the way you could sometimes smell rain before it came - could he smell it now? - or hear the change of season in the cadence of a breeze. He’d seen Jen waitressing at the Tidewater Bar and Grill, with her silky light brown hair twisted on top of her head, her sea-green eyes that flashed with intelligence and humor, her athletic build and her smooth skin, and he’d known within five minutes that she was going to be important. The time they’d spent together since then had confirmed his intuition a hundred times over. Impatience stalked him like a storm cloud in his peripheral vision, and he somehow knew that he didn’t have much time. Somehow knew? Well, yeah! Of course he didn’t have much time! He’d be leaving here in three weeks! But it felt even more urgent than that. She smiled when she discovered him at her front door, a dazzling smile of instant happiness, but seconds later the smile had drained away. She’d taken another look at her own powerful reaction to him, and she didn’t like or trust it. It didn’t surprise Jonah that he could read her so well. “Can we go out?” he asked. She wasn’t dressed for bed, he was relieved to see, although she easily could have been because it was that late. “Do you have Bruce tonight?” “We have him, but Mum’s taking care of him. There aren’t a lot of places we can go in this town, Jonah.” Yep, she’s creating obstacles again. I’ve been right to take this slow. He knew she wouldn’t want to head to the place she worked five shifts a week, so he suggested, “The beach?”
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On cue, the rain started, as if the weather was on Jen’s side not his, but Jonah had faith that he could best both of these opponents in a clean fight. Jen saw the khaki-colored Land Rover in the driveway, with its Australian army license plate. “Can we sit in the tank, there?” she asked. “We can sit in it, but let’s take it someplace.” “Okay.” Good. First round to him. She hadn’t said no. He didn’t think she had any idea, as yet, of the strength and meaning of this season change thing he could feel in the air between them. If she did, she was incredibly wary about it. But at least she hadn’t said no and shut the door in his face. Under her directions, he drove out of town to the west, on a road he recognized from some reconnoitering he’d done in connection with his team’s part in the exercises. They turned onto a side road that soon began to climb higher, winding through trees whose trunks stood out like white ghosts when the headlights hit. The road opened out into a parking area and Jen announced, “Mount Ware Lookout. If you park in front of the stone wall, we can see the ocean from the car.” “Not all that interested in the ocean tonight, Jen,” he told her. Her eyes went wide and her soft lips parted on an unsteady breath. She knew what was going to happen, and she knew how momentous it was going to be. He’d won the second round, but he wasn’t kidding himself yet that the battle was over. Jonah was good, she’d give him that, Jen thought. He’d softened her up with two nights of incredible conversation, and goofy moments like the stars and dewy feet thing, and then a crazy midnight visit to Tidewater Creek on Friday night to get pebbles to skip on the waves back at the beach. One of Jonah’s pebbles had skipped six times. By this point, Jen had felt like an eight-year-old at the best party in the history of the world, as if she’d been lifted off the ground by a house-sized bunch of helium balloons colored like rainbows and was floating over paradise. Jonah had held off on kissing her for so long that she wanted it way more than she wanted to want it, if that made any sense at all. Oh hell, it didn’t! Oh hell, it scared her! Oh hell, he was a fantastic kisser! Ignoring her moment of panic, he leaned across the front seat and gathered her into his arms, his mouth dropping against hers like a sun-warmed plum fresh from the tree. Already grabbing hungrily at his back, Jen felt the firm ripple of his muscles and the stretch of his black T-shirt - he wasn’t in uniform tonight. Her thinking zigzagged all over the place. Fresh sensations piled up inside her, each one clamoring for attention and answers. His body was so solid and perfect!
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Why did he smell and taste so good? So right? Why did the rhythm of his breathing make her feel this way? Outside, the rain poured down the windows, and the sound of it and the blur of it and the darkness locked Jen and Jonah in a cocoon-sized universe she never wanted to leave. But then the kiss slowed. It stopped. Jonah pinned her face between his cupped hands and looked at her. She stroked the back of his head, which was warm and prickly-soft. “Hi,” she said, waiting. He was going to ask about taking her to bed. She was going to say yes. She absolutely was not going to think about her previous cynical and judgmental attitude regarding quick, sexy flings with visiting American servicemen, because she didn’t care anymore. This was too strong, and she wanted it too much. “I love you.” “What?” “I love you, Jen.” She tensed. “No. No! Don’t say that. Please. It scares me. Something like that can’t be true, Jonah. Not after a week.” “You wouldn’t think so, would you, but sometimes it is. This time, it is.” She made a helpless sound that meant stop and I’m scared and this has never happened to me before, and he laughed. “Hey, should I just go back to kissing you?” She laughed, too. “Yes, before you spoil it!” But it was already spoiled. She pulled back after a mechanical minute and told him angrily, “You didn’t have to say it! You really didn’t! I’d have slept with you anyway. In a heartbeat.” “You think that’s why I said it?” The flat of his hand thumped the steering wheel hard. “To get you to sleep with me?” Another thump. “Jeez, Jen!” “Oh, you’re going to tell me it’s not why?” “Of course it’s not! I don’t play games. I would never play games with you.” He hissed out a harsh breath between his teeth and shook his head. “Well, I’m not playing games, either!”
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“No? Aren’t you?” he almost yelled. She saw the way his upper arms had tightened into balls of muscle. He was so strong and fit, and he was every bit as angry as she was, could have forced her physically to do anything he wanted, and yet she still felt so safe - safe about being angry, safe about being honest, even when neither of them might like what the other said. “I’m not playing games, Jonah.” Instinctively, she stroked his hand, softening its grip on the wheel. She found every detail special - the knobby knuckles, the lean fingers. “Love is such a huge word. It has...you know...ramifications. Can we please only think about now?” “So tell me what you want now.” “Oh, you know what I want...you know...” “I can’t believe this amazing month is already halfway through!” Courtney said, grabbing some breathing space at the kitchen serving hatch. After a couple of zoo-like evenings at the Tidewater Bar and Grill, there was only a sprinkling of military personnel there, all of them senior-ranking officers out of uniform taking a short break from the intensity of life at the base. The grunt-level personnel were back out in the wilds - phase two of Wargame Dingo I. “So you’re halfway to a marriage proposal?” Jen teased. Courtney narrowed her eyes and smiled a woman-of-mystery type smile that in reality looked more like woman who’d lost her contact lenses. “I am on target and closing in,” she agreed, “to use military jargon” “But how do you feel?” Jen asked. Confused? As if I were stuck in a storm with gale-force winds blowing three directions at once? “Great! I feel great!” Courtney said. “I mean, I wanted this, but I didn’t think it would be so easy and...and just right. Even when he’s out on the exercise and we can’t see each other, I - ” “Right? It feels right? Like, if you’re angry with him - “ “That’s just it, Jen. I’m never angry with him. We understand each other.” “You can understand someone and still be angry with them.” “Can you?” Courtney turned to Alice, who’d just arrived with a pile of food-stained dishes. “What do you think, Alice? Can you understand someone and still be angry with them?” “Sorry, what did you say?” Alice beamed, but the expression in her eyes was about a thousand miles away. “Never mind,” Jen said. “It doesn’t matter, Courtney. Forget I said it. Everyone’s different.” They got busier after this, and it wasn’t until the next morning at home in Jen’s rumpus room that she was able to grab a better, more private moment with Alice. Alice was due to spend the day here with Bruce, and the twins had come over to their grandparents’ to play games on the Internet, while Jen planned to take advantage of the ensuing quiet at Alice’s to write up a major assignment on marine invertebrates. She hadn’t been thinking nearly enough about marine invertebrates over the past couple of weeks. “Alice, do you think you’re in love with him?”
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If being in love made you more beautiful, then Alice had to be, because she looked fabulous - glowing, graceful, soft, with that pretty blush that just wouldn’t stay out of her cheeks. “Oh, please, Jen, I’m not trying to label this,” she said. “I’m just living it.” “But if you were, if it got serious, you can’t decide that you don’t have the right to follow-through. I know there are people in Tidewater who’d gossip, but it’s none of their business. You’re not married to Bruce. You’re free.” “He gave me this smile last night, Jen...” “Kieran?” “Bruce. And it had love in it, and recognition.” “Oh, Alice!” “I’m happy,” she said. “I am so happy with what’s happening with Kieran. But I don’t want any more from it than these few weeks. He’s not over his divorce. He’s the kind of man who puts everything into a marriage, then takes a long time to move on. Most nights, he’s busy with briefings and meetings. We’ve only seen each other a handful of times. And they’ve been pearls. Perfect. Memories for me.” She touched her own body without realizing what she was doing, making a soft fist between her breasts then running her palms down her sides. The gestures said more clearly than words ever could how sensually alive Kieran had made her feel, and Jen was so happy for her that when they hugged seconds later, both of them could barely breathe. “It’s all I want, Jen,” Alice said as she pulled away. “I’m not free the way you’re thinking. Not in my heart. I don’t want to be. I just want what’s happening now. But you, you know your parents would never hold you back if you wanted to leave Tidewater. And this guy you’ve been seeing?” Jen shook her head, pressed her hands over her ears, felt her stomach instantly knot. “I can’t talk about that,” she said. “I have no answers on it. I’m not leaving Tidewater. I have to write my assignment. Please don’t ask!” Jen eyed Jonah carefully as she jogged alongside him. “Know what I did last week?” she panted as she spoke. “What?” Jonah didn’t pant at all. They ran along the beach matching stride, rhythm and distance, which meant that this counted as an easy stroll as far as he was concerned. For her, it was a marathon. “Went to the doctor and got myself tested for sexually transmitted diseases,” she said. “A whole slew of them.” He didn’t flinch or get angry, the way she expected and half wanted him to - the way she’d been provoking him to, really. He just kept running. “Yeah?” he said. “Why? We’ve used protection.” Maddened by his lack of reaction, when she was feeling such a total mess herself, Jen screeched to a halt in the sand, the balls of her bare feet digging in, the backs of her hands pressed to her hips. “Because I think I’m insane to be doing this -- feeling like this!” she yelled, still panting. The morning sun peeked over the water at that moment, turning the cold blue sand to shadowed gold. “So you should have gotten yourself tested for insanity, not STDs,” Jonah yelled back. He hadn’t stopped running. He hadn’t even broken stride. He’d just turned to face her, and started running backward. He wasn’t
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smiling, but she thought he might start to at any moment, which would really get her angry! “I’m not making you sleep with me, Jen.” “You’re making me - “ Crazy. But they’d covered that topic already. “Test results back yet?” he asked calmly. He was still running backward, his pacing short but remaining in rhythm. About eight seconds from now he was going to hit a sharp piece of driftwood, lance his foot and trip himself. Jen sprinted to catch up, ready to warn him, but he turned again, saw the driftwood and veered around it without a word. “They were all negative,” she said. “I could have told you they would be, with protection or without. I don’t sleep around.” “I wanted independent verification.” I wanted proof that I’ve spent the past couple of weeks making the worst mistake of my life. Or, second option, proof that I haven’t. “Now you just have to work out how you’re going to get independent verification on how you feel,” Jonah said. The words had a thick sarcastic edge, and yet he still seemed to be taking her ridiculous behavior on the chin. “Yep,” she answered. “You should have gotten that insanity test. You feel what you feel, Jen. It’s a lot simpler than you seem to think.”
Chapter 5: “No! It’s not!” Suddenly, she was blinking back tears. Oh, she was crazy! Absolutely! She was behind in her studies. She dragged through her waitressing shifts like a zombie. She hadn’t had enough sleep in almost three weeks, not since that first night they’d talked. She got up in the dark so she could run with Jonah, snatched at any opportunity for making love, and now she felt sick to her empty stomach and her lungs burned, and he just told her to feel what she felt. It absolutely was not the heck as simple as that! Here’s how I feel, Jonah. “I’m going to throw up.” But I’m not telling you I’m going to cry. The throwing up might manage to camouflage that. “Hey...” He slowed, circled around, stopped beside her. Bending forward with her hands braced against her knees, Jen felt him start to rub her back. She sniffed back tears and heaved in lungfuls of air that felt sharp as a knife, and her stomach continued to rebel, despite the way his touch soothed and eased her. He didn’t speak. The sun freed itself from the flat line of ocean and floated. Jen felt the first glow of morning warmth on her skin. “Be okay soon,” she gasped.
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“Yeah? I have water.” He reached for the canteen in the side pocket of his daypack, took off the top and coaxed her to straighten. “Here.” He held it to her mouth, even lifted her jaw with his fingers so she was tipped back far enough to swallow. It tasted cold and good but it wasn’t enough. “You’re crying.” “No,” she lied. But I am most definitely throwing up... “So?” Jen said to Jonah. “Still here?” She’d emptied his water canteen and fouled up his spare T-shirt, but at least she was clean. And could breathe. And smile. And hopefully her eyes weren’t red from crying anymore. “Throwing up on a guy’s shirt is not the most efficient or effective way to dump him, Jen. A phone call is easier.” “I’ll remember that.” “And I’ll get the dumping phone call tonight?” “I’m not dumping you.” “No.” He didn’t sound surprised, relieved or grateful. Just smug. And kind. “I know you’re not.” Mainly smug, actually. “So you’re telling me that throwing up on a guy’s shirt is of zero use in the dating game?” “I never said that. It’s incredibly useful. Really good indicator that a guy is serious about you when he doesn’t immediately throw the shirt in the trash. Even better indicator if the guy, while still carrying the shirt, asks you to marry him.” “Right.” She laughed. Mmm, stomach felt a lot better. His voice dropped. “So will you, Jen?” “Will I?” She didn’t understand. Oxygen wasn’t getting to the brain. “Marry me.” “Wha-a-at?” “I’ve been talking to some people. It should be possible for me to get some kind of exchange with the Australian army for the first few years. Maybe even based here in Tidewater, although that’s not likely. I know there’d be sacrifices for you. Changes. But I’d meet you halfway as much as I could. We could make it work. Kids, we’d have to talk about, but I’ve seen you with the twins. I think we’d make great parents together, Jen.” “Wha-a-a-at? Jonah...!” “Okay, does it help if I drop the shirt?” He did so. He positioned them both so that they were side-on to the ocean, with the sun hitting their cheekbones, temples, hair and ears. The tide was coming in. A frothy edged wave lapped cool and salty at their bare feet. “Will you marry me, Jennifer Anne Portman?” “Unh!” she squeaked. Speechless. Utterly speechless.
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He grinned down at her and said softly, “Go on, you know you want to.” Oh, lord, and she did! That was the crazy part! Everything he’d just said made so much sense, she could almost see it. See their future kids, heaven help her! They were standing here on a deserted early morning beach, and the white foam on the waves was so dazzling bright that it hurt her eyes. And she wanted him, and she cared about him, and even when they were angry with each other they could be honest about it, and it all felt so natural and real. Even though it couldn’t be. “No,” she whispered. “No, you don’t want to?” “I’m not going to.” She took a shuddery, desperate breath and said it again, in case it wasn’t clear, in case she hadn’t really meant it enough before. “No, Jonah. I’m not going to marry you. The answer is no.” Silence. He held her, standing motionless, his face shuttered, and for the first time in...oh...days, she had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, if she’d made him angry, if she’d deeply wounded him, if he would shrug it off in a few hours, if he was even serious, damn it, about the momentous things he’d said... A bigger wave came in. It grabbed hold of the messed-up shirt and swept it down the sand, then let it go, ready for it to get grabbed again by the next wave. Neither Jen nor Jonah cared. “We should talk some more about this,” he finally said. “After you’ve had some time.” “I don’t need time. I’ve said no, Jonah.” Make me change my mind. Please? “Tell me, you don’t feel strongly enough? This doesn’t feel huge, to you?” “Yes, it does! But it happened so fast, like a tidal wave. One day I didn’t know you, and then the next - “ “Yeah, me, too.” “What if it goes again the same way? What if the tidal wave ebbs?” She was speaking in gasps, could hardly get out the words. “They do! What if we wake up one morning next week or next month and it’s...just...not...there? There’s no foundation for it.” “You’re thinking about Bruce and Alice, aren’t you?” She looked at him. How had he known? Out loud, she asked, “How could Alice have sacrificed so much for him if she’d only known him a couple of months when the accident happened? I don’t think she could. There has to be a foundation for it, Jonah. I’ve seen how incredibly deep love has to go if it’s to withstand what life can bring.” “The foundation is easy, the foundation is just faith - that what we feel is there, and real. Love is always an act of faith, no matter how long or how short two people’s history is.”
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“No.” She knew she had to keep saying it, but she knew it wouldn’t get any easier no matter how many times she did. No, no, no. No was only a word. “No...” “Huh?” Entwined with Courtney on her parents’ couch, Judd pulled back a little, jerked his neck out and looked at her, one hand still circling over her breasts like a dish-mop around a plate. He needed a little more finesse to his technique, but they could work on that once they’d dealt with certain other issues. “Stop, okay?” Her jeans were twisted from Judd’s attempts to get inside them. The center seam burned her crotch in a way that wasn’t remotely erotic. “Not here. Not now. My parents could get back at any minute.” “You wouldn’t go to a motel. You wouldn’t do it on the beach. What the hell is your problem, Courtney?” You’re supposed to tell me you love me, first. But maybe that wasn’t realistic, twenty-five days after they’d first met. Maybe it was enough to have held him off sex for this long. She needed something, though. Some sign that he was thinking about an open-ended future, a shared understanding. Some sign that this was the positive step forward that she was looking for in her life. Some sign that she was important to him, that they were both committed to working through the emerging problems between them, such as the fact that his breast technique was, to be honest, awful. “I - I’m not that kind of girl, that’s all,” she said, knowing how lame it sounded. Judd swore, almost spitting with impatience. He had the most gorgeous blue eyes, but they looked like the business-end of a welding tool right now, sparking with an ice-cold fire. “I don’t believe it! You sound like a seventeen-year-old in a 50’s movie! Trust me, Courtney, you are that kind of girl. Tarty blonde with tarty breasts - “ he flipped and jiggled them “ - in tarty clothes. What other kind do you think I’m interested in?” It hurt - ow, and her breasts hurt, too - but she couldn’t believe he really meant it. Not after the things he’d said, and the way they’d clicked in so many ways. Especially all those teasing, sexy talks on the phone. “I thought you were interested in me...” she said. “I am.” “Not just in my body.” “That, too.” “Judd...” He shifted on the couch, stroked her face and softened his expression to the one she’d seen on him so often before. “I think you’re hot and sexy and beautiful, you know that,” he whispered. “From the moment I first saw you, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. She’s special, I thought. Now, let’s just do it, and we’ll be dressed again, sitting on separate couches with our hands folded in our laps watching a nature documentary on TV by the time your parents walk in. You should get your own place, for heck’s sake!”
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“Can we talk first?” “Talk? More?” “Really talk. About what’s going to happen next week, when you’re finished here. What’s going to happen about us?” He looked at her, and the pale blue fire of disgust was back. “Us? You haven’t even let me get inside your pants and you’re talking about us like this was Gone with the Wind.” Courtney got the strong impression he’d never read Gone with the Wind. Connor was the only man she’d ever met who’d understood that book. They’d had a great, rambling, incoherent but interesting discussion once about the kinds of people who flourished during the upheaval of a civilization, who could adapt. Like Scarlett O’Hara. She grabbed on to this memory from several years ago because it somehow helped her deal with the present, which was far less pleasant. “I thought there was an us,” she said steadily. “Oh, shoot,” he said in total disgust. “This is pointless. I am out of here. I cannot believe I have - “ ...expletive... “ -- wasted twenty-five - “ ...expletive... “ -- days with you!” He stood up. The front door slammed behind him. Hating herself, Courtney reached it in a few strides and wrenched it open again. “Judd, wait!” Connor heard the sound of the front door slamming at Courtney’s. Then he heard a lot of swearing, in an unfamiliar male voice. The guy sounded angry, hostile, nasty. The back of his neck prickled. Courtney’s parents always went to their sports club on Monday nights, so apart from the unknown Mr. Profanity, she was probably alone. “Leave it, you incurable sap,” he growled at himself. “Just turn the TV up louder and forget about it. She’s pretty strong, in a lot of ways. She can handle her own men.” And she is never, ever, in a million years going to see you as anything other than the nerdy neighbor who should still be working in a bank because that would give her better material for making fun of you, so accept it and get over her! He really thought he had, until a few weeks ago. He’d hardly seen her for months, and so much else in his life had changed that he thought surely his feelings about Courtney should have changed, too. He loved the boat business, was heartily thankful he’d seen the light with Simone. Neither he nor Simone had done each other any favors with that relationship. So he’d expected to find he only valued Courtney as a friend. She’d said something to him on that subject recently - how much she valued him as a friend. But yeah, when he discovered, much to his own frustration, that he still wanted a lot more than that, friendship really seemed insipid. In some ways, he’d prefer not to see her at all, because when he did, he got angry at himself and some of it spilled over onto her. He knew he’d been too sharp with her a couple of times. And she’s not your problem, so turn the TV louder, big guy. Sighing through his teeth, he reached for the remote and switched it off instead.
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“Oh, crikey, what the hell is it now?” he heard coming from the man standing in the driveway next door. “Judd, I - I think we can work this out.” That was Courtney’s voice. She sounded eager and timid and upset, all at the same time. Connor got slowly to his feet. “Work out what?” he heard. “I can give you what you want.” There was a sour laugh. “What the hell would make you think I still want it?” “Because - because you did. For nearly a month. We were, like, panting, Judd, on the phone.” Connor stepped quietly out his front door, and got his first covert look at Judd. “Yeah, well, you’re the type that’s better at phone sex than the real thing. A tease. I don’t want your baggage, Courtney.” “My baggage?” Judd reeled off several of the most derogatory words ever invented to describe the female sex. Connor stepped through the oleander bushes that ran between the two driveways. Courtney and Judd both saw him at the same time. “Get out of the way, Court,” he growled. She realized at once what he was squaring up for, although Mr. Profanity apparently didn’t. “No, Connor,” she shrieked. “He’s in the military!” “Yeah, well, I’m a sailor,” Connor said, then cracked his fist through the man’s jaw with a noise better than the punch sounds in the movies. The guy reeled back, blood already flowing freely from his mouth. “Jeeth!” he said in disbelief. “Fhutt! Thip!” Connor felt satisfied and sick to his stomach at the same time. Winding coffee-grinder winches and hauling in sport fish was better for a man’s body than a gym workout any day. “Now just get out of here,” he said, and managed to keep his language clean. The guy gave a dazed head movement that could have been a nod. He reeled to the car, thumped heavily into the front seat and drove off, while Connor and Courtney both watched in silence. The vehicle wove all over the deserted street. “He shouldn’t be driving like that,” Connor said. “I should have called an ambulance.” But the taillights had steadied before they disappeared.
Chapter 6: He turned to Courtney and saw how her shoulders were shaking. Ah, hell! He put his arms around her and made soothing, helpless sounds, his whole heart burning for her. Would she let him hold her?
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“Let’s go inside,” he said gently. “My place, in case your parents get back and your dad wants to go looking for more of the guy’s blood. I’ll make you a hot drink.” He kissed the top of her head, and her fluffy hair tickled his face, giving off a scent like almonds and roses. She didn’t pull away. “You smell like the sea,” she said to Connor in a tiny, raspy whisper. “Is that good?” he had to ask, because she’d once told him he smelled like money, which definitely wasn’t. “The best.” Half whisper, half squeak. Her shoulders heaved in his arms. “Well, thanks,” he said. “A lot better than your bank jokes.” “Oh, Connor,” she sobbed. “I’m so stupid!” “No, you’re not. You’re great. I’ve thought so since you were sixteen.” She was sobbing so hard that she couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. They both knew there was nothing that needed to be said. “Are they all shipping out the same day?” Jen asked Alice, at home. “Over three or four days, Kieran said. He’ll be one of the first, on Saturday night.” Isn’t it going to tear you apart? Jen didn’t ask the question because she was too scared that Alice would ask her the same question back. She shouldn’t have kept on seeing him, she knew. After the marriage conversation on the beach, she should have stopped returning his calls, stopped juggling her shifts to make time for him. But she hadn’t had enough sense to do that. Or enough willpower. They’d seen each other or talked by phone whenever possible, and only the military exercise had managed to keep them apart - over the past few days, very effectively. She hadn’t seen Jonah at all. The clock was ticking now. The exercise ended officially on Saturday, three days away. But would Jonah be leaving right after it? Would he call? What if he just flew out, without the opportunity for goodbye? “You told him no, so does it really matter, Jen?” she muttered to herself as she took Bruce his dinner and got ready to feed it to him. He gave her one of his steady-eyed looks, then smiled unevenly when he saw that she had chocolate mousse as well as soup. “Yay, favorite food, big guy,” she told him. “Phone for you,” Alice said fifteen minutes later, when Jen and Bruce were done. Jen’s heart thumped. Alice had a little sparkle of encouragement in her face, which said, “It’s him!” She raced to the phone. Play it cool? Let everything show? Beg, if he says he can’t see you? But Alice had gotten confused by the American accent. It wasn’t Jonah at all. It was his commanding officer. “I’m sorry, Miss Portman,” he said. “I’m afraid I have some pretty bad news.” *
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Lord, it all seemed so familiar! The tubes and wires and monitors, the flat lighting, the terrifying pallor and stillness to Jonah’s face. Jen had only been thirteen at the time of Bruce’s accident, but she remembered it so clearly, and this seemed nearly the same. Jonah was on quarter-hourly observations and one-to-one nursing care, and he’d been flown by a medical helicopter over a hundred kilometers to a hospital with the facilities to keep him alive. Jen had made the drive that same night, on her own. Alice had offered to come, but Jen wouldn’t let her. “I’ll be okay.” I’m not letting you miss Kieran’s goodbye. It had been too late to see Jonah by the time she’d arrived, so she’d checked into the nearest motel and showed up at his bedside first thing that morning, as soon as the hospital staff would let her in. The nurse moved quietly around the bed, checking his chart, adding a fresh dose of medication to his I.V. She and Jen had exchanged a few words, but nothing of significance yet. I have to ask. I can’t hide from this. She cleared her throat. “Is it known, yet, whether he’ll make a full recovery?” “No, I’m afraid. Not really,” said the nurse. Jen wasn’t surprised. It had taken months before they’d really known...accepted...about Bruce. There was a movement in the doorway, and a man in an American uniform stepped in. She didn’t know what rank, or anything. Jonah’s superior officer? She’d gotten interested in that stuff recently, but now she was too terrified to care. But there was one more question she still needed to ask. Had to clear her throat again. “I’ve been wondering how you knew to get hold of me,” she said, and sketched out the only scenario that seemed possible, the scenario that offered some hope. “Did - did he speak before he lost consciousness, or - or - “ “No, I’m sorry,” the officer said, “he hasn’t spoken since the accident.” The tank Jonah was riding in had rolled. He had some significant cuts and bruises, and he had a head injury. “How we knew? His sister was listed as his next of kin. We called her, and she seemed to think you’d want to know.” Jonah had told his sister about her? Jen’s heart lurched. They’d both talked about their families to each other, sure. Jen knew that he and Zara Longman had both been raised by an uncle and a series of honorary aunts. She knew it had been tough, and that Jonah and Zara were close. She didn’t know the two of them had talked about “Yes, absolutely,” she told the officer. “I absolutely wanted to know. And I am so glad he told...and she realized...and...“ But she couldn’t finish the words. “He hasn’t regained consciousness yet,” Alice told Kieran. “But at least his other injuries are minor, no organ damage, no broken bones. If the head injury turns out not to be severe, then hopefully...”
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There had been too many unfinished sentences like this in her life. She tried to put on a smile. They were saying goodbye, and all she could do was talk about Jen and Jonah and the accident, which reminded her so much of what had happened with Bruce sixteen years ago. Her heart ached for so many people today, she’d lost count. “You have my address, my number, all my details,” Kieran said. “Yes, and you have mine.” They’d already said this to each other about six times. “They’ll call the flight soon.” “Yes, any minute,” Alice agreed. The base was busy. People and equipment getting shipped around Australia, back across the Pacific and to other locations in the region where the U.S. military kept a presence. She saw some Australian uniforms, too, which at least prompted her to remember a more cheerful piece of small talk to fill in the last remaining minutes. “Oh! I didn’t tell you! One of my friends from the Tidewater Bar and Grill is getting married!” Now she sounded idiotically chirpy, like a children’s TV presenter who hadn’t taken her medication. “She’s going to stop waitressing and work with him and his brother in their boat business.” “That’s nice,” Kieran agreed. He reached across at thigh level and slid her hand into his. Beginning of the end, Alice knew. “It was cute the way it happened,” she gabbled. “He’s her neighbor and apparently he’d been in l - “ “Stop,” Kieran said. He brushed his thumb across her mouth. “We don’t have much time.” “I know. And I hate that.” Her voice shook slightly, but she couldn’t control it. “I’m going to hate this part.” “Yeah, me, too. So let’s say the important stuff and get it over with.” “Tell me the important stuff, Kieran.” She’d lost sight of it, right now. “We both have lives in our own country that we can’t leave,” he said. “People we can’t leave, people we love who need us. And I have my career. We’re not free.” “I know.” “We’ve had a great time together, haven’t we?” “Perfect. Just perfect, Kieran.” “Not a sour note, not a missed beat.” “And that’s all I wanted,” she agreed. “It is. I know this has to happen. We’ve talked about it all along, and it’s the only way it can be and I don’t regret anything. Not one second.” “Oh, jeez...” he breathed.
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They held each other, their bodies pressed close together. One small movement from each of them brought their warm mouths into contact, and their kiss was slow and sweet. “I don’t regret a second of it, either, Alice,” he said. He shifted a little, drew away just far enough to lock his gaze on hers. “You know what people say a lot? That life is short.” He quoted in a mocking tone, “Life’s too short to...whatever. But you know what? I think that’s bulldust. It’s just not true anymore, not for most people. In my country, and in yours. Life is long.” “I guess it is.” She frowned, not quite sure where he was heading with this. “I guess I’ve said it, too, the life’s too short thing.” “Don’t say it again.” His mouth was only an inch from hers. “Promise me, Alice. It’s important. Say the opposite. Life is long. Situations change. Remember that. And one day something that isn’t possible now...for the two of us...might come to pass. If we want.” “Life is long.” She said it like a prayer. It felt like one. The flight announcement came. “Don’t drag it out,” she told him. “No, I hate that, too.” “Bye, Kieran.” “Bye, Alice.” They kissed again, then he turned and walked away. She cried all the way home to the Portmans’ place to pick up the twins, and when she’d stopped the car in the driveway and turned off the engine, she sat in it for several minutes without making a move, feeling boneless and drained. Time. I just need a little time before I go in. She sat a little longer, then she knew that the interlude had to end, so she unfastened her seatbelt, squared her shoulders and spoke to the steering wheel. “Life is long.” Her heart lifted a little, and the strength began to flow back into her limbs. Sliding the keys from the ignition, she climbed out of the vehicle and went into the house, smiling through her tears. A person usually bounced back faster from a head injury if their period of coma lasted a shorter time. The longer the coma, the worse tended to be their chances of ever coming back the same as they were before the accident. Bruce stayed in a coma for two months. Jonah had been unconscious for five days. Five days, and counting. His sister, Zara, had flown out from California, and she and Jen were taking turns sitting with him and talking to him, because sometimes it could just be like shaking a person awake when it was time to get up in the morning. That simple. You’d say the patient’s name, and he’d open his eyes. So far it hadn’t happened. Zara was great, though. A female version of Jonah, “only lazier” she said.
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Not all that lazy. She did jazz dance stretches on the hospital floor, and could talk a marathon, too. When she and Jen weren’t taking turns beside Jonah, they sat there both at the same time and covered twenty conversation topics in an hour. It was an incredible exercise in bonding, and it was horrible, horrible, horrible, at the same time. Exhausting, stressful, boring, dotted with moments of false hope, swept over by curtains of black despair. Jen doubted she could keep it up for much longer...and she knew she wouldn’t have to. At some point soon, when Jonah’s condition had stabilized, even if he hadn’t woken up, they’d fly him home. “What do you want from me, Jonah?” she asked him the evening on the fifth day. Zara would be there soon, to kick her out of the hospital room and back to the motel to get some early sleep. “Are you waiting for something? Your doctor says your scan is looking good, so can you let us know you’re still in there, please? I believe you are. I know you are. So can you come back? If it would help, you can wake up and ask me to marry you again, and this time I’ll say yes. I promise. I promise. With all my heart.” She looked at his face and waited, but there was nothing. Time passed. Zara arrived. “Sorry I’m late.” She looked so like her brother that it hurt. The same coloring, the same smile. ”You’re not. It’s fine. Sit.” “And you go.” “Not just yet. I want to say something, Zara.” She swallowed nervously. “Your brother asked me to marry him, did he tell you that?” ”Yes, and you turned him down.” “Oh, lord, he even told you that! But now, you know, if I could turn back the clock...” The tears came, and she couldn’t speak. She felt Zara’s hand rubbing her arm and knew that she didn’t have any words, either. They both calmed down after a few minutes, but there didn’t seem any point in trying to finish the conversation. Zara understood. And words couldn’t help. Exhausted, Jen let Jonah’s sister push her gently toward the door. “Food and bed, Jen, okay?” “Okay.” “The clock.” Male voice. Creaky. From the bed. Jonah? They both turned to him, skin prickling all over.
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Key Witness by Terri Reed Kristin Conrad thinks she’s safe. She has a small but thriving business, a stable—if uneventful—home and a church community that she finds fulfilling. She never thought she’d stumble onto a murder. Or become a target herself. Now, her only safe haven is in the protection of Detective Andy Howell. He’s exactly the kind of man she would have avoided—a man with his own scars who lives on the razor-thin line of danger every day. A man that touches her heart. But can he really keep her safe?
Chapter One “Evening, Miss Conrad.” Kristin smiled at the doorman of her Gramercy Park apartment building. “How are you tonight, Matt?” “Good, thanks. Quiet around here. I think the heat's getting to everyone,” he said before turning back to his laptop which was open on the counter. “No doubt.” The late August heat had broken records the past few days. Stifling a yawn, Kristin rode the elevator to the tenth floor. Her day hadn’t been quiet, thankfully. The clothing store she owned in SoHo had been constantly busy until she finally locked up for the night. It didn’t get better than that. Once on the tenth floor, she bypassed her own apartment and she stopped in front of the next unit over. She rapped her knuckles against the wood door. The ajar door moved slightly. The fine hairs at the base of Kristin’s neck quivered with apprehension. Sue never left her door open. Using the toe of her Faragamo heels, Kristin pushed the door open. “Sue?” Kristin went cold. The place looked like a tornado had touched down in the middle of the apartment. Papers and debris were strewn all around. The furniture was tipped over—some of it smashed—and the stuffing from the flowered chintz couch rested in various places like cloud puffs. Alarm twisted in Kristin’s chest. The need to run slammed painfully against her ribs. She should get out of here. Call 911. Do something. But fear for her friend pulled Kristin further into the living room as a prayer of protection rose from her soul. A scruffy, thin man dressed in ratty jeans and a grimy T-shirt jerked upright in the center of the living room and met Kristin’s gaze.
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Kristin froze. Shock traversed the lines of her nerves, firing off all the cylinders like electrical switches. She’d thought she was alone—but someone was still here! Kristin’s gaze dropped. Sue lay motionless at the man’s feet. A dark crimson stain spread across the Turkish area rug beneath her body. Terror built inside Kristin’s chest and self-preservation kicked into gear. She stumbled back until she hit the door jamb. The man moved in a streak, hurdling over Sue’s body and lurching towards Kristin. Kristin let loose a ragged scream and ran for the emergency stairwell. She rammed into the door. It smashed against the wall with a resounding bang. She practically fell down the stairs as her pursuer’s frenzied steps echoed from above. Don’t look back. She flew down the stairs to the lobby level. She burst through the door screaming, “Call 911!” Her frantic gaze sought someway to bar the exit. Nothing was in reach. She flattened her back against the door, prepared to at least slow the killer down when he tried to exit. But no one came through the door.
*** NYPD Homicide Detective Andy Howell surveyed the interior of the small apartment, mentally cataloging the scene. Loose papers, couch ripped to shreds, furniture broken. Clues amid chaos. He shifted aside so his partner, Paul Wallace, could take a look. Andy turned to the first officer at the scene. “What’ve we got?” Officer Florez consulted his notes. “One female victim—the apartment’s occupant, Sue Hyong, a reporter for the Village Voice. DOA at the scene. Looks like blunt force trauma, but won’t know for sure until the ME arrives.” A reporter. The computer and layer of papers littering the apartment made sense. “Murder weapon?” Florez pointed toward a lamp lying near the victims’ body. “Maybe that. Forensics is on their way.” “Witnesses?” “One. A neighbor, Kristin Conrad.” “Did she hear a commotion?” “No. Says she walked in and saw a man standing over the dead body. The perp then chased her down the emergency stairs to the lobby.” “So the doorman got a look at him, too?” Florez shook his head. “Nope. Perp never came out of the stairwell.”
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Andy’s pulse kicked into high gear. The murderer was still in the building?
Chapter Two Andy’s heart pounded against his ribs as the threat of danger to their witness revved his senses to high alert. If the perp was still in the building, they had to secure the witness. “Where’s the witness?” Officer Florez gestured with his hand. “Next apartment over. I have a man stationed with her. But we've already combed the building and came up with nothing. We’re widening the search now.” Relieved that the witness was in protective custody, Andy’s heart rate slowed. He pulled the center of his attention back to the crime scene. Was this a B&E gone bad, or was this an assassination? Paul clapped him on the back. “I’ll go help search. You do the interview.” “Fine,” Andy replied. But first, he wanted a better look at the crime scene. Taking out his notebook, he recorded his observations. From the amount of damage, the perp had to have been searching for something. Had the victim come home to find him in the apartment, or was she here when he invaded? He bent closer to the woman on the floor. His cursory inspection showed defensive wounds. She’d fought her attacker. Good for her. Skin under her nails would provide evidence once they caught the guy. If there was skin… The ME arrived and Andy moved to the apartment next door to interview the witness. After identifying himself to the officer standing guard, he entered the apartment. Comfortable furniture and splashes of color made the small space cozy and welcoming. Art work decorated the walls. He glanced around, noting no personal photos. In the living room, a young woman sat on the overstuffed couch hugging her knees to her chest. Though her arms were bare, her striped skirt covered everything else but the tips of her pink-polished toes. The vulnerability of the pose twisted in his gut, triggering a terrifying memory of his sister the day he’d failed to protect her. For a moment the simple act of breathing was torture to his lungs. He coughed into his hand, forcing the images away. Mentally refocusing, he stepped closer to the woman. With her head bent forward, all Andy could see was a veil of thick blond hair. “Miss Conrad?” She lifted her head. Her pale, oval face had dark streaks showing the lines of her tears. Her pink lips trembled. His protective instincts roared to life. “Yes?” Struck by the vivid color of her bright green eyes, so wide and sad, Andy noted the pupils were dilated with shock. Empathy bounced in his chest like a super ball. “I’m Detective Howell.” She nodded and reached for his outstretched hand. His fingers closed over her smaller ones, their palms met. Her hand fit snugly within his grasp. Warmth shimmied up his arm. She tugged her hand back, making him aware he’d held on longer than he’d meant to. Reluctantly, he let go. “I need to ask you some questions,” Andy said. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and lowered her feet to the floor. With graceful movements, she smoothed out her skirt. He noted no rings on her fingers. Was there a boyfriend that needed to be called?
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He frowned. Now why did he hope there wasn’t?
Chapter Three Wanting to put her at ease so he could get the answers he needed, Andy moved to sit beside her on the couch, but left enough of a gap not to crowd her. “Can you tell me what happened?” Her voice shook as she spoke. “I was leaving the store where I work when Sue texted me. She wanted me to bring home a package she’d asked me to hold for her. When I arrived at her apartment the door was open…and this man was standing over…her body. He chased me down the emergency stairs.” Her panicked gaze shifted from him to the door and back again. “He must still be in the building!” The need to reassure her rose sharply. “We’ve searched the building—don’t worry, you’re safe. Right now we’re combing the neighborhood. If he’s here, we'll find him.” Though the worry didn’t leave her pretty eyes, her shoulders relaxed slightly. “Sue’s dead, right?” He nodded. She closed her eyes tight. Tears streamed down her face. She made no effort to wipe them away. Her grief touched him, made him want to offer her comfort, but that wasn’t his job. His job was to solve a murder. So he forced himself to concentrate on the facts. “Do you still have this package?” She nodded and pointed to the dining table. On top of the round pine table sat a small box wrapped in brown paper. “You have no idea what’s inside?” “No. Sue said it was a gift for her grandmother in Seoul. Do you think the box has something to do with her murder?” “Could be. Do you know what Miss Hyong was working on at the paper?” “No. I’m sorry. She wouldn’t talk about her articles.” She hiccupped with a sob. “If only I’d arrived sooner so I could have helped her.” More tears spilled over her long lashes and Andy’s gut clenched. The sorrow of others didn’t usually bother him so strongly—he had enough of his own grief to deal with. But this woman’s pain affected him. Maybe the guilt and grief filling her big green eyes reminded him too much of his own. He forced himself to stay focused. “Would you be willing to come to the station and look through some mug shots and work with our sketch artist?” “Yes, of course.” She rose, her skirt fluttering about her slender ankles. She was taller than he’d first thought, maybe only a couple inches shorter than his six-three frame. Attraction flared—it wasn’t every day he met a woman tall enough to spark his interest. But there was no place for sparks at a crime scene. Annoyed with himself, he turned his attention back to the box.
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Andy carried it with him as he escorted Kristin out of the building where they met up with Paul. “The guy broke into an apartment on the second floor and used the fire escape. But there’s no trace of him now. Doesn’t look like he stuck around.” “Make sure a patrol is left to keep it that way,” Andy said. He helped Kristin into the back of an awaiting police cruiser and rode with her to the station, making small talk in an attempt to keep her from dwelling on the murder. Though he doubted that would be possible. Once at the station, he set her up in a room with a cup of coffee and a stack of photo albums containing the mug shots of New York’s criminals, the latest and the greatest. Andy left her there and joined Paul at his desk. “Anything?” Paul looked at his notes. “Hyong’s editor at the Village Voice said she’d been working on a story that she was really hush-hush about.” “Seems Miss Hyong was a secretive person,” Andy said. He undid the wrapping on the package he’d taken from Kristin. Inside, nestled among cotton batting, lay a small key, like the type used to open a safe deposit box. So Grandmother was getting this for a present? Interesting. And curious. What did the key open and who wanted it?
Chapter Four Kristin’s eyes blurred. She rubbed at her eyes to wipe away the fatigue from looking at so many pictures. It didn’t work. She’d been at it for an hour, looking at page after page of photos, and still hadn’t found the man who had been in Sue’s apartment. Sue. Tears welled in Kristin’s eyes. Her temples throbbed. She dropped her face into her hand and tried not to think of the gruesome scene. But the horror of seeing that man bent over Sue’s body wouldn’t release its ferocious grip. Kristin did her best to banish the image—that wouldn’t help find her friend’s killer. The best way for her to be of any use was to keep looking. She dropped her hands back to the book in front of her and resumed searching the photos. The door opened and Detective Howell walked in. Kristin straightened slightly, embarrassed to be caught slouching in the chair. Her mother hadn’t been big on etiquette, but one thing she’d always hated was when Kristin slouched. Kristin’s gaze raked over the detective. She couldn’t help but notice that he was tall, broad-shouldered and attractive, even if his suit was ill-fitting and made of cheap fabric. But more than his physical appearance, she’d appreciated the way he’d tried to put her at ease from the moment he’d entered her apartment. He’d been gentle and kind. Even asking if there was a boyfriend or some family member he could call for her. Unfortunately, there wasn’t. She noticed a slight limp on his left leg when he walked. Had he been injured in the line of duty? Was he in pain with every step? A ribbon of sympathy wound around her, making her already tender emotions ache all the more. The detective smiled, showing straight white teeth. His kind smile softened the prominence of his nose and relieved the hardness of his jaw. He had a face a girl could get used to seeing every day. Heat climbed up her neck. Where had that thought come from?
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“Any luck?” he asked. She dropped her gaze to the book lying in front of her. “No, not yet.” She gestured toward the stack of albums to her right. “I still have these five books to go through, though.” “Can I get you some more coffee or hot chocolate?” “No, thank you, Detective,” she replied, appreciating his gracious and generous treatment. “Did you open the package?” At his nod, she asked, “What was inside?” He took the seat opposite of her. “A key to a safe deposit box. Any idea where Miss Hyong banked?” His use of the past tense squeezed at her chest, making her heart throb. She shook her head. “No. I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.” He leaned across the table and covered her hand with his. Warmth enveloped her and curled around her heart like a salve to the bruises there. “And I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he said, his midnight-colored eyes tender. “I just hope you catch that guy.” She tried to ignore the way her heart thumped in her chest at his touch. Something about this man called to her lonely heart in a way no one had in a very long time. She appreciated that he took time—time to listen to her, time to comfort her, time to touch her…. He sat back, leaving a warm spot where his hand had been. “We’ll do our best.” “And I better do mine.” She pulled another book in front of her and began flipping through the pages. A face jumped out at her. Fear slammed into her chest. Her breath caught and held as she stared into the eyes of the man who’d killed Sue.
Chapter Five “Him,” Kristin whispered. “Show me.” She pointed to the image on the page. The man’s face would be forever burned in her mind. She shuddered. Detective Howell pulled the book toward him. “You’re sure?” “One-hundred percent sure.” He smiled with approval as he rose. “Good. I’ll have an officer escort you home and stay with you until we catch the guy.” Grateful for his consideration, she rose and came around the table. Unable to resist, she placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you for everything.” He placed his hand over hers once again and gave a gentle squeeze. “Just doing my job.”
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His job. A job full of uncertainty and danger—the opposite of what she craved in her own life. She’d spent too many years never knowing what was coming or where she’d end up from one day to the next. She’d worked hard to put down roots. She couldn’t deny her attraction to the detective, but pursuing it made little sense. All she wanted in her life was stability and security—neither of which this man’s job could offer if something were to develop between them. It was a good thing they wouldn’t ever see each other again.
*** As Kristin left the station, Andy felt like a part of him was going with her. Odd. He’d never had such a reaction to anyone before. Let alone a witness. He was usually good about compartmentalizing his emotions and reactions. But not so with Miss Conrad. He wouldn’t be a red-blooded male if he denied she was easy on the eyes. But her looks alone were not what made her special. She’d somehow gotten under his skin with her vulnerability and her willingness to help catch the bad guy. He shrugged off the sentimental nonsense. He had a job to do. He turned his mind to finding the man she’d identified—Charlie Linder. A two-bit drug dealer with a history—which dated back to his teens—of breaking the law. Which meant that with a quick computer search, Andy would know the thug’s last known address. Just shy of an hour later, Andy and his partner, Paul, stood in front of the Brooklyn Flats apartment building where Charlie Linder resided. They climbed the stairs to the third floor. A foul odor, like raw sewage, permeated the stifling late summer air and filled the hallway to gagging proportions. The whir of fans echoed off the dank walls. Andy rapped his knuckles hard against Charlie’s dark green door. “It’s the police. Open up, Charlie,” Paul yelled. Andy pressed his ear to the door but heard nothing. “Let’s get the super.” A few minutes later, the building superintendent—a squat man with a balding head, shiny with sweat—used his master key to open the door. The smell was stronger in the apartment. Covering his mouth and nose with a hand, Andy entered the living room. On the floor a pile of garbage spilled out of an overturned trash can. Andy looked up. Charlie Linder swung from a knotted rope tied to the living room light fixture.
Chapter Six The super threw up all over Andy’s shoes. Sympathy for the guy twisted in his gut. Seeing a guy hanging from a light wasn’t something one saw every day. This was probably only the third such death Andy had seen in his ten years on the force. Paul hustled the man out. Andy called in for the crime scene techs. “Looks like suicide,” Paul said as he reentered.
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“Yeah, looks like. But it’s too much of a coincidence. Why would Linder kill himself?” Andy slipped on a pair of gloves. Paul shrugged. “Remorse for killing the Hyong woman?” “Doubtful.” Andy moved toward the hall. “I’ll take the bedroom.” “Kitchen,” Paul said and put on a pair of gloves as well. A few minutes later, Paul yelled for Andy. Leaving the dismal mess of Charlie’s bedroom, Andy hurried to the kitchen where Paul stood in front of the refrigerator. “Look what we have here.” Paul pointed to the interior of the top-door freezer. Stacks of bound money flanked two large plastic bags of white powder. Andy did a quick calculation—the street value of the stash equaled more than Andy’s and Paul’s salaries combined. “Drugs and murder. The two always seem to go together,” Andy remarked dryly. But just how did Sue Hyong fit into the equation?
*** The killer was dead. Kristin had no reason to be afraid anymore. Except she was still scared. The senseless violence had rocked her illusion of safety. Living in a secure building, knowing her neighbors and being alert to her surroundings couldn’t guarantee her well-being. Even the extra locks she’d had installed yesterday at home and at the store didn’t bring her a greater sense of security. Yes, she’d made a stable life for herself, one where she felt comfortable, but comfort wasn’t protection. And as she tried to come to terms with Sue’s death, the constant need to look over her shoulder only served to tighten her nerves. At Sue’s graveside service, Kristin’s gaze traveled through the small crowd, wondering where the next threat would come from. She stood slightly behind Sue’s parents as the long black casket was lowered into the ground. Mrs. Hyong’s sobs made Kristin’s own tears flow more freely. The pastor’s soothing voice lifted on the humid breeze that did little to relieve the hot sun beating down on the small group of mourners gathered in the cemetery. Kristin said a silent prayer of peace for Sue’s parents, though she wondered if peace was possible when there was no logical reason for such a tragedy. The Hyongs had been informed that Sue’s death was the result of a random home invasion. No physical evidence suggested a connection between Sue and the now-dead man who’d killed her. The unpredictability of the crime made Kristin’s deep-seated insecurities leap to life. She’d tried so hard as an adult to find the security and stability her parents hadn’t provided with their nomadic lifestyle as touring musicians. Between the constant roaming from town to town and her parents fanatical warnings for her to stay safely out of sight at all times when they weren’t with her, fear had been her only friend. And now, to think that some random intruder could have as easily picked her apartment as Sue’s skewed the axis of her carefully plotted life. Was true security and stability ever possible?
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As the service ended, a touch on her elbow sent Kristin’s pulse skyrocketing. She jerked away and whipped around to find herself staring into the deep depths of Detective Howell’s midnight eyes. “Detective. You startled me.” One side of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Sorry. And please, call me Andy.” His gaze traveled to the now closed-over grave. “I just wanted to let you know I’m still trying to find the safe deposit box that fits Miss Hyong’s key. The bank she’d used didn’t have a box on file for her.” “That seems odd,” Kristin said, wondering what Sue had been hiding. “Why lock up a lock?”
Chapter Seven “My thought exactly,” Andy stated with approval in his gaze. Kristin’s heart did a little bump and roll. Heat infused her cheeks. “So then you are still working the case?” “Unofficially,” he replied and loosened the tie at his neck. “Why?” A shudder of renewed fear ripped through her. “Don’t you believe Linder was the murderer?” “No, I’m sure he was the guy, I just don’t like unanswered questions,” he said. “Why had your friend hidden the key?” “The answer may not have anything to do with her death,” Kristin said, hoping that was the case. “True.” He smiled and her fear faded. She admired his dedication and tenacity. “Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” They walked toward the parking lot. After a moment of comfortable silence, Kristin asked the question burning in her mind. “What happened to your leg?” Red crept up his neck. “Playing college basketball. Blew out my knee enough to ruin any chance of being a pro ball player—but not enough to keep me off the force.” “I thought maybe you’d been hurt in the line of duty,” she said. His mouth twisted into a grimace. “No, not yet.” She prayed never. “You know, you should come down to the store one day. I’d love to outfit you properly,” she said and then realized how rude her words sounded as he arched a dark blonde brow. “Not to say that your suit isn’t…well, that you don’t dress…” Oh, brother, she was not only swallowing her foot but her whole leg. “Never mind,” she finished softly and wished the earth would open and claim her. His gentle laugh soothed her embarrassment. “It’s okay. I have a hard time finding anything that will fit my lanky frame.” “I could,” she blurted out. “I mean, I could find you the right fit.” “I’ll take you up on that,” he said and held out his elbow. “Can I take you home?”
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Touched by his manners, and oddly excited by the offer, she placed her arm through his. “I’d like that.” She’d prefer a ride with him over public transportation any day, but today especially she needed the sense of security that he seemed to exude. The ride from the Queens cemetery back into the city flew by as their conversation flowed easily from books to movies to sports and even politics, which they agreed to disagree on. Soon they were standing at the door to her apartment. She really wanted to invite him in for coffee but something held her back. Maybe it was the easy way they chatted without that awkward pressure to keep the conversation going, or maybe it was the attraction zinging through her veins. Neither was good for her peace of mind—he was a man who lived a life of risk, where at any moment the unpredictable could happen. She couldn’t imagine inviting that kind of fear into her life on a daily basis. She gave a mental, cynical laugh. On the other hand, hadn’t Sue’s death shown her how unsecure life could be for anyone? Shaking away the conflicting thoughts, she smiled at Andy. “Thank you for the ride.” He smiled back, sending her heart knocking against her ribs. She quickly turned to unlock the door and found it slightly open. A horrible sense of déjà vu gripped her. She stepped back and bumped up against the hard wall of Andy’s chest. “It’s open,” she whispered. Pushing her behind him, he motioned for her to move farther down the hall as he withdrew his weapon from the holster beneath his suit jacket. Gripping the gun with both hands, he placed himself near the door jamb as he used the toe of his scuffed dress shoe to push the door wider. When he disappeared inside, Kristin squeezed her eyes tight and prayed for his safety.
Chapter Eight “All clear,” Andy said as he reemerged from her apartment. “You’ve had a break-in.” A break-in. Fear shivered down Kristin’s spine. Andy whipped out his cell phone and within ten minutes the crime scene technicians arrived. The head of the unit, a woman named Barbara Sims, approached Andy. “Walk me through this.” Kristin listened as Andy explained the situation. She was so thankful he’d been here. He’d kept her from freaking out with his calm manner and reassuring words. She stepped closer to him as the technicians dusted for prints and snapped off pictures of her torn-apart apartment. Thirty minutes later, Sims nodded to Kristin. “You can go in now. Take a look around, see what’s missing.” Andy followed Kristin through the apartment. Even the kitchen drawers had been dumped on the linoleum floor. Her hall closet stood wide open, her coats lay in a heap on the carpet, the pockets turned inside out. Her bedroom drawers were ripped from their slots and the contents spread across the floor. Her bed had even been stripped, the mattress flipped on its side. Her bedroom closet and the bathroom had received the same treatment. “I can’t tell if anything is missing,” she said coming back into the living. “I don’t have anything of value except the TV, stereo and computer, which are all still here.”
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“Jewelry?” She shook her head. “Not worth anything.” “It looks like they were searching for something,” said Andy. Kristin met his gaze and could see he was thinking the same thought she was. The key. “This wasn’t a random break and enter, was it? This is related to Sue’s death. Someone else is involved. Whoever is behind this mustn’t have realized I’d turned Sue’s box over to you guys. And now they’re after me.”
*** After the crime scene technicians cleared out, Kristin and Andy stood alone in the center of her living room. “I feel so violated,” she said and wrapped her arms around her middle. “That’s natural.” She shuddered. “What if I’d been home? Would I have been killed like Sue?” Andy stepped closer and slid his arm around her, drawing her tightly to his solid chest. “Don’t think about that. We’re organizing another place for you to stay. You’re safe now.” “I know. It’s just so jarring….” she said, her voice quiet while she took comfort from his embrace. “I’ll help you put things away,” he offered. “That’s kind of you, but I’ll be okay,” she said and moved away from him. “You’re not okay.” “I appreciate your offer…” “But?” She met his gaze. “I like you.” One side of his mouth tipped upward. “I like you, too.” It would be cruel of her to continue to take advantage of his generous and caring nature when she had no intention of having their relationship go any further. Life could be random and unpredictable, but that didn’t mean she should or would deliberately embrace trouble. And he certainly qualified as trouble. She wanted a peaceful, steady life. Not one with surprises or uncertainties. Both of which came part and parcel with Andy. He frowned, his gaze searching her face. “Look. I’m not leaving, so I might as well help.” “Do you intend to stand guard twenty-four-seven?” she challenged. “If need be,” he stated, his jaw hardened into a determined line. She didn’t really want to be alone right now anyway, so why was she fighting him?
Chapter Nine
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“Okay, if you don’t mind helping me with this mess,” Kristin said. She pointed to the pile of plastic CD cases strewn on the floor near the stereo. “You can start re-shelving the CDs.” He removed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Any particular order you want them in?” She was tempted to say alphabetical just to see his reaction but decided that would be cruel. “No. Just in their proper case and on the shelf.” As he worked at putting the right CD in the right jacket, he asked, “I can’t remember if I asked this already. Did you grow up here in New York?” She picked up a decorative pillow from the floor. “No, you didn’t ask, and no, I didn’t grow up here. I didn’t move to New York until after college.” “Where’s home then?” “Here. This is home. I grew up an only child and we lived in a motor home. My parents were musicians. We traveled a lot, chasing one gig after another. Not exactly the normal American family life,” she said, wincing to hear the note of bitterness coating her words as it sometimes did any time she spoke of her parents. “You don’t get along with your parents?” She shrugged. “When I see them.” “Which I take it isn’t often.” “No, not often. The last postcard I received from them came from Thailand. Their music is still a big hit in that part of the world.” “You lived in a motor home,” Andy said, his voice laced with a mix of awe and disbelief. “I don’t think I know anyone who’s ever owned one. Motor homes aren’t exactly made for New York traffic.” “I take it you grew up in the city?” “Brooklyn Heights. How’d you go to school if you moved around a lot?” “I was ‘homeschooled.’” She made quotation marks in the air. “It was unusual at the time, not the fad that it’s become, and it left me feeling very adrift and alone most of the time.” She looked deeper into his gentle eyes. “Until I realized that knowing God meant He was with me everywhere we went. It made the moving around less frightening.” Andy repaired the leg to one of her four dining chairs. “But if your family moved around so much, how did you go to church?” “Once when I was about twelve we stopped in a small town in Oklahoma.” She smiled, remembering that summer day. “There was this big youth revival going on in the middle of the park and I was drawn to all the activity like a bee to honey.” She walked to her desk and gathered the papers. “After that, I’d go to whatever church I could find in every town we stopped in. My parents weren’t too hip on the idea but they never stopped me. After college, I moved here, found this apartment and the church down the street. Now I have a community,” she said, thinking how blessed she felt to finally have roots somewhere. “Do you go to church?” One corner of his mouth lifted. “Sometimes. My parents are very devoted. My sister, too.” “But you’re not?”
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He set the chair at the table and moved to the bookshelf. “I believe.” Something in his tone made her stop. She held bills and other mail in her hand. “But…?”
Chapter Ten “I believe God exists and that He takes care of those He loves,” Andy said. That didn’t explain the note of despair Kristin had detected in his voice. “Tell me about your family,” she said, hoping if he opened up a bit, maybe she’d understand what she’d heard. “My father is a postal worker and my mother a nurse. They’ve always worked hard to provide for my sister and me. When they worked, it was just Aleesha and me hanging out.” “Is Aleesha younger or older?” “Younger by four years.” “Are you close?” He nodded but turned away. Curious about his life and his relationship with his sister, Kristin came over to stand beside him. “Does she live in the city still, like you?” “No, she left as soon as she could. She’s married to a banker in Santa Fe, New Mexico. They have a nice life there. She owns an art gallery.” “Does she have children?” He swallowed and averted his gaze, but not before she witnessed the torment flashing there. “No. She can’t.” The note of anger and…guilt in his voice compelled her to comfort him. She touched his arm. “I’m sorry.” He stiffened then took her hand and held on. Bleakness entered his gaze. A responding gush of empathy welled up inside of her. His mouth pressed into a tight line as if he was trying to keep the words from bursting forth. Then finally he said: “It’s my fault she can’t have kids. I didn’t protect her when I should have.” “What do you mean?” “I was thirteen and mad I had to baby-sit when all my buddies were going to Coney Island for the day. I didn’t want to take her with me so I left her home alone. She was attacked and raped by some door-to-door salesman.” Kristin’s heart clenched in shock and empathy. “Did they catch the guy?” “Yes. After he attacked two other young girls.” Sorrow for the victims burned at the back of her eyes. She squeezed his hand. “You couldn’t have known what would happen that day.”
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“I shouldn’t have left her. It was my job to protect her and I chose not to.” The self-recrimination in his voice was so finely honed, so well-used, it cut into Kristin for the simple reason she was standing too close to Andy—their usual target. “And you haven’t forgiven yourself,” she stated as understanding dawned. “Andy, you were a kid. It shouldn’t have been your responsibility to protect her.” “Doesn’t matter. It was, and I failed her.” He released Kristin’s hand. Hurting for his wounded soul, she asked, “So you think God doesn’t love you because of that?” He pivoted away from her and stood by the window. The setting sun drew streaks of pink and orange across the azure sky visible between the city’s skyline. “Look, it’s getting late. You’re not staying here.” Ignoring his statement, she put her hand on his shoulder. “He does love you, Andy. God wouldn’t want you to torment yourself for something that was out of your control. If you had been home, who’s to say you wouldn’t have been hurt or even killed?” He jerked away from her. His expression closed, cutting her out of his thoughts. “We’ve made arrangements to have you to stay in a hotel tonight. I’ll take you there.” Though it pained her to see his hurt, she relented and contemplated his offer. She didn’t want to stay alone in the apartment tonight. The sense of violation lingered and the real fear that the invaders would return loomed. “Give me a minute. I’ll pack a few things.” He nodded and turned back to the window. Heart aching, she headed to her bedroom to gather her things. Lord, show me how I can help him. Would Andy ever be able to forgive himself?
Chapter Eleven Andy ran a hand over his jaw in disgusted disbelief. What on earth had he been thinking to reveal his failure to Kristin? He never talked about that day or the torment of regret that rode him hard. But maybe seeing Kristin at Sue Hyong’s funeral—clearly mourning the loss of her friend—had shown him how deeply she cared for those around her. And apparently a part of him really wanted to be cared for. But she was right. He hadn’t forgiven himself, and he doubted God had either. His family said they had, but how could they? He didn’t deserve to be forgiven. Kristin came out of her bedroom carrying a satchel slung over her shoulder. “I’m ready.” Stuffing his private pain back into his own little box in his soul, Andy composed himself. “Let’s go.” He made a sweeping gesture toward the door. He drove her to the Hilton in mid-town and paid for a single room. After settling Kristin inside, he stepped to the door. “If you need anything, I’ll be right here.” Her blond eyebrows drew together in a slight frown. “Right here?” “Outside your door.” She lowered her chin. “You don’t need to stand guard. I’m sure I’ll be safe here.” “Doesn’t matter. I’m not leaving.” The bad guys who’d trashed her apartment might think she had the key in her purse, or in a pocket. He wasn’t taking any chances—much to her relief.
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Amusement entered her green eyes. “You are a stubborn man.” One side of his mouth cocked upward. “So I’ve been told.” She left the doorway and returned a moment later dragging the desk chair behind her. “Here. At least sit.” Her thoughtfulness touched him deeply, making him want to pull her into his arms and kiss her. He stepped back in surprise. Whoa! Not a good idea. Keep it professional. She needed his protection, not his advances. Though standing guard wasn’t exactly part of his job description. A fact he chose to ignore. “Thank you.” He positioned the chair to the left of the door. He straightened and turned back toward the open door, expecting her to still be standing in the doorway. But she’d moved and stood just inches from him. She slipped her arms around his waist and laid her cheek against his chest. Stunned, yet thrilled by her gesture, he wrapped his arms around her, savoring the moment. This definitely wasn’t professional. Kristin felt way too good in his arms, too right. It had been a long time since he’d wanted to hold a woman close, not just physically but emotionally. He was in way over his head. The smart thing would be to arrange for a uniformed officer to replace him. The smart thing to do would be to let Paul take the lead on this. The smart thing to do would be to back off, right now. But sometimes he wasn’t so smart. She leaned her head back, her eyes wide and full of tenderness. “You are a good man, Detective Andy Howell.” Her words were a soothing balm to his weary soul and a bucket of reality to his sanity. He kissed her forehead and then steered her back to the room. “Goodnight,” he said and firmly shut the door to her room. And his heart.
Chapter Twelve A scream jolted Kristin awake. She bolted upright, scrambled to a sitting position against the headboard and clutched the covers to her chest. Her heart thudded in her ears. Sweat covered her skin. Her gaze searched the dark hotel room for danger. Shadows from the city lights danced at the edge of the curtains. The scream echoed inside her head. Sharp pounding at the door sent her stomach plunging with fear. “Kristin!?” More banging. Andy. Desperate to see him, she jumped from the bed and ran for the door. Her fingers scrabbled with the lock until it finally gave way. She yanked the door open.
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Tears sprang to her eyes. “Andy.” “Are you okay?” His frantic gaze swept the darkened room beyond her shoulder. “You screamed.” It had been her that had screamed. “Bad dream.” He pulled her to him, his strong arms enveloping her. Tension left her body in a swoosh, leaving her legs wobbly. She clung to him like a lifeline in a storm. He lifted her face with his hands. His gaze searched her face. “You’re sure you’re okay?” Feeling foolish for alarming him, she tried for a smile. Her lips quivered. “I’m sorry. Ever since Sue’s murder I keep dreaming about Charlie coming after me.” He smoothed a hand over her hair. “He can’t hurt you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.” She wanted to believe that. Needed to believe that. “You can’t make that promise. That’s not something you can control.” His eyebrows drew together in a frown. “I can do everything humanly possible.” “True.” She reached up to cup his jaw. “But only God is in control. We have none.” A fact that agitated her stomach to no end. “Then we’ll have to pray for His help.” She dropped her gaze to the front of his wrinkled white shirt and red-striped tie. “I know that, but sometimes, it’s so hard to…remember and trust.” Confessing that out loud lifted a weight off her shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much she needed someone in her life she could talk to without feeling she’d be judged. Andy wouldn’t judge her. She was sure of it. One corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Believe me, I understand.” She hurt for him, for the pain he carried because of what had happened to his sister. Kristin cupped his jaw in her hand. “We’re quite a pair.” He turned his head to place a kiss in her palm. Delicious shivers shimmered down her arm to tickle her heart. She met his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes sent her pulse racing and made her breath stall. Was Andy as attracted to her as she was to him? His gaze lowered to her lips. “You should try to get some sleep,” he said, his voice low and husky. Good advice. But probably not doable. Not when all she wanted was for him to kiss her. To kiss her fear away. But that would bring its own danger. Time to retreat. “Goodnight. Again.” Once Kristin had relocked the door, she pressed her hand to the solid wood as if she could touch him through the obstacle standing in the way.
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Earlier today she’d told him she liked him. But her feelings went beyond like to a deeper caring that scared her. Did she really have enough faith to trust God to keep him safe?
Chapter Thirteen Andy had expected Kristin’s store to be full of girly froufrou stuff, and though there was some, she had a very nice men’s section with some trendy as well as classic pieces. A nice surprise. When he had the time, he planned on taking Kristin up on the offer to outfit him. He looked around, eyeing the selections and their price tags. If he could afford it. She joined him in front of a display where a navy, Italian designer-brand suit hung from a wooden hanger. “That would look divine on you.” He didn’t need to look at the price tag to know it was out of his budget. “I’ll bet you’re a forty-one long.” She pulled a coat from its hanger. “Here, try this on.” Giving in to the urge to do as she instructed, he slipped off his hounds tooth sport coat and put on the one she handed to him. “Perfect,” she said. “Look.” She steered him to a mirror. He had to admit the jacket fit like it had been made for him. He turned slightly to see the back. He really liked the coat. Maybe he could splurge just once. “Hello?” Tony Guzman, one of New York’s finest walked into the store. Embarrassed to be caught preening in front of the mirror, Andy shrugged out of the coat, handed it back to Kristin and took his own jacket back before going to greet the officer. “Tony, thanks for coming.” Andy shook his hand and introduced Kristin. She pulled Andy aside. “Are you sure this is necessary? Having a uniformed officer in the store might scare away the customers.” “He’ll keep a low profile,” Andy assured her. She looked unconvinced. “Humor me, okay?” After a moment she gave a slow nod. “I’ll check in later,” Andy said before leaving the store. He headed back to the station knowing Kristin was in good hands. When he arrived, Paul waved a paper in his face. “Here’s a list of all the establishments with safe deposit boxes within a fifty mile radius of Hyong’s apartment.” “You rock. Let’s go.” Andy needed to find Sue Hyong’s safe deposit box. Because whatever she’d hidden was the key to her murder. And the key to keeping Kristin safe.
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After countless banks, Paul and Andy finally found a bank manager of a small savings and loan in the Bowery who confirmed that Sue Hyong had a safe deposit box in their facility. The bank manager took Paul and Andy back to the vault, motioning to the one registered under Sue Hyong’s name. Andy inserted the key into the small lock and pulled out the long narrow box. He set it on the table and opened the lid. “It’s empty,” he said, disbelief curling around his words. “That’s odd,” Paul said. “Then the key had nothing to do with Hyong’s murder or Conrad’s break-in. What gives?” Aggravation pulsed in Andy’s veins. “There had to be some reason Hyong secured this box.” He inspected the box on all sides. Nothing. Frustrated, he gave the box a vicious shake. Something rattled inside the box. Surprised anticipation rocketed through his system. He quickly righted the box. A small piece of plastic slid to a halt in the center of the box. “Hey, this is what we’re looking for,” he exclaimed as excitement revved through him. He picked up the square piece of plastic. “It’s a memory card for a cell phone.” “Let’s get it to the lab.” Paul led the way back to the car. As Paul drove, Andy called Kristin at the store. She would want to know what they’d found. The phone rang and rang, but there was no answer. Apprehension zinged across Andy’s flesh. He tightened his grip on the phone. Why wasn’t she answering? Where was the guard? He snapped the phone closed. “Something’s wrong.” Paul switched lanes, skidded into a U-turn and headed toward SoHo.
Chapter Fourteen Thankful that the light of day had banished the nightmare from last night, Kristin stripped the mannequin in the front window display of her boutique and hummed a tune her parents had written. The lively tune brought back a memory of her childhood. She’d been thirteen, old enough to help set up equipment for the band. For one moment, she’d stood on the stage staring out at the gathering crowd and excitement had zinged through her. As much as she’d resented the life her parents had chosen for them, she did understand the allure of that rush. She’d felt that same excitement when she opened the store. And every day since. Reaching for a new outfit to put on the mannequin, she let her gaze wander to the world outside. A typical summer afternoon. People passed by on the sidewalk, some hurrying with places to go and others meandering, out for a stroll along the trendy street making up the South of Houston area of Manhattan. A young boy dawdling behind his mother stopped to stare at Kristin. She smiled at the kid. The boy stuck his tongue out. With a laugh, Kristin turned her attention back to her display. She zipped up the animal-print skirt and was adjusting the hem of the matching top when the acrid smell of smoke assaulted her senses.
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Alarm quickened her breath. She scrambled out of the display window, nearly knocking over the mannequin, and rushed into the body of the store. “Hurry, we have to leave.” The young, fresh-faced officer who’d been assigned to stand guard rushed toward her. “The storage room is on fire.” No! This store was her life and she wasn’t about to let everything she’d worked so hard for be burned to ash. She pushed past the officer and grabbed a fire extinguisher from behind the cashier’s counter. “Call the fire department.” She sprinted to the storage room. Tendrils of dark smoke curled upward from the space under the closed door like long, grasping black fingers. Adrenaline-laced fear made her fingers clumsy as she struggled to operate the extinguisher. The officer grabbed the extinguisher from her. “You call 911. I’ll do this.” Urgency pounded in her blood. She scurried to the phone and fumbled to dial the emergency number. She barked out the necessary information to the too-calm operator. Anxiety twisted in her gut as flame now licked at the storage room. She stumbled through the growing smoke to find the officer, but the welcome sight of a firefighter dressed in his turnout gear deterred her. He motioned her toward the front door. “This way,” the muffled voice said from inside the mask covering his face. Relief eased some of the panic tightening her chest. Help had arrived. Impressed by the quick response to her emergency call, she hustled to the door. “There’s a police officer still inside.” “We’ll get him,” the firefighter replied. He took her firmly by the arm and pulled her outside to the sidewalk. Kristin glanced around as the firefighter rushed her toward the corner and away from the building. There was no fire truck or any emergency response vehicles parked in the street. But the distant cries of sirens drew closer. Confusion rushed in, quickly chased by apprehension. She dug in her heels, unsuccessfully trying to stop their forward momentum. “Wait! Where are you taking me?”
Chapter Fifteen The man dressed as a firefighter brutally tightened his fingers on Kristin’s arm with bruising force and dragged her to the street where a big black SUV waited. The back door flung open. Alarm and fear exploded inside Kristin. She screamed, “Help! Help me!” She twisted and yanked against her captor’s fierce grip, but he was too strong. He pushed her into the vehicle and someone roughly shoved a pungent smelling cloth against her face. She clawed at the hands holding the rag. A wave of dizziness washed over her. Her limbs suddenly refused to move as she collapsed on the seat. Hands pushed and pulled until she was completely inside and the door was slammed shut, the sound echoing inside her head. She tried to move to see who had her, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. The world narrowed to a pinprick of light that quickly vanished.
***
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Paul brought the sedan to a screeching halt next to a fire truck. Andy’s heart raced with disbelief. Smoke billowed out of Kristin’s store. Panic clawed at Andy’s insides like a caged cat. He jumped from the car and ran toward the front door. A firefighter grabbed him, preventing him from running into the dense smoke. “Where’s Kristin?” Andy yelled. “The owner?” The firefighter shook his head. Fear, stark and breath-stealing, seized him and wouldn’t let go. I can’t lose her, not when I’ve just found her. He wasn’t sure where that thought had come from, but there was no time to analyze his feelings. Only one thing mattered—Kristin. “Please, God, please, don’t let her be dead.” With a fierce yank, Andy broke free of the firefighter’s restraining hands and rushed closer to where two paramedics worked on Tony, the officer assigned to protect Kristin. Andy knelt down beside the sooty officer. “Kristin? Where is she?” Tony grabbed at the oxygen mask covering his face and pulled it away to talk. “She got…out.” Andy sagged back on his heels with relief. But he needed to see for himself that she was safe. He bolted, pushing through the crowd. “Kristin! Kristin Conrad!” Where was she? “Hey, Mister,” a raspy voice called to him. “You lookin’ for the shop lady?” Andy’s gaze landed on a disheveled man hunched near the corner waving to him. Hungry for any information, he hurried over. Digging into his pocket for some change, he questioned the man. “Did you see her? Do you know where she is?” Taking the change like precious gems, the homeless man nodded and pointed to the side street. “Firefighter stuffed her into a big black monster. It took off that way.” He pointed south. Terror squeezed his lungs like a vice. “A firefighter? Are you sure?” “Yep. He looked just like them others, only his hat was yeller instead of black.” Unsure of the reliability of the man’s story, Andy swiftly moved to the firefighter giving orders. Andy flashed his badge. “Hey, any of your guys wearing a yellow helmet?” “No. Why?” Gesturing to the homeless man, Andy said, “He saw the owner of the store being forced into a black vehicle by a firefighter with a yellow hat.” “Not one of my guys,” the chief assured him. Dread and panic closed around Andy’s throat. Kristin had been kidnapped!
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Chapter Sixteen “Did you find her?” Paul asked. Shaking his head, Andy choked out the details of Kristin’s abduction, though he clung to the hope that the homeless guy had been wrong. Paul looked around and then pointed across the street on the corner to a bank building. “Let’s check if they have a video of the abduction.” Moving in a fog of fear and alarm, Andy ran with Paul to the bank and burst through the double doors. They explained the situation to the startled security guard and were led to the security office. “Do you have a video feed of the southwest corner?” Andy asked, urging the man to move fast. They were losing precious time. He had to find Kristin. The officer manning the desk nodded. “Sure do.” “Rewind the tape,” Paul instructed. With a few clicks, the video monitor showed the activity on the street in reverse mode. “There!” Andy pointed to the images on the screen. Terror slayed his soul as he watched Kristin being forced into a black SUV by a firefighter in turnout gear and a yellow helmet. A mask obscured the man’s face as he came around the front of the vehicle and got in on the passenger side. The SUV sped away. The license plate was conspicuously missing. Glare from the sun obscured the other occupants. Rage cut off the air supply to Andy’s brain. Impotent fury aimed at himself for not keeping her safe roared in his ears. For a moment the room dimmed. He struck out at the wall with a fist. Paul placed a hand on Andy’s arm, concern and compassion bright in his eyes. “We’ve got the memory card, remember? We’ll find her.” Andy prayed so. Forcing himself to function, Andy called in an alert with the model and make of the SUV as Paul drove them back to the station. When they arrived, Andy went directly to the lab tech. “Clyde, I need you to download whatever’s on here ASAP.” Irritation crossed Clyde’s expression as he stared at Andy through his thick glasses. “I’m busy.” Andy slammed his hand on Clyde’s desk. “Now.” Without further comment Clyde took the small memory card and inspected it. “Looks like a two gig for a PDA.” “Can you pull the images off it?” Agitation made his voice shaky. “Of course.” Clyde dug through a drawer and pulled out a larger square piece of plastic. Sticking the card into the square, he then inserted it into a slot on the laptop sitting on the desk. A few moments later, a video image streamed through the screen and focused on a brick warehouse. A soft female voice spoke with a slight accent. “Day four of following Charlie. We’re on the north side of Queens. Not far from the LIE and BQE. Can’t make out the address on the warehouse.”
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Graffiti marred the exterior of the building. Two huge metal rolling doors stood partially open. Paul barked out an order to a passing officer. “Get me a listing of the warehouses in North Queens near the LIE and BQE. Stat.” Forcing himself to breath, Andy concentrated on the screen. A gathering of men congregated near one door as if waiting for something. “That’s Charlie Linder.” Andy pointed to the skinny man nervously smoking a cigarette at the back of the crowd. “Now we know his connection to Hyong. She must have been doing a story on him,” Paul commented. “But why Linder?” Andy asked. “He was just a street thug.” A black SUV pulled up, sending the gathered men into action. Andy’s heart raced. The vehicle looked exactly like the one that had whisked away Kristin.
Chapter Seventeen The doors of the vehicle opened and more men exited. One man in particular caught Andy’s attention. He leaned closer to the computer to focus on the well-dressed man who stood out from the rest. There was no mistaking the former commander of the United Colombian Auto-Defense militia. His face graced every major law enforcement agency’s most wanted list for drug trafficking. “George Mendoza! I thought he’d fled back to Colombia?” The voice on the video continued speaking, “Oh, no. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Mendoza himself. Oooh, hello Pulitzer for this one. Wait. What are they doing? Oh, no. Oh, no!” Andy wondered the same thing as the cargo doors to the SUV were flung open and a man, bound and gagged, was dragged out and dropped on the ground. A collective gasp filled the small lab room as Andy, Paul and Clyde recognized Assistant District Attorney Michael Schomus. The man had been missing for two weeks. Horror filled Andy as Mendoza approached Schomus with a gun. Mendoza bent down to say something in Schomus’ ear, then Mendoza straightened and fired two rounds into Schomus. The screen went dark. A shocked silence filled the lab. Nausea roiled in Andy’s gut. God rest his soul and help me to protect Kristin. Terror ignited a fiery trail in his chest. What if he was already too late? Mendoza thought nothing of murdering a public official. What would keep him from killing Kristin? “We’ve got to find that warehouse,” Andy said and headed into the heart of the station. “He may not have taken her there,” Paul said, his voice full of concern and caution. Trying to compartmentalize his emotions—but failing miserably—Andy rounded on Paul. “It’s all we have. Are you with me?” Paul drew himself up, looking hurt. “Of course.” Andy didn’t have time to smooth over Paul’s feelings. “We need to get tactical on this.” “Agreed.”
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Three minutes later they had an address matching the description of the warehouse and in record time they moved out of the station. But it wasn’t fast enough. A howl of pent up rage lay trapped in Andy’s lungs as he endured the insufferably long ride to North Queens. He could only pray they wouldn’t be too late.
*** “Where is it?” The angry bellow shuddered through Kristin. She shook her head trying to focus on the man yelling in her face. He’d been asking her for some video ever since she awoke. “I don’t know anything about a video.” She’d moved past fear and panic into numb horror after the initial shock of being kidnapped and tied to a chair in a dank, smelly room had passed. Sunlight tried to brighten the space but the dingy window wouldn’t allow much of the sun’s glow to invade the room. But at least she hadn’t been unconscious long enough for the sun to go down. Unless it had simply come back up again… The man standing before her had hit her twice already. She could feel the tightening of skin over her cheek from the swelling and she was pretty sure her lip was split, if the blood she tasted was any indication. “I said tell me where it is.” He raised his hand for a third blow. Cringing with anticipation of the pain, she cried out, “Jesus save me.”
Chapter Eighteen The man stayed his hand, his expression turning impossibly harder. His olive complexion seemed to blanch as he stared at her with coal-black eyes. “God will not save you. There is no God,” the man stated harshly. His hand descended for another stinging blow. Light exploded behind Kristin’s right eye. Her head lolled to the side as waves of pain washed over her. “You’re wrong,” she whispered. The man spit on the ground. He turned back to the two men standing near the door, he said, “You’ve searched her house and her store?” “Yes, sir. Nothing.” “Where could it be?” His frustration echoed off the concrete walls. “If the police get a hold of that video we’re done for. Are you sure Linder said this woman had it?” One of the thugs by the door shrugged his massive shoulders. “That’s what he said. Claimed the reporter told him she would give him the video when her neighbor got home.” “Maybe she meant another neighbor, you idiots,” the man screamed. “Go back to that apartment building and find me that video. Burn down the place if you have to.” The two thugs exchanged glances before silently leaving the room.
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Dismay ran a ragged course over Kristin, rousing her from the pain in her face. She struggled against her restraints, needing to somehow protect her neighbors, her community. The cords at her hands and feet held. Helplessness seeped the fight out of her. The only way to help the innocent people in her building was to tell the man about the key, so he wouldn’t go there and trash the building or hurt anyone else. “The police,” she said. “They have the key.” The man stalked closer. “What did you say?” “Sue left a key with me. The police have it.” Rage lit his black eyes like embers in a fire pit. He swore, a graphic litany half in English and half in Spanish, then turned on his shiny black Florsheims and exited out the door. Kristin breathed a sigh of relief. At least he wouldn’t be hitting her any time soon. But then a terrible thought entered her mind: they didn’t need her any longer. She was as good as dead now. She closed her eyes tight and prayed Andy would find her, even as despair tried to rob her of any hope. She had no idea where she was. How did she expect Andy to know where to look? In despair, she slumped into the chair. A noise startled her. She blinked, though her right eye was swollen to a slit. The door opened again. Alarm brought her fully upright. She braced herself. This was it. They’d kill her now for sure. A man slipped inside, a gun in his hand. Andy. A cry of joy escaped her sore lips. She’d never thought she’d see him again. And would never have the opportunity to tell him how she felt about him. Love swelled in her chest and tears crested her lashes. “I can’t believe you’re here.” “Shhh.” He worked to undo the ties that bound her. “We’re not out of danger yet.” When she was finally released, she flung herself into his arms. “I prayed you’d come.” “I prayed I’d find you.” He gave her a tight squeeze. “God answered both of our prayers. Come on now, we’ve got to go.” He ushered her toward the door, but froze when the man and two new thugs entered the room, weapons drawn and aimed straight for them. Kristin cringed with dread and resignation. Now they would die.
Chapter Nineteen
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Pushing Kristin behind him, Andy faced Mendoza and his men. The roar of rage for the abuse purpling Kristin’s lovely face almost drowned out the voice from his earpiece telling him to back up, to lure Mendoza farther into the room. The only chance of survival that he and Kristin had was to follow the tactical team’s orders through the earpiece jammed into his right ear. Andy stepped back, forcing Kristin to do the same. “You’re done, Mendoza. We have the video.” Mendoza moved forward. “And I have you.” “You killed Schomus in cold blood. You’ll get the death penalty for that,” Andy said, hoping to buy some time. “Andy?” Kristin’s frightened whisper tugged at his heart. He turned his head slightly so that only she’d hear him. “Trust me. Trust God.” Her big green eyes showed her fear, but she nodded. “Why’d you kill Schomus? What did he have on you?” Mendoza laughed. “What makes you so sure Schomus wasn’t working for me?” Andy had only known the Assistant DA in passing, but he’d seemed like a stand up kind of guy. “He wouldn’t stoop so low.” Andy pressed Kristin back toward the center of the room to where the SWAT sniper’s rifle would have a clean shot of Mendoza and his men. “You’re so short-sighted.” Mendoza shook his head with disgust. “You all think just because someone works for the law that they must adhere to the law.” “Schomus wasn’t crooked.” Andy hoped. “How do you think I’ve stayed in business for so long?” Sick at the thought that the ADA had been dirty, Andy asked, “How’d Linder discover that he was being watched?” Mendoza stepped closer. “Linder. What a nut job. I swear, sometimes good help is hard to find.” Andy continued, slowly luring Mendoza toward the center of the room. “You didn’t answer my question.” “That reporter wasn’t careful. One of my men saw her trailing Linder, shooting video of him.” “But how did you discover she’d videotaped you killing Schomus?” “She was squeamish. It didn’t take much to get her to talk,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Enough of this chitchat. You’re wasting my time.” “You’ll never get away with killing us.” Mendoza smirked. “Right. And if that was true this place would be crawling with cops. No, I think not. But I might let you live if you get me that video.”
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The voice in Andy’s ears urged him back a few feet further. “You let us go first. Then I’ll hand over the video.” Mendoza’s eyebrows rose. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to bring it here. Take the girl.” He motioned for his men to take them. The two men stepped past their boss toward Andy and Kristin. Through the earpiece, Andy heard what he’d been waiting for: Target sighted. Lifting his hand as if in surrender, he closed a fist to signal he was ready. In one swift motion, he grabbed Kristin and pushed her to the ground, throwing himself over her as a shield while the world exploded around them.
Chapter Twenty Kristin screamed until her lungs hurt. The sound of gunfire filled her head and terror ripped away any hope of survival. Terrified that Andy had been shot, she twisted on the ground, trying to get out from under him in a vain attempt to protect him. But his hard, heavy body pinned her flat. “Stay still,” he ordered into her ear. The welcome sound of his voice made a sob catch in her throat. Then he pushed off her, pulling her to her feet. Men wearing flack vests and carrying big weapons swarmed the room, surrounding the men on the floor. Mendoza and his two men lay on the ground, injured. Blood stained their clothing and seeped onto the cement floor. Mendoza cursed loudly while his comrades moaned and pleaded for help. A mixture of relief and shock made her knees weak and the world a bit fuzzy. “Let’s get out of here,” Andy said. Feeling safe with Andy’s arm around her, guiding her, she allowed him to hustle her away from the chaos. Once outside she breathed deeply, taking the fresh air into her lungs and chasing away the horror of the past few hours. As adrenaline left her body, she began to shake as if she’d been stuck in a deep freeze, even though the late summer air was hot and humid. Andy’s arms came around her, pulling her close to his chest. She melted into the comfort of his arms. The hard vest beneath his suit coat jolted her back to reality. She pushed away. “What were you thinking?” she demanded as residual fear rose. “You could have been killed.” He stared at her a moment with an incredulous gleam in his midnight eyes, before a slow grin spread across his face. “You were the one in danger.” “But you shouldn’t have come in there alone. You put your life at unnecessary risk,” she stated hotly, thinking of how terribly wrong his stunt could have gone. The very thought made her want to throw up. Reaching out to tuck some loose hair behind her ear, he said, “Honey, risk is part of the job. There’s risk in just walking across a New York City street.” He brushed her lips with his index finger. “But today I wasn’t doing my job. I was protecting the woman I love.” Stunned speechless, she could only stare at him.
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He cupped her face in his hands. “I’m never letting you go, Kristin Conrad. I will protect you until the day I die because I know that God will be watching over us.” Humility and gratefulness spread over her like warm butter. The horror of being kidnapped had been worth the price to bring some healing to Andy’s wounded soul. Not to mention her own. After the terror of the last couple of days, she realized she could never maker her life totally safe and predictable. She had to trust that God would watch over them and together they’d have the security and peace that only came from above. With a sigh of pure bliss, she surrendered to the joy cascading through her veins. Rising on tiptoe, she moved in closer to whisper, “I can’t imagine my life without you.” And then she kissed him, showing him all the love in her heart.
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Based on a True Story by Brenda Janowitz Gorgeous fiancé? Check. Totally in love? Check. Hair more-or-less frizz-free? Check. Ready to meet the exboyfriend and his new movie-star wife for dinner? With this hair? God, no. Don't get me wrong, it's not like I need to prove something to Trip. Or to his twig—I mean, wife. It's just that I have my dignity to protect. And the things I've done for my dignity…which may or may not include bringing a fake fiancé with a fake Scottish accent and a kilt to Trip's wedding. But Trip doesn't know any of that. Will never know that. I pulled off the charade and now my life is perfect. What? He's making a movie? About a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend's wedding? Starring his beautiful celebrity wife? And they need my help to make it accurate? Why would that be a problem? I've nothing to hide…. I'm totally screwed.
Chapter One You know that feeling you get when everything seems to be right with the world? When the planets seem to be aligned? One of those days when you're actually running on time, your apartment is (relatively) clean and you haven't gotten into an argument with your mother/best friend/boss/therapist in at least a week? That's exactly how I feel today. And why not? Last spring, I survived my ex-boyfriend's wedding with my dignity ever-so-slightly intact, and now I'm engaged to a man I love and working at a job that I don't hate. Which, as a lawyer in New York City is really the most you can hope for. Well, okay, so maybe going to my ex-boyfriend's wedding wasn't really as easy as I'm making it sound. But the fact that me and my dignity survived at all is a miracle in itself. You see, mere days before the wedding, my gorgeous Scottish boyfriend, Douglas, broke up with me and announced that he was getting engaged to someone else. Devastating, right? But I didn't panic (much)—I had a plan—I simply took my friend Jack as my date instead. Okay, okay, it was more like I forced my friend Jack to pretend to be Douglas, thus helping me to keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact for the whole of Trip's wedding, but it was really just a harmless little lie, you know? Who would ever be the wiser? Certainly not my ex, Trip, and definitely not my more recent ex, Douglas. Wow, I have so many ex-boyfriends that I'm even confusing myself…. And Jack was such a good friend that he really didn't mind one bit. Not even a little. Anyway, how hard could it be to pretend to be Douglas? So he's obsessively Scottish and was planning to wear a kilt to the wedding. And so what if I had already warned Trip of that in advance (hey, if you were going to your ex's wedding, you'd play up the hunky Scottish boyfriend in a kilt, too). So the little charade took slightly more than a name change. But it couldn't be that difficult for Jack to don a kilt and a fake accent, right? Turns out it wasn't easy—but Jack made it look easy. We went to Trip's wedding, pulled off the charade, had a great time and then, as an added bonus, fell madly in love. And now we are a bona fide couple, on our way towards marching down the aisle ourselves. See, sometimes the cliché is right—every cloud does have a silver lining. Which is why this morning, I didn't have a care in world about what I would wear for dinner tonight. Even though it's a dinner with Trip, my ex-boyfriend. And his beautiful movie-star wife, Ava Huang. Yes, that Ava Huang. The perfect Hollywood "It" girl, Ava Huang. Who has an Academy Award nomination. And a royal title.
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It's not like I'm jealous or anything. I mean, what's to be jealous of? My fiancé, Jack, recently made partner at a large law firm in Manhattan. In many ways, I think that's harder to do than to get an Oscar nomination. To get her nomination, all Ava had to do was play an autistic transvestite who was sexually abused as a child and grew up to cure cancer. And everyone knows that when a gorgeous actress does a role where she gets to look ugly she gets an Oscar nod. Whereas Jack had to work twelve to fourteen hour days for nine years before they even considered him for partner. And, I mean, to be born royal, you only have to…well…be born, so working your butt off to make partner for years is certainly more impressive than that. So there was no reason to give a second thought to what I'd wear to dinner with my ex and his movie-star wife tonight. I mean, I'm engaged now, so what does it really matter what I'm wearing? Soon, I'll be a married woman myself and I'll be much too busy being the normal well-adjusted wife that I am to worry about the little insecurities that I entertained when I was single. I mean, when you're an engaged woman, does it really matter what you wear for a weeknight after-work dinner? What do you have to prove, really? This is just like any other casual dinner with friends. Even if one is an ex-boyfriend and the other is his Oscar-nominated wife. In fact, I specifically didn't think twice about what I would wear tonight because I'm so above such petty jealousies. And now, as I sit here at my desk, mere hours away from tonight's dinner, only one thing pops into my mind: WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING? Clearly this morning I was delusional. I'm having dinner with a MOVIE STAR, for the love of God! I must go home immediately and change.
From: "Brooke Miller" To: "Jack Solomon" Subject: Re: tonight running home to change before dinner. want to look cute for you! pick me up at the apartment instead of the office tonight? love you. Brooke Miller Sent from my wireless handheld I race out of my office and hop into a taxi cab. As I give the driver my address, my BlackBerry begins to buzz.
From: "Jack Solomon" To: "Brooke Miller" Subject: Re: Re: tonight
Love you, too. Jack Solomon Gilson, Hecht and Trattner 425 Park Avenue 11th Floor New York, New York 10022 *****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE***** The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise
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distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance. I can barely contain my smile as the cab lurches uptown and we arrive at my apartment building. I just know that the second Jack picks me up in a cab he'll flash his baby blue eyes at me and say, "I am the luckiest man in the world. Never leave me, Brooke, for without you, I would surely die," or something as equally heartfelt and romantic. I rush up to my apartment, turn on my mp3 player and march into the bathroom. That's it—freshening up with a little "getting ready" music will put me in a good mood. The radio begins to blast an old Madonna song from the 80s and I dance around the bathroom, mood lightening. After all, when Madonna tells you to "get up and dance and sing," you listen. Throwing my head upside down, I give it a few good shakes. Flipping my hair back and standing upright, I look at my reflection in the mirror. Ever since I cut eight and a half inches off of my signature locks, I've also taken to wearing my hair with more of its natural curl in it. This past summer, I even let it dry naturally on days that I wasn't appearing in court (for those days, I resorted to my old tried-and-true classic bun), and with the Indian Summer we are having this September, I'm still doing the same. I pull out the bathroom mirrors so that I can see myself in 3-D. I look okay, I tell myself.I look fine. After all, it's just a casual dinner at a local French restaurant with some friends. One of whom is my ex-boyfriend. Who just happens to be married to one of the biggest movie stars in the world— What if the paparazzi is there? I wouldn't want to embarrass my friends and family by being photographed with frizzy hair. I really am a very considerate girl. I must go get my hair blown out. Letting my hair dry naturally and frizz ever so slightly is okay for an evening at home with my fiancé who already gave me a ring and asked my father for permission and all that—he's already stuck with me—but it just won't cut it for dinner at Pastis with a real, live movie star. And anyway, it's really not all that uncommon to get your hair professionally done. I heard once that Marilyn Monroe used to wash and set her hair up to three times a day when she was on a movie set. I mean, if Marilyn Monroe in her heyday had to constantly wash and set her hair, what hope do we normal gals have, anyway? Oh please! As if you wouldn't get your hair washed and blown out if you were going out to dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his movie-star wife!
From: "Brooke Miller" To: "Jack Solomon" <
[email protected] > Subject: Re: Re: Re: tonight
on second thought, why don't you pick me up at the cheap hair place on the corner of lex and 62nd? i want to get gorgeous for you…. Brooke Miller Sent from my wireless handheld
From: "Jack Solomon" <
[email protected] > To: "Brooke Miller" Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: tonight
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of course you do. Jack Solomon Gilson, Hecht and Trattner 425 Park Avenue 11th Floor New York, New York 10022
*****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE***** The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance. Perfect! I have just enough time to change into my newest little black dress, get to the hair place and get my hair washed and blown out straight. And maybe if there's time I can get a manicure. And have my make-up done, too. But only if there's time. What? I wouldn't want to keep the paparazzi waiting.
Chapter Two “You had your make-up done, too?” my fiancé, Jack, asks as I slide into the Town Car. “How much did getting ready for this dinner set you back?” “I just wanted to look beautiful for you,” I say, giving him a peck on the lips. “Well,” he says, “I’m just glad to see that this has nothing to do with the fact that we’re having dinner with your ex-boyfriend and his movie-star wife.” “No,” I say, laughing, “of course not!” “Yes,” he says, putting his hand on my leg, “of course.” Fifteen minutes later, we’re down in the Meatpacking District, pulling up to Pastis. Ah, Pastis—a restaurant which would be considered a casual French bistro if it was not for the fact that it is a huge celebrity hangout and has a three month waiting list for a reservation. The second my foot hits the cobblestone street, I hear my ex-boyfriend, Trip, call out my name. He and his wife, Ava, are already ensconced at one of the outside tables. Getting a reservation at Pastis is hard enough, but getting an outside table is nearly impossible. Of course, within the first five minutes of conversation, Trip drops the fact that this is their regular table. You know those celebrities who go out to restaurants at odd hours and take tables in the corner, facing inside, desperate not to be seen or recognized? Trip and Ava are not those kind of celebrities. “So, I said to DiCaprio,” Trip says, making no effort at all to lower his voice, reveling in the fact that this causes all of the nearby tables to turn and look at him, “if you don’t do it, you’re insane!” To which he and Ava laugh hysterically and Jack and I merely smile politely. Eating with Trip and Ava is incredibly difficult. Every so often, you see the flash of a bulb go off and you just know that a papparrazo somewhere out there has just taken your picture. You feel the constant glare of camera phones on you as you try to take a bite of your steak sandwich. I’m desperately trying to eat in an attractive way, which is no easy feat, I assure you. I guess this is why Ava is so thin.
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“That crazy DiCaprio,” Jack says in a Scottish accent. Okay, so you remember the funny story about Trip’s wedding? Just your typical girl-gets-invited-to-her-exboyfriend’s-wedding-only-to-be-broken-up-with-by-her-awful-cad-of-a-Scottish-boyfriend-mere-minutesbefore-the-wedding-forcing-girl-to-drag-her-best-friend-Jack-in-his-place-and-make-him-wear-a-kilt-andspeak-with-a-Scottish-accent-in-a-desperate-attempt-to-keep-her-dignity-ever-so-slightly-intact sort of story. Well, Trip kinda, sorta still doesn’t know that Jack was posing as Douglas. So they still think Jack is Douglas. Which means he still has to fake the accent. And I have to pretend that that day was perfectly normal, that I was just like any other woman who goes to her ex’s wedding. Okay, so I understand that most women don’t get invited to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings. And I realize that most women don’t RSVP “yes” to their ex-boyfriend’s weddings because they are dating gorgeous hunky Scotsmen and they want to show up to their exes. And, okay, most women, when then broken up with by their hunky Scotsmen, don’t recruit their friends to take his place and pretend to be him. And pretend to be engaged to said faux-Scotsman. But, then again, I’m not most girls. And therein lies my charm. I think. I’m pretty sure Jack told me that once. Or at least I think he did. Didn’t he? Anyway, the point is, I’m not most girls. And Jack, luckily for me, is not most guys. And I’m lucky that he’s not. Since going to Trip’s wedding as a fake couple, Jack and I have actually become a real couple. Which was an easy transition since we were the best of friends before the wedding. It just took a trip to LA and seeing Jack in a kilt for me to realize that he was the one for me. And now that I have, I have no intention of ever going back to being just friends again. Because Jack is amazing. As evidenced by the fact that he’s dressed up as a Scotsman once again, phony accent and all, just to save my pride. And he even remembered to bring me the fake engagement ring I wore to Trip’s wedding, which I swapped out for my real one when Jack picked me up in the cab. Now, I know what you’re thinking. How can she go on like this? It’s easy, really. You see, I don’t plan to see Trip and Ava ever again after tonight. And, I’m sure, after having to feign a Scottish accent for an entire evening, by tomorrow, Jack will be of a similar mind. Maybe even later tonight. We’re only here in the first place to be polite (that, and the fact that I was unsuccessful in dodging Trip’s calls. He had his assistant call me seven times. Yes, seven! I wonder how many times he had to call Leo to get him on the phone…). Trip’s assistant assured me that there was something that Trip just had to tell me. And I just had to know what it was. Trip and I always had a very competitive relationship, even back when we were an item in law school, but now I can’t imagine there’s much left for him to say to me. Still, curiosity got the best of me. But, really, what could he possibly be here to announce? I mean, he’s won, hasn’t he? He was married first and to an Oscar-nominated star, at that. It’s really not much of a contest. I get it. Why am I at this dinner again? “So, did he say yes?” I ask. I don’t want to ask, but Trip so clearly wants me to ask more about his silly little Leonardo DiCaprio story. The man is so starved for attention. Trip, I mean. Not Leonardo DiCaprio. I’ve never met Leonardo DiCaprio, but I’m sure that he’s very well adjusted and nice. Although he was a child star (who didn’t love him on Growing Pains?!), so maybe he’s not as nice as he seems, even though he does feel passionate about the environment. But I digress…. “As a matter of fact, Brooke,” he said, “he did. Leo’s going to be starring in Ava’s next picture.” It drives me insane that Trip calls movies “pictures” as if he’s Orson Welles or something. He’s not even her director. He’s just her agent. Isn’t there some sort of confidentiality thing he’s violating here? Note to self: write a note to the bar association to determine confidentiality implications of an agent being romantically involved with the actress he’s representing. “Great,” Jack says, “Jolly good.” I don’t think that Scots say things like “jolly good,” but I let it slide since Jack’s being so great by pretending to be a Scotsman on a weeknight. Anyway, the industry talk is probably the only saving grace for Jack this
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evening. Jack always wanted to be an actor but never really made a go of it. He’s like a lot of litigators— frustrated thespians who use their dramatic flair in the courtroom instead of on the stage. “And Ava will be playing the lead,” Trip continues, as the waiter begins clearing out plates. I say a tiny prayer that Trip and Ava won’t want to order dessert and that Jack and I can get out of here. “DiCaprio will be the ex-boyfriend whose wedding Ava attends.” Suddenly, time begins moving in slow motion. “Excuse me?” I ask. Surely, I must have misheard Trip. “Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Trip asks, a tiny smirk creeping onto his lips. “The picture is about a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.” This story is beginning to sound alarmingly familiar. “Let me get this straight,” I say, “Ava’s next movie is about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding?” “Yeah,” Trip says with a laugh. “You inspired me to write it!” “You wrote it?” I ask. Back in law school Trip couldn’t write to save his life. Or his GPA. “Well,” he says, “I’m in the process of writing it. But we already have a deal in place. And now, we’ve got our stars attached!” “Who’s going to play Jack?” Jack asks, Scottish accent all but gone. “Who’s Jack?” Trip asks. “Douglas,” I say, correcting Jack. “He means Douglas. Who’s going to play Douglas?” “It’s hard to find someone who can do a convincing Scottish accent,” Ava says. “That’s the real obstacle we’re having now.” “You really just need someone who can fake a Scottish accent,” Jack offers and I grab at his knee under the table. Unfortunately for me, this does not have the intended effect. He thinks I’m flirting, and so he grabs at my waist. Sometimes it’s a real curse to be so darned irresistible. “Is the point of this dinner to ask me if you can make a movie about me?” I ask. “Because you can’t. I mean, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that.” After all, I know my rights. And the second I get home, I will log onto my computer to find out just exactly what they are. “I don’t have to ask your permission to write a movie about you,” Trip says. “Remember, I went to law school, too, and so I know that I don’t have to ask your permission for this. You’re not famous.” Thank you, Trip, for reminding me of that very, very obvious fact. “Well, how do you know I won’t sue you?” I ask. “You’re not going to sue me,” he says, laughing at the mere thought of it, “but anyway, even if you do, the studio has a team of lawyers.” “Well, that’s good to know,” I say. “Because it sounds like you could have a lawsuit or two on your hands.”
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“Well, I thank you for your concern, Brooke,” Trip says. “But what I’d really love to do is to interview you. Get some more background information for the script. Whaddya say? For old times sake?” “Um,” I eek out. “No, thank you.” And really, I don’t want to do it. And it’s not just because Trip is my ex-boyfriend. And it’s not just because Trip doesn’t know the whole story behind my attendance at his wedding. Actually, those are pretty good reasons in of themselves, aren’t they? Yes, they definitely are…. But, more importantly, it’s because he’s writing a movie about my life. And not about the good parts, either. I’m sure he doesn’t have a scene about all of the charity work I do here in the city. Well, okay, fine, I don’t have a ton of time for charity since I work fourteen hour days regularly, but I do attend my fair share of blacktie charity events, so that should count. Or, say, he could write a scene about the time I helped that blind lady cross Lexington that day at lunch. That would be nice. But I just know that that’s not the kind of movie he’ll be writing. No, he’s going to be writing a movie about a sad single girl in New York City. Instead of scenes that showcase her fabulousness, he’ll be writing scenes where she obsesses endlessly about going to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Instead of scenes that show how hard she works at her big-time law firm, there will be scenes where she does silly thing after silly thing in a fruitless attempt to keep her dignity ever-so-slightly intact, and instead ends up looking like a fool. No, thank you! And, also, when I think about what I spent this evening on hair and make-up alone, I just cannot afford having to see Trip on a day-to-day basis. Case closed. I don’t really know what’s said for the rest of the dinner. It barely registers who paid the bill or if we even paid the bill at all. I’m in a daze for the rest of the time and all I can think is: my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about me. Jack shuttles me into a cab and I open the window to get a gust of cool air as we head uptown. “So,” Jack says, turning to face me, “do you think they’ll offer me a part?”
Chapter Three “Wow,” my best friend Vanessa says. “I know.” “Wow.” “I know,” I repeat. “Wow.” “Okay, you’re going to need to say something other than ‘wow.’” “I can’t think of anything else to say,” she says, and sinks into her chair. We’re at Bernard’s Gourmet on Third Avenue for lunch. I needed to convene a special counsel to discuss the fact that my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about my life. And that it’s starring his gorgeous movie-star wife. You’d really think that a big-time Hollywood agent and his movie-star wife would have better things to do with their time than to ruin my life. But, no.
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“Maybe I should be flattered,” I say, taking a bite of my Cobb salad. “I mean, clearly, my life is so interesting that Trip thinks the entire movie-going public of America wants to know about it.” “Don’t forget Europe,” Vanessa says. “American movies play overseas, too.” She takes a bite out of her hamburger and I silently curse her for the fact that she can eat whatever she wants and I gain weight if I even look at a hamburger. Maybe this is owing to the fact that she’s five-foot eight and a marathon runner who religiously runs six miles a day—but still. And more important than the fact that she’s thin, she’s so gorgeous that if her ex-boyfriend made a movie about her life, they’d probably be asking her if she’d consider playing herself. Yes, Vanessa is tall and gorgeous and thin. I have no idea why I’m friends with her. “And Asia,” she adds. “Don’t forget about Asia.” “Okay, I won’t. So, my ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of the single most humiliating moment of my life,” I say. “No big deal, right? I’m sure that this is the sort of thing that happens to lots of women out there every day.” “I’m sure it happens all the time,” she says. I can tell she’s lying by the way she self-consciously smoothes her hand over her short hair, but I don’t care. It still makes me feel better. “And being friendly with an ex really isn’t that big of a deal, is it?” I ask, taking a bite of my salad, only allowing myself the tiniest bit of dressing. I mean, so what?” “So what, indeed,” she says and dips one of her French fries into the ketchup. “I mean, so what if my ex decides to take the most embarrassing moment of my life and turn it into a major motion picture starring his new wife?” I say, taking another bite of salad, this time abandoning the dressing altogether. “And so what if said new wife has to gain twenty pounds just to play me? I mean, so what?” “So what!” Vanessa says, slamming her fist down on the table, and I can practically hear a choir rising up in the background. “Just because I’m not married and I’m not royalty and I’m not an Academy Award nominated actress, I’m still fabulous anyway, right?” Oh please. As if you wouldn’t be fishing for compliments the day after you found out that your ex-boyfriend was making a movie out of your life. “Fabulous enough for them to make a movie all about you and your crazy adventures,” Vanessa says, motioning to the waiter for refills on our diet iced teas. “Yes,” I say. “That’s right. I’m fabulous.” I smile at Vanessa. Sometimes I forget just how truly fabulous I am. “Did you convince yourself on that one?” she asks. “No,” I say, looking down at my Cobb salad and then scooping up a forkful of bacon. I silently decide that you don’t have to stay on your diet on the day after you find out your ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of how pathetic your life is. “Did I convince you?” “Nope,” she says, and goes back to her fries. “But one good thing to come out of this is the fact that Trip knows everything about you going to his wedding. It’s all out in the open, so you don’t have to hide any secrets anymore.”
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The secret. I’d nearly forgotten about that. You’d think that once your ex is making a movie about your life, it can’t get worse. But you’d be wrong. “Right,” I say, grabbing at a stray napkin that’s on the table. I tear it into two pieces and then into four. Vanessa regards me. “Oh, no,” she says. “What?” I ask, tearing the napkin in my hand into eight pieces. “So, he doesn’t know?” she asks and I keep my eyes firmly planted on the floor. “You haven’t told him that you actually brought a fake date to his wedding?” “About that…” “That Douglas broke up with you on the eve of his wedding so you brought Jack instead and made him wear a kilt and speak with a Scottish accent?” “I was there,” I say, “you don’t have to remind me what happened.” “But Trip doesn’t know any of that?” she asks, staring at me with such intensity that I can feel her eyes burning into my head. “No idea,” I say, without bringing my eyes up to meet Vanessa’s. “Then what the hell is the movie about?” “A girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding,” I say, taking a sip of my iced tea. “Apparently, that’s interesting enough in of itself to turn into a movie. You don’t even need the fake kilt part.” “Brooke,” she says, employing the same tone she’d use in speaking to a small child. “Well, I don’t see why I should have to say anything,” I say, scooping more bacon onto my fork and dipping it into the dressing. Then I take another bite and pile bacon onto blue cheese and dip that into the dressing. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t tell Trip,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Um, is she kidding me?! “You don’t see why I wouldn’t?” I cry out, my voice an octave higher than I intend it to be. “Well, for starters, it makes me look like a huge loser—” “But you have Jack now,” Vanessa says, cutting me off. “Nothing matters anymore now that you have Jack. He’s what’s important. Not some silly semblance of your pride that you’re trying to protect.” She’s right. When I think about Jack and how lucky I am to have finally found love, I can’t help but feel silly that I’m still obsessing over the fact that my ex got married before me. The first thing that I’m going to do tomorrow is to call Trip and tell him everything. That Douglas broke up with me right before his wedding so I brought Jack instead. And that in order to keep my dignity ever-soslightly intact, I made Jack pretend to be Douglas, which meant that he had to don a kilt and a fake Scottish accent and I had to wear a fake engagement ring. But none of that matters anymore since Jack and I are together for real and it’s wonderful and it’s everything I always wanted but never realized was right in front of me because I was too busy thinking that all the wrong things were important. But now I’ve got my head screwed on straight, and I’m engaged to an amazing guy. I will call Trip immediately and tell him all of these things.
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But first, I’m going to steal some of Vanessa’s French fries and order myself a hamburger.
Chapter Four "Well, this is unexpected," I say, as Trip saunters into my office. I think, but don't say: and unwelcome. First, I silently curse Trip for showing up unannounced. Then I silently curse my assistant for not announcing that he'd arrived. You see, today's the day I'm supposed to be coming clean to Trip about the fact that I brought a fake date to his wedding—the wedding that he's making a major motion picture about—but he's shown up unexpectedly and I'm not really mentally prepared to tell him the truth just yet. Maybe I should ask him to come back on a day where I've had time to go to the spa to get a massage, manicure and pedicure? Maybe even a facial. Or even a scrub. Yes, I'm sure a scrub would do the trick. Surely then I'd be more relaxed and prepared to admit the fact that I was too embarrassed to tell him that Douglas broke up with me on the eve of his wedding, so I made Jack dress up as a Scotsman and pretend to be Douglas? But I ask you: is there ever a good time to tell your ex-boyfriend that your man broke up with you on the eve of his wedding so you made your best friend dress up as him and come with you? Wine. I was going to need some wine before I do this. "Is now a good time?" Trip asks, settling into one of my leather visitor chairs, his stance indicating that he didn't actually care whether or not it was, in fact, a good time for me. I slip off my real engagement ring and reach into my pocketbook to try to find the fake ring I wore to Trip's wedding. "I thought we could bat around some ideas for the screenplay." The fake ring is nowhere to be found. I decide to forgo wearing any ring at all. After all, no ring would be better than wearing a ring he's never seen before, right? Although wouldn't it be great if you could have more than one engagement ring and then just wear whichever one matched your mood? Maybe I could get that started as a trend…. Focus, Brooke! "You mean the screenplay you're writing about my life," I say, looking him dead in the eyes. "I mean the screenplay about my wedding and how I invited my ex-girlfriend," he says, returning my gaze. "See, Brooke, it's really my story to tell." "Isn't Ava the star of the movie, not Leo?" "Well, yes," he says, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his jacket. "So, then, it's really her story to tell," I say, folding my arms across my chest. "It's the ex-girlfriend's story." I couldn't help but smile at my little victory. I always was a better litigator than Trip. "Look, Brooke. I just need something more to really make the story solid," Trip says. "So, help me out, would you? It'll be just like in law school when we used to collaborate together all the time." What he means to say is: it'll be just like law school, when we were dating, so I made you do all the work for me. Only his charm has worn off now, and the only thing I'll be helping him to do is to leave my office. "Where's your engagement ring?" he asks, doing a half-stand out of his chair to get a closer look at my hand. Which has the effect of making me immediately cover my left hand with the right. "Oh," I say. "That. Yes, well. It's at the cleaners. I mean, the ring cleaners. You know, the jewelers. You know what I mean. Since when are you so interested in jewelry?"
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Must get the ex-boyfriend out of my office, stat! He shakes his head and settles back into the chair. "So, were there any other complications in being an unmarried girl going to your ex-boyfriend's wedding? Anything else you haven't told me?" "No," I say, with a clipped tone, turning to my computer. I begin to check my e-mail, hoping that he'll think that I'm too busy to talk to him and just leave. An e-mail pops up on my screen:
From: "Vanessa Taylor" To: "Brooke Miller" Subject: Do it!
Did you fess up to Trip yet??? Vanessa Taylor Gilson, Hecht and Trattner 425 Park Avenue 11th Floor New York, New York 10022 *****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE***** The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance. That girl's timing is uncanny. I look over to Trip, sitting in my visitor's chair like a sad little puppy, his pad out, ready to jot down any words of wisdom I may spew out. "I just feel like I'm missing something here," Trip says, tapping his pen against the side of the pad. "What the script really needs is something to bring it all together. It needs more comedy. More of a love story." "How's this," I say, throwing him a bone. "I did lose my luggage at LAX when we flew in for your wedding. I didn't have a dress to wear, so we had to spend the whole day shopping for a replacement. Use that." "Right on, right on," Trip says. Even though he's originally from Connecticut, he certainly has adapted to being a left-coaster. If he says "bitchin" I'm kicking him out of my office. "Okay, so great," I say, standing up. "If I think of anything else, I'll call you!" Trip stays planted in his seat. "I'm sorry," he says. "I don't mean to be bugging you. It's just that there is so much pressure on me to make this thing great. It just needs a little oomph. Something to make it stand out from all of those other romantic comedies out there. This means a lot to me. And to Ava." And just like that, I begin to soften. I was so busy trying to one-up Trip that I forgot that there are things that I actually like about him. His determination. His stick-to-it-ness. For a moment, I remember how devoted he could be to something he believed in. Which is probably what makes him such a great agent. Seeing him work so hard at something really makes me feel like I want to help.
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And I could help—by telling him the truth. And it will make me a better person, someone who appreciates what she has and doesn't hold on to some ridiculous charade in order to one-up her ex. I am better than that, and I can prove it. I can be mature. I'll just tell him. Right now. But just as I am about to tell him the truth, the thing that will make his movie truly great and prove that I am a self-confident woman who doesn't care what anyone else thinks, he says: "That's it. I just figured it out."
"What?" I ask, curious to hear what fabulous plot point he's come up with. See, Trip was right— collaborating can be fun! "Why you're not wearing your ring," he says. "That's it. I've figured it out." "Figured what out?" I say back very quickly, suddenly squirming in my office chair. This will be so much more embarrassing if he's figured out what I've done before I get to fess up to him and maintain at least one tiny shred of dignity. "You're pregnant!" he says, jumping up from his chair and running around my desk to give me a hug. "That's why you're not wearing your ring! I knew you looked a bit bloated today. But, you're pregnant, aren't you? Aren't you?! You can tell me." Note to self: Must go home immediately and burn this entire outfit. And then murder my ex-boyfriend. "I. Am. Not. Pregnant." "Oh, man," he says, arms falling down to his sides as he releases his grip on me. "Are you sure?"
"Oh, yes," I say. "I'm sure. Not pregnant, just bloated." "I don't know what to say, Brooke." And with that, those old feelings are gone. "Get out," I say, and Trip finally leaves my office.
Chapter Five “What’s great about this film is that I don’t have to lose weight for the part,” Ava says to Rachel Star of Entertainment Now. “In fact, they’re encouraging me to gain more!” Rachel Star nods back knowingly. I can just picture the two of them out to dinner now—I can have even more edamame?! And I can actually leave the rice on my sushi rolls?! Oh, happy day! “Now, that sounds like my kind of shoot!” Lara says and she and Ava break out in giggles. My ex-boyfriend’s wife is on Entertainment Now to talk about the new movie she’s starring in. That my exboyfriend wrote. About my life. Yes, my ex-boyfriend has taken the single most humiliating moment of my life—attending his wedding—and is turning it into a major motion picture, set for release next summer. You can catch it when it comes out on the big screen, but please just do me a favor and don’t tell me if you go. Oh, please. As if you’re not dying to go and see it now that I’ve told you all about it.
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I roll my eyes at my best friend, Vanessa. She rolls back and takes a handful of popcorn. We both rushed home from work tonight to watch Ava’s appearance together. We’re at Vanessa’s apartment in comfy sweatpants, with a huge bowl of popcorn between us and a pitcher of margaritas to help wash it down. The pain, that is. Not the popcorn. (But it works on the popcorn, too.) “Obviously they’re not talking about you,” Vanessa says. “They probably just want Ava to look more like a real woman. Not the stick figure that she is.” Since Vanessa is a bit of a stick figure herself, this is not exactly a compelling argument from her. But Vanessa’s right. It’s not actually all about me, since Trip doesn’t know the whole story involved with my coming to his wedding. He thinks it’s just your normal girl-goes-to-her-ex-boyfriend’s-wedding kind of situation. Thankfully, he doesn’t know about the part where Douglas broke up with me mere minutes before the wedding, forcing me to drag my friend Jack—complete with the kilt and faux accent—in his place. I even wore a fake engagement ring to really sell it. “Thanks,” I say to Vanessa and we both look at the television. I take a big swig of my margarita. Maybe we should have cut to the chase and just had shots of tequila before watching this? “So,” Rachel says, putting on a serious expression, “tell us more about the film.” “Well,” Ava says. “It’s the story of a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding.” “Wow,” Rachel says, “that sure sounds like quite a story!” “It is, Rachel,” Ava says, leaning in to Rachel as if they’re sorority sisters or something. “It is. And lots of single women everywhere can relate to it.” “I don’t know about that,” Rachel says with a laugh. “You couldn’t pay me enough to go to an ex’s wedding.” “It’s going to be a funny movie,” Ava says. “I can personally guarantee lots of laughs. And maybe even a tear or two.” “They’re going to be lining up in droves to see this movie!” Rachel says. And she’s probably right. Why couldn’t they be making a small art house film about my life that no one would ever see? Why must it be the movie that’s slated to be the biggest blockbuster of the summer? Why, oh why, must my life be so darned interesting that a major motion picture studio has green lighted a production about it? “Is it a concern,” Rachel says, putting a grave expression onto her face, “that people won’t think that the story is believable? I mean, what woman in her right mind would actually go to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding?” “That’s the great thing, Rachel,” Ava says, eyes sparkling, clearly ready for this question to have been asked. “It really did happen! To my husband’s ex-girlfriend.” “You mean to tell me that your husband’s ex-girlfriend actually came to your wedding?” Rachel says and gives the camera a look of shock. Oh, please. As if this whole interview wasn’t pre-rehearsed. Who does she think she’s kidding? “Yes!” Ava says. “She’s actually an attorney right here in Manhattan. And she’s very nice.” “Nice or not, I can’t believe you let one of your husband’s exes come to your wedding!” Rachel says, still doing the shocked expression thing. I mean, doesn’t Rachel have any other expressions in her arsenal? What does she do when she interviews someone who actually reveals shocking things? I guess this is why they pre-record all of their shows.
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Ava nods in response. Yes, I am so wonderful that I allowed my husband’s ex to come to our wedding. I also do all sorts of other types of charity work. “They’re making me sound like a stalker,” I say to Vanessa and she shhhes me. I finish my margarita and lean over to the pitcher to re-fill my glass. “But,” Rachel quickly says, “it’s not as if a woman like you has to worry about any sort of competition. What man would ever choose another woman over you?” “Oh, God,” I say, “is that what everyone’s going to be saying at the premiere? Why would he want to be with her when he could be with Ava?” “Oh, don’t be silly, sweetie,” Vanessa says, looking at me. “We’re not going to be invited to the premiere.” On the TV, Ava continues. “My husband, Trip, was so inspired by the story of his ex coming to the wedding that he decided that it would make a great movie.” That Ava doesn’t answer Rachel’s question and begins posturing makes me think that maybe Trip gave her a script for this interview. “She came with her gorgeous Scottish fiancé, so everything worked out in the end. It’s a story about love and friendship. And life’s special moments.” “This is beginning to sound like a tampon commercial,” Vanessa says, taking a ladylike sip of her margarita. She’s still on her first of the night. I’m already pouring number three. “This is so humiliating,” I say, “I can never leave my apartment again.” “No one’s even going to see the stupid movie,” Vanessa says, “don’t be ridiculous. This whole thing will blow over in minutes.” “Maybe the movie will be bad,” I say. “Maybe no one will see it!” “I’m sure no one will,” she says, and clicks the television off. “And it will be forgotten before you can even say ‘straight to DVD.’” “Really?” I ask. “You really think that?” “Sure,” Vanessa says, filling up my margarita glass, “of course I do.” “I guess I should be looking on the bright side,” I say, taking a handful of popcorn. “My one saving grace is that Douglas hasn’t found out. It’s bad enough that I’ve been humiliated in front of Jack. In fact, this whole thing has actually been a test of how much he truly loves me.” “And he still wants to marry you after all this. He passed,” Vanessa says. “With flying colors.” “True,” I say. “But if Douglas found out about this whole mess… Well, let’s just say that Douglas doesn’t have as good of a sense of humor about things. He would really torture me about this.” “You don’t have to remind me about how awful Douglas was,” Vanessa says. “I remember.” “Well, then, can I remind you about how wonderful Jack is?” “Let’s just make a toast,” Vanessa says, and raises her margarita glass. “To Douglas never finding out about all of this. “Here, here,” I say.
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So, now all I need is for Douglas to never watch Entertainment Now or deign to go see a chick flick. Piece of cake, right?
Chapter Six “Excuse me, miss, but I think I have something for you,” a handsome man says to me just as I’m about to enter my office building. “No, I don’t think so,” I say with a smile. Normally, New Yorkers don’t talk to each other on the street, but I wouldn’t want to be rude. And it’s not just because he’s good looking—I’m not superficial like that. You see, I would speak to a stranger even if he wasn’t attractive. I just so happen to be the exception to that New York rule. Well, okay, I wouldn’t speak to a stranger if he looked like he was deranged or something. I mean, that could be dangerous. But a stranger who was average looking? Yes, I would definitely talk to that stranger. If he was handsome and wearing a great suit and had a really really, really nice smile, well, that would just be a bonus. A big, gorgeous, well-dressed bonus. But I digress. “I’m sure it’s for you,” he insists and I can’t help but laugh, as I continue walking into the building. “Sorry,” I say, pushing through the big double doors of my law firm’s building, “but I’m engaged.” How much do I love saying that?! But how typical is this? The second you’re attached, you’ve got random hotties approaching you in the street. And since you’re already involved, you can’t do a thing about it. When I was single, this sort of thing never happened to me. Life can be so unfair sometimes. “Aren’t you Brooke Miller?” the hottie says to me as he follows me into the building. Did he just call me by my name? Um, how does he know my name?! Okay, so, now I’ve got random hotties stalking me in the street. I’m strangely conflicted about this. “How do you know my name?” I ask, edging my way towards the security desk. In a split second, I formulate a positively brilliant plan for getting away from hottie/stalker, should things go awry. I will simply throw my briefcase at his chest and distract him momentarily so that I can run to the safety of the security guard. I don’t think that the guards are real cops or anything, but they’re still pretty darn imposing. Especially Margie Ann. That woman will put the fear of God into you with just one look. Now, if hottie/stalker actually catches my briefcase instead of getting distracted by it, my plan will be pretty much blown. The whole plan becomes moot when he says: “Yes, I thought it was you. Brooke Miller,” he says, reaching into his briefcase. “You’ve been served.”
*** “I don’t get it,” Trip says, walking into my office unannounced (it’s like there’s just no point in actually having an assistant in the first place). “I thought that Douglas was cool with all of this. He seemed fine when I told him the other night about the movie we were making about a girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. We had that great dinner all together at Pastis. But now, this.” “You mean the movie you’re making about my life,” I said. “No,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I thought we already established this. It’s my story about getting married and then inviting my ex-girlfriend to come to the wedding.” “You say tomato,” I say, under my breath as I roll my eyes at Trip. Then, in my sensible lawyerly voice, without the eye roll: “I don’t get it, either. Let me give him a call and I’ll call you as soon as I hear back from him.”
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Trip settles into one of my visitor chairs, clearly ready to watch as I make my phone call, which confuses me. If he thinks that I’m about to call my fiancé to ask him why he’s suing me, does he really think that I want my ex-boyfriend here to watch? Trip can be such a moron sometimes. Which reminds me… “Trip, I thought you told me that I couldn’t sue you for making a movie out of my life?” I ask. “Didn’t you get an A in torts?” Trip asks. “I got a C, but I still remembered that a private citizen can sue for their rights of privacy.” “I knew you were wrong!” I said. “I just had too much wine and got confused.” “Or maybe,” he says, “it’s just that you’re not really a better lawyer than me after all.” I think but don’t say: “No. I still am.” “That’s why I took you guys out to Pastis that night,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I thought I had your consent. And Douglas’s, too.” “I never consented to anything,” I say, my hand involuntarily flying up to my chest. “But I thought it was strange that you were hounding me to go out for dinner.” “It was my assistant who called you,” Trip points out. “Whatever,” I say under my breath. “The strange thing here,” Trip says, “is that you’re a named party in this lawsuit, too. Which means that your fiancé has just served you a lawsuit.” “I know,” I say, trying to formulate a reason why my fiancé might be suing me. Maybe it has to do with the fact that the real Douglas wasn’t actually at that dinner. It was Jack. Pretending to be Douglas. “So, why don’t you let me call him?” “Yes,” he says, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “Please do.” “Okay,” I say, nodding my head towards the door. Trip doesn’t take the hint. “Okay, so I’ll call you later after I’ve had a chance to sort all of this out.” Trip nods enthusiastically, still not getting the hint. “So,” I say, “you should leave now.” “Oh, yes,” he says, “of course.” Trip finally leaves my office and I prepare to call “Douglas.” Instead I call Jack. “Ohmigod! Douglas is suing me!” “Who is this?” Jack says. I’m pretty sure I can tell that he’s smiling broadly on the other end of the line. “Can you please be serious for a second?” I say, jumping up from my desk and closing my office door shut with my foot. “I’m being sued!”
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“Well, first of all,” Jack says. “For a lawyer, you don’t react very well to conflict. Or to potential litigation. Where’s the fight in you, Brooke?” “Jack, I am being serious here. What am I going to do? I’ve never been sued before!” “But you’ve been involved in tons of lawsuits before. So you know that most lawsuits end up settling. He must be looking for money. How much is he suing for?” “Two million dollars.” “Jesus Christ,” Jack says letting out a huge sigh. “Um, okay, not helping.” “I can give you a really big discount on my fees if you want me to represent you,” Jack says, still smiling. Okay, I know I can’t see if he’s smiling, but I just know. “Still not helping.” “Well, you’re going to need a lawyer,” Jack says. “Actually, should I be billing you right now?” “Not! Helping!” “Okay,” he says. “Then how’s this: Let me make a few calls and try to find you a lawyer—one who’s not actually involved in this whole thing—and in the meantime, maybe you should go speak to Douglas. Maybe if you tell him what happened, he’ll drop the lawsuit.” “You’ve met Douglas,” I say, “haven’t you? He’s not exactly the kind, understanding type.” “Well,” Jack says, “then the other option would be to go and tell Trip the truth. That you and Douglas broke up on the eve of his wedding so you brought me instead and made me wear a kilt and speak with a Scottish accent in an effort to pretend I was Douglas. Actually, now that I’m thinking about it, maybe that would be best. If you explain it to him now, he’ll realize this whole thing was just a big misunderstanding. And ultimately, if you can get him on your side instead of Douglas’s, it’ll make Trip a lot less likely to counter-sue you for making misrepresentations to him. If you and Trip can stay aligned, you have a much better chance of fighting Douglas. Just call Trip.” “Okay,” I say. “Okay, you’re going to talk to Trip? That was easy.” “What?” I ask, beginning to shut my computer down. “Oh, God, no. I’m going to go and yell at Douglas.”
Chapter Seven “Well, this is unexpected,” my ex-boyfriend Douglas says, and he’s right. The last time we saw each other, I told him in no uncertain terms that I didn’t want to marry him and that I never wanted to see him again. So, under normal circumstances, it would be curious that I’m here. But under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have to be here. Up until one day ago, I was one-hundred percent sure that I’d be keeping my promise—I had no intention of ever seeing Douglas again. “How is this unexpected?” I ask through gritted teeth. “You’re suing me!” He doesn’t get up from his desk like he normally would when a lady enters a room. He stays planted behind it, using it as a shield.
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The coward. “You broke up with me and refused to talk to me,” Douglas says matter-of-factly, picking a pen up from his desk and then examining it. He’s calm, cool. Which has the effect of making me even more angry than I was when I marched in. (And, yes, you read that correctly, I didn’t walk in, I marched.) “No, you broke up with me by getting engaged to another woman!” I say, voice rising higher and higher with each word that comes out of my mouth. “It was only after you tried to humiliate me at my ex-boyfriend’s wedding that you even wanted me back.” “That’s not true,” he says. “That’s not true at all. I realized that you were the one and so I came to the wedding as a romantic gesture.” “If only that were true,” I say. “After I said ‘no,’ did you get back together with Beryl?” Yes, Douglas broke up with me and got engaged to a woman named Beryl. I don’t know what’s worse: the fact that he was cheating on me, or the fact that it was with a woman named Beryl. “Right,” he says. “Right,” I say back. “Right.” “Right,” I say, but then realize I have no idea what we’re even saying “right” to anymore. In fact, I think that he’s saying “right” to something completely different than what I’m saying “right” to. And clearly, you want your “rights” to be right. Right? “Wait? What are we even talking about here? Why are you suing me?!” “Because you’re writing a movie about my life,” he says, hands folded neatly on top of his desk. Then, looking me dead in the eye he says: “What, you didn’t think I’d find out?” And, no, the truth is I didn’t think he’d find out. A tiny little part of me (the very, very stupid and naive part, I’m now figuring out) thought that Trip and his wife could just make their little movie about my life quietly and no one would ever be the wiser. Not Douglas, and certainly not Trip. But the more I think about it, I realize that this is all because of that clip on Entertainment Now. If Ava hadn’t gone on Entertainment Now to announce plans of this film, none of this would have happened! Douglas wouldn’t have found out that my ex-boyfriend was making a movie out of my life and he would never have sued me. This is all Rachel Star’s fault! Damn you, Rachel Star! Why do you have to be so damned perky and report the entertainment news so well?! That’s it—from now on, I am boycotting that show. Yes, from now on, I will only watch Inside Hollywood! But I digress. “I’m not doing anything. How would I write a movie and get it produced? Why would I write a movie? I’m a lawyer,” I say. “It’s Trip. My ex-boyfriend, Trip, is writing the movie as a star vehicle for his wife, Ava. Remember Trip? If you’d just come with me to his wedding last spring, none of this would have ever happened.” “Well,” he says, “according to Entertainment Now, it seems that I did come with you.” “About that—” I start to say, only to be cut off by Douglas. “I knew it! Trip still doesn’t know, does he?” Douglas asks. “He actually thinks that that silly American colleague of yours is me?” Douglas throws his head back and laughs with a deep throaty thunder, as if this concept is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.
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Which is ridiculous in of itself. You see, Douglas is laughing because he thinks that Jack is no match to impersonate him—that he, himself, is so fabulous that Jack isn’t fit to shine his shoes, much less pretend to be in them. When in reality, the opposite is true. Jack is the best thing to ever happen to me. Douglas, as it turned out in the end, was the worst. And Jack was my best friend through all of it. Through the fights and the heartbreak, Jack was always there for me. I’m just lucky that after all these years, Jack and I finally ended up together. “Jack,” I say to Douglas. “His name is Jack.” “Well, whatever,” Douglas says, a sly smile creeping onto his lips. “I wonder what Trip will say when he finds out that Jack’s not me?” “If you drop your lawsuit, I promise that I’ll tell Trip,” I say, and Douglas’s sly smile becomes a full-blown grin. “Well, I was hoping to get to court at least one time to see you in one of your cute outfits,” he says. Even though I never figured out exactly what it was that Douglas did for a living, he always found a way to diminish what I did. Cute outfits for court? I’m a big-time lawyer, for God’s sake! Sometimes being so devoted to fashion really has its drawbacks. “I’m leaving,” I say, getting up out of my chair. “Wait,” Douglas says. “Sit down. Are you really going to tell Trip everything?” “Is that what you want? To humiliate me once again? Dumping me mere minutes before my ex-boyfriend’s wedding wasn’t enough for you? Now you want me to confess to my ex that I was so desperate to keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact that I made my best friend dress up and pretend to be you?” “Well, yes, actually,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “That’s exactly what I want.” Hmm… Risk public humiliation at the hands of my ex-boyfriend or face a two-million dollar lawsuit? The sort of quandary single girls everywhere must face on a daily basis. “Fine,” I say, trying to plaster a fake smile onto my face. “If I tell Trip everything and completely humiliate myself, will you then drop the lawsuit?” “Sure, Brooke,” he says, putting his hands behind his head. “Sure I will.” “Shake on it?” I ask, thrusting my hand out for him to shake. “I have a better idea,” Douglas says, and pulls my hand so that my body goes flying across his desk. I fall on top of his desk and try to use my other hand to get back up. “Now, this is more like it,” he says, leaning over me. “This is what I call a negotiation.” “You disgust me,” I say, pulling away and struggling to stand upright. I straighten my suit and spin on my heel. “You’ll come back, Brooke,” Douglas says as I walk out of his office. “You always do.”
Chapter Eight “Trip,” I say to my ex-boyfriend, “we need to talk.” We’re on the set of his latest film. You know—the one that’s starring his movie-star wife and is about a woman who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding? Yes, that’s the one. The one that’s all about my life.
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Long story. “I don’t have time to talk, Brooke,” he says, ever the uber-agent to the stars. “If you haven’t noticed, we’re trying to make a movie here.” “About that,” I say. “There’s something you need to know.” “Oh, no,” Trip says. “Has the screenplay been leaked on the Internet?” “No. Trip, listen to me. It’s about Douglas. Well, not Douglas, but… Okay, let me start over. Douglas—I mean, the person who you think is Douglas—isn’t Douglas. That’s why the real Douglas is suing us.” “What are you talking about, Brooke?” Trip says, putting down his clipboard and giving me his full attention. “Well, there was a Douglas. A Scottish guy I was living with. But we weren’t engaged when I told you we were—in fact, we were never engaged—and he broke up with me just seconds before your wedding. I didn’t know what to do. I had nowhere to live—thank goodness for Vanessa—and my life was turned upside down. You see, I thought that I had to go to your wedding with some gorgeous Scottish guy just to show you up, but now I realize that none of it really mattered.” “But you did bring a Scottish guy to my wedding,” Trip says, furrowing his brow. “You mean to tell me that you were able to find another Scottish guy to come with you to my wedding?” “Right,” I say, “about that. That was Jack, a friend of mine from work. He faked the accent. And the Scottish back story. And we rented the kilt. We even bought a fake engagement ring at a costume shop.” “You’re kidding me, right?” Trip says. “This has got to be a joke.” “It’s not,” I say, wishing that it was, in fact, a joke. “I brought Jack and he pretended to be Douglas. Everything worked out in the end because Jack and I ended up getting together and now we’re engaged for real, but that’s why Douglas is suing us. All of us.” “You’re serious about all this?” Trip says. “Yes,” I say slowly. “And now you know everything.” “Okay,” he says just as slowly. “But, what I don’t understand is why you did it. Why couldn’t you just tell me that you and Douglas broke up? I would have let you bring Jack to the wedding anyway if you wanted to.” “Well, we have always had a competitive relationship,” I say. “No, we didn’t, Brooke,” he says, grabbing my hand. “You could never really compete with me.” “Yes, well, anyway,” I continue, releasing my hand from his grasp. “The point is, I was trying to keep my dignity ever-so-slightly intact. I felt humiliated. And I thought that if I showed up alone, I’d be even more humiliated. Do you understand?” “Yes, of course I understand,” Trip says and throws a compassionate arm around my shoulder. “I would never want you to feel humiliated or like a loser.” “Just humiliated,” I say. “I said I’d be humiliated. I didn’t say loser.” “The point is,” Trip says, “you know I love you, Brooke, and I would never do anything to embarrass you or hurt you.”
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“Really?” I say. “That’s so sweet of you.” “Really, Brooke.” “That’s great to hear,” I say. “So, then the movie’s off?” “Oh, hell no,” Trip says and my mouth drops to the ground. “Are you kidding me? I finally have my hook. We’re going to make this thing a hilarious romantic comedy. I’m going to have my people put a call into Sandler.” “What?” “Adam Sandler in a kilt,” Trip says. “Non-stop hilarity!” “You’re still making the movie?” I say. “After everything you just said?” “Of course I am, Brooke.” “But what about not humiliating me?” I ask. “About never doing anything to hurt me?” “Well, Brooke,” Trip says, furrowing his brow as if he’s on an after-school special and is about to tell me the lesson I should have learned. “My grandfather always said that the only person who can embarrass you is you.” “Your grandfather was wrong.” “Now that I know everything,” Trip explains, “the movie finally has what it needs! So, it doesn’t even matter that there’s a massive lawsuit against us. It’s okay, because now I have a killer plot. And since this thing is going to be a huge blockbuster, the production company’s lawyers will even represent you, since you gave us all of this great material.” The lawsuit. I’d totally forgotten. In addition to the fact that I’ve been totally humiliated, there’s also a twomillion dollar lawsuit hanging over my head. I walk away from Trip and call Douglas from my cell phone. “I told him,” I say in the place of “hello.” “I told Trip everything, so now you can call off the lawsuit, just like you promised.” “You finally came clean?” Douglas asks. “Well, fuck me, I didn’t think you had the backbone to do it.” “Well, I did,” I say. “So, now it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain and call off your lawsuit. I want it called off against Trip, the movie studio, and me. Just drop the whole thing.” “Well, darling,” he says, “it’s not really that simple.” “Yes, Douglas, it is. You simply call your lawyers and tell them to drop it. Then they simply call the judge and it’s over. Simple.” “Well, I’m not going to drop it,” he says. “What do you mean?” I ask. “You promised.”
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“Well, I’ve had a change of heart,” he says. “The suit stays on.” “Then, I’ll sue you for breach of contract,” I say. “You made me an oral promise. I then acted in reasonable reliance on that promise and did something that I wouldn’t do otherwise. That makes what you promised me a legally binding contract.” See, I told you I was a good lawyer. “Save the legal mumbo jumbo, Brooke,” Douglas says. “I really couldn’t care less. And, anyway, I’m sure Trip will be delighted that the lawsuit’s still on. After all, it will be great publicity for the film.” I hang up the phone without saying goodbye and run over to the hair and make-up trailer to go find Jack and Vanessa. Walking through a film set is a surreal experience. And it’s not just because they have a mock-up of a New York City street right next to a mock-up of an elegant Los Angeles hotel. It’s because this film set is my life. Right across from the hotel, they’ve got my old office at Gilson, Hecht and Trattner (which is accurate down to the little stress ball that was always perched at the edge of my desk), and the SoHo apartment I used to share with Douglas. I’m sure that by tomorrow, they’ll be constructing a set of Vanessa’s Upper East Side apartment now that Trip knows the truth about what happened between Douglas and me, and how I had to move in with Vanessa after he kicked me out of our apartment. How different my life is now. I walk through the wardrobe department and see that they have a vintage Halston dress, one that’s exactly like the one that I wore to Trip and Ava’s wedding, just waiting to be worn. They also have a wedding dress for the actress who will be playing the bride. I walk over to the dress to get a closer look. It looks nothing like the actual dress that Ava wore to her wedding, but it’s beautiful all the same. The bodice has intricate double embroidered lace, covered in little pearls and tiny crystals. As I reach out to touch it, Vanessa calls out my name. “We’re going to find you a wedding dress that will be even more beautiful than this,” Vanessa says. And I know we will—Vanessa and my mom are taking me dress shopping next week and I can hardly wait. “Trip is still making the movie,” I say, “and Douglas isn’t dropping the lawsuit like he promised.” “Oh, who cares? Let Trip make his stupid movie and let Douglas have his stupid lawsuit. Your life will go on,” she says. And I actually believe her. For the first time since this mess began, I realize my life has nothing to do with this movie or the lawsuit. My life is about the people who love and support me most. The people who think that I’m fabulous no matter what. The people I feel the same way about. Vanessa motions to the hair and make-up trailer. “Let’s go.” “Hey,” Jack says, as he sits in a director’s chair, getting make-up airbrushed onto his face. Yes, after all he’s been through, I managed to wrangle him a little cameo in the movie. He’s playing Wedding Guest Number Five and I must say, he’s looking rather dashing today in his tuxedo. The one bright spot in the fact that Trip’s still making the movie. “Hey yourself,” I say, as Jack leans in for a kiss. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box. “I think you forgot something.” I open the box and see that Jack’s brought me my engagement ring. Not the fake one I wore to Trip’s wedding, but the real one. The ring that his grandfather gave to his grandmother when he came back from World War II.
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An ascher-cut diamond with regal trillions flanking it on either side and channel-set diamonds around the rest of the platinum band. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my whole life. I slip my ring back onto my finger. Where it belongs. And as I do, I realize that I shouldn’t have taken it off in the first place. And I never will again. “Are you sure that you want to marry a girl who’s going to be publicly humiliated next summer when Scot On The Rocks hits a theater near you?” I ask Jack. He smiles back at me. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
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Family Ever After by Linda Goodnight Ashley Harcourt isn't hiding—she's just taking a break from places where people know her name. Where they know her secrets. Once she's away from all that, she can truly start over and build a better life for herself. And her baby boy. But Ashley realizes there's no escaping her past when she runs into an old high school friend, Christopher Sullivan. Chris has never forgotten Ashley—or how much he loved her. Seeing her again, he's convinced God has given him a second chance, and he isn't going to let her walk away. But there's something she's keeping from him. Something that she thinks is so terrible not even God will forgive her….
Chapter One Ashley Harcourt finally had a handle on her life. Maybe. She hitched her baby boy higher on one hip and opened the wooden back gate leading through the colorful gardens between the cottages and the blacksmith shop. The metal clang of the smithy’s hammer echoed through the summer morning. A tiny thrill raced up Ashley’s arms as it did every day since beginning her internship at the Colonial Williamsburg Department of Research and Design. She loved everything about the historic town almost as much as she loved creating the clothes worn by the shopkeepers and tradesmen traversing the streets. Best of all, here in Williamsburg she was just another intern, not a notorious Harcourt from Chestnut Grove. Though the worst had died down, the unpleasant publicity hounding her family’s connection to the embattled Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency provided enough reason for Ashley to love the idea of a summer away. Chestnut Grove was only a few miles down the road, so she could be away from the scandal—both her family’s and that of her own making—yet remain close enough to see her family anytime she chose. Yes, here in Williamsburg, she could enjoy America’s past and hide from her own. The smithy’s hammering ceased. “Ashley?” a male voice called from somewhere behind her. Ashley stopped and whipped around, her long skirt circling her legs with fresh air. She’d only been here a week. Who could possibly be calling her name? A lean, muscular figure exited the open door of the blacksmith shop and came toward her, dusty black boots crunching softly on the glittering oyster shell path. Dressed in a leather apron over knee britches and a loose, muslin shirt opened at the throat, he looked like a blast from the past. The thought froze in her head as recognition dawned. He was a blast from the past. The near past. Hers. “Christopher?” she squeaked. The man she’d turned her back on when she’d been young and stupid was here, in Williamsburg.
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“It’s me,” he said, the familiar, crooked smile saying he was pleased to see her. So much for hiding from the past. “I saw you from the window,” he continued, motioning toward the blacksmith shop behind him. “Anyway, I thought it was you. What are you doing here in Williamsburg?” His green-as-spring gaze took in her long, colonial-style dress. From his behavior, it appeared he bore her no ill will. She just didn’t get that. Surely even Christians held grudges. Well, what did it matter one way or the other what he thought of her? A guy like Chris would have found a great wife by now who was as good as he was. No doubt, he barely remembered the short-lived relationship with Ashley Harcourt. He didn’t know it, but God had been looking out for him back then. She shifted the baby a little higher on one hip and said, “I’m interning in the fashion department.” With a smile, Chris held his arms out to the side. “So you’re the one making the interpreters’ duds?” “One of several. I’m still learning.” And until this moment, she’d thought the internship was the answer to her prayers. Guess not. “That’s great,” he said. Laugh lines, always present around his mouth and eyes, deepened. “So what are you doing here? I heard you became a minister.” “I did. A little church in modern Williamsburg not far from William and Mary, but you know how I always liked history. This is the best of both worlds. I can work on my masters’ thesis in historical trades, play with the forge and hammer and still take care of my church.” History was one of the things they’d had in common back at Tarkington, the elite private school they’d both attended, she because her parents were filthy rich and he because he was smart enough to get a scholarship. She’d always envied that brilliance. More than that, she’d envied his steadfast awareness of who he was and what he wanted out of life. Nothing ever shook Chris Sullivan. Faith and goodness emanated from him now as it did then. “That’s great.” She noticed he didn’t say one word about taking care of a family. Could someone like Chris still be single? A tiny flame of something akin to hope flickered in her chest, but she immediately doused it. Christopher was a nice guy. Good. Holy, even. And she was—well, she wasn’t holy, that was for certain. “So how have you been?” he asked. “Busy.” That was an understatement, considering the mess she’d made of her life. “You?” “Yep. Crazy busy, but it’s all good.” She wished she could say the same. “What time is your lunch? We can go to Chownings for root beer and barbeque and catch up.” Catch up? As nice as that sounded, she didn’t think so, given he was a minister and she was an unwed mother with a guilt complex bigger than a colonial hoop skirt. God may have forgiven her, but she was still working on forgiving herself.
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“I don’t know, Chris. Sometimes the past is better left alone.” If he knew the depth of her sin, a sin far greater than having a child out of wedlock, he wouldn’t even speak to her. His green eyes turned serious. “Friends don’t stop being friends because of a disagreement.” “You haven’t changed at all, have you?” He laughed. “Some. I hope for the better. So what do you say? Lunch later?” While she struggled for a kind but firm way out of a reunion lunch, Chris turned his attention to the baby. “And who’s this little guy?” As usual, she’d waited too long to do the right thing. Story of her life. Embarrassed heat rushed up the neck of her high lace collar, but she fought it off. She was ashamed of herself, but never of her baby. “This is Gabriel,” she said with quiet pride. “My son.” Something flickered in Chris’s expression as he glanced from the baby to her. But it wasn’t the censure she’d expected. “So you married the guy,” he said softly. Heart thudding, she hitched her chin. “No. Actually, I didn’t. He had other plans.” Denying any responsibility, Gabriel’s father had headed for Europe the day after discovering her pregnancy. According to his family, Ashley was a climber trying to lay claim to the family’s wealth and position. Had her own family not been wealthy, she could have understood their point. As it was, Roman’s behavior only proved how wrong she’d been to trust him in the first place. All the girls had wanted the new guy. He’d been exciting and wild, everything Chris wasn’t. She’d been flattered when the sophisticated heir to one of D.C.’s most prominent families cast his wandering eye and seductive smile in her direction. But no one had ever told her about men like Roman Fields. To Chris’s credit, he didn’t press for the ugly details, though he had to be curious. Instead, he took Gabriel’s reaching fingers and gave them a gentle shake. “Nice to meet you, little man.” Ashley’s heart squeezed as her baby displayed four front teeth in a wide grin. There was something undeniably beautiful about a child’s tiny hand wrapped around a man’s long fingers. Especially this man’s. The thought jerked her to her senses. She could not, would not, let herself think such things. Abruptly she said, “I have to go now.” As she deftly pried Gabriel’s fingers loose, her skin brushed Chris’s hand. The flutter in her belly was a warning she couldn’t deny. “Can’t be late for work. Sorry.” And she was. Sorry for all that she’d ruined. Sorry for the wrong she’d done. Sorry she’d lost all hope in the relationship department. Chris took one step back, his arms falling to his side. “Sure. Okay.”
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She could hear the disappointment and hated herself for putting it there. But common sense screamed for her to escape before she did something really stupid, like ask if he was married.
*** If Ashley had hit him in the face with a mud brick, he couldn’t have been more surprised. Or angry. Though heat billowed from the fire, and sweat ran down his face, Chris didn’t take a break from the forge. Ashley Harcourt, the girl he couldn’t forget—make that the woman he couldn’t forget—was back in his life. They’d lost touch when he’d graduated, considering she was with Roman, while he was the voice crying in the wilderness, scared of what a cad like Roman would do to a gentle, insecure girl like Ashley. Might as well admit the truth. He’d been jealous, too. He figured the Lord would understand if he wanted to punch the blue blood right out of Roman’s nose. Instead, he slammed the hammer down on the anvil with grim satisfaction. She’d changed, matured. There was a sad wisdom in her brown eyes that hadn’t been there in the old days. But she was still Ashley, the only woman he’d ever entertained any thoughts of marrying. From the first time he’d seen her in some funky looking vintage hat he’d been in love with her, though she hadn’t known it. He’d prayed a lot about her, especially after Roman came into the picture, and he finally decided he’d let his own will get in the way of God’s. Sometimes it was hard to tell the two apart. But now she was back. The idea gave him pause. He stopped, hands on hips, and stared out the window in the direction she’d gone. She was here, at least for the summer. So was he. That had to mean something.
Chapter Two “Ow!” Ashley stuck her index finger into her mouth and sucked hard. Milly, her boss, looked up from stitching a lace-edged cap. “Did you stick yourself with a needle again? What’s wrong today, Ashley? I’ve never seen you so fumble-fingered.” Then with a sly smile, the middleaged woman added, “wouldn’t be that handsome smithy I saw you talking to, would it?” Ashley’s nerve endings jittered. She’d thought of little else all morning. It seemed as if every time she started making progress in her life, something came along to knock her backward. No, that wasn’t fair, nor was it correct. Chris Sullivan had been a good friend. He’d never done a thing to cause her pain. She’d caused her own problems. Didn’t the bible say she had to reap whatever she’d sown? And she had sown some very bad seed. “Chris is an old friend,” she said simply. “That’s good.” Milly hitched a square chin toward the door just as the bell jangled overhead. “Because here he comes.” This time Ashley’s stomach jumped into her throat. Chris had discarded the tradesman’s apron but he still wore seventeenth-century garb, as was required of all who worked in the town. His dark brown hair was slicked back and caught at the nape in a very short ponytail. She wondered what his congregation thought of that.
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“It’s lunchtime,” he announced without preliminaries. “Right, Milly?” The designer glanced at the watch pinned to her gingham bodice. “That it is, young man.” “Then you won’t mind if I escort Miss Harcourt to Chownings. We have some catching up to do.” Milly eyed him over the rim of her skinny little bifocals. “Only if you promise to bring her back by one. Patrick Henry expects his new waistcoat today.” Chris chuckled. “Far be it from me to upset the fiery Mr. Henry. I’ll have her back in time.” He aimed a challenging grin at Ashley. “Grab whatever you need, and I’ll get the little guy.” While Ashley grappled for bearings, he went straight to the playpen. Gabriel held up chubby arms and babbled happily as Chris scooped him up. “Chris, I can’t.” She didn’t need the grief or the reminders of what an idiot she’d been. Still was. “Can’t what? Eat?” By now Gabriel had latched on to Chris’s ear. “Is this a medical problem I should know about? Everyone eats.” He gave Gabriel a little bounce. “Isn’t that right, champ?” When Gabriel laughed, Ashley cracked a smile. “There’s nothing wrong with my appetite.” “That’s a relief. Sickly women scare me.” Chris scooped an old-fashioned diaper bag onto his opposite arm and started toward the door with her baby. When she didn’t move, he said, “Are you coming or is it just me and the little guy for lunch?” The man had certainly changed from a docile, studious youth to a strong, forceful man. And the difference was rather thrilling. “You’d kidnap my son?” A dimple flashed in his right cheek. “Want to find out?” “I might stand right here and see if you would do it.” He opened the door. Gabriel looked at her, puzzled for a moment, and then he waved bye-bye. Christopher burst out laughing. “I think he likes me.” So did she. That was the trouble. Ashley studied his teasing expression for two beats before making up her mind. Chris was a friend. They were far enough away from Chestnut Grove to keep him from discovering her shameful secret, and right now she could use a good friend. “All right,” she sniffed, fighting the urge to laugh, too. “Anything to protect my son.” Behind her, Milly snorted. Knowing her boss’s propensity for romance novels and soap operas, Ashley let that slide right by. She needed friends, not a matchmaker. Later, she’d make it clear that there was nothing but friendship going on between her and Chris. As they stepped out on the boardwalk, Christopher offered his elbow. Ashley shook her head. “You have an old-fashioned diaper bag on there. I think that’s probably enough.” Instantly, he shifted both baby and bag to one arm. “What’s your excuse now, Miss Harcourt?”
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She batted her eyelashes at him playfully. “And they say chivalry is dead.” His answer was a cocky grin. She slid one hand into the crook of his elbow, the blacksmith’s muscles strong beneath her fingertips. As they strolled along Duke of Gloucester Street, Chris kept up a joking commentary on the peculiarities of the various shopkeepers. Christopher had always known how to make her laugh, had always been there to listen. For the first time in a long while, she felt relaxed and carefree again. A summer in the company of an old friend, far from the gossip of Chestnut Grove, might be a good thing after all. Catching up didn’t have to include everything. When they reached Chownings, tourists crowded the century-old eating establishment. In costume, she and Chris were obliged to act the part wherever they went. Chris was far better at it than she, doing so with grace, humor and amazing historical accuracy. “You’re good at this,” she said when they were finally alone. “Thanks. Do you like my ponytail?” He patted it. “It’s new this summer.” “Charming. But it’s the buckled shoes that really grabbed me.” Humor sparkled in his green eyes. “That’s what all the women say. Wait until I don my tri cornered hat. Turns me into a regular chick magnet.” They both laughed, but Ashley realized Chris was a chick magnet. He hadn’t been in school, but that was because of the snob mentality which deemed him unworthy because he didn’t come from a prominent family. Even then she’d recognized the lie in that. Chris had been worth more than all the money in that school. She just wished she’d realized it sooner. The waitress came and they ordered sandwiches. When she left, Chris laced his fingers together on the table top. “All right now. Talk time. Where have you been? What have you been doing?” She glanced at Gabriel in his highchair. “Well, I had a baby. Obviously.” She gave a nervous laugh, expecting to be judged somehow less because of that. “He’s a happy baby. You must be a great mom.” Considering how bad a mother she’d once been, his compliment buoyed her. “Thanks. I’m trying.” “Raising a baby alone can’t be easy.” “It isn’t, but my parents help out some.” She handed the baby a toy to keep him occupied. “So tell me about you? I thought you’d be a missionary in India by now.” “Those were my plans. The Lord had others. My mom was diagnosed with lupus, so I needed to stay close to home.” “I’m sorry. I hope she’s doing okay.” Chris was all about family. “Mom’s tough. She’s doing pretty well.” “What about your brothers? I thought they lived in Williamsburg, too.” “Mark does, but Sean’s in the military. Mark has four kids, including a set of triplets. I figured he had his hands full.”
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She widened her eyes in pretend horror. “No kidding. One is a handful for me most of the time. Are you sorry you didn’t make it to the mission fields?” “Not even a little. The Lord showed me something pretty cool. There are mission fields everywhere, even here in Williamsburg. And He’s such a good God. As soon as I made the decision to stay home, a new church plant opened up and asked me to take over the pastorate. It’s small but growing so I’m bi-vocational for now. And even that’s a good thing—a gift—because I can work here doing something else I love.” “So everything worked out perfectly for you.” He gave her a quizzical look. “Not everything. No luck yet finding the perfect woman. But I have a feeling God’s not finished in that department.” Ashley let the sentence soak into her consciousness. For his sake, she hoped he didn’t mean what she thought he meant, but just in case, she didn’t ask. Instead she said, “I’m a Christian now, too.” Saying the words still felt odd, but odd in a good way. “I knew there was something different about you. Besides being a new mom.” “Is it a good difference or a bad difference?” “Definitely good. You’re more confident. More peaceful. Grown up, I guess.” If only he knew how scared she was all the time. “When I was pregnant with Gabriel, I remembered what you’d told me about Jesus, about how He loves us even though we’ve messed up. Then I had some problems after Gabriel was born.” Some of which she prayed he’d never heard about. Christopher’s eyes flared alarm. “Are you okay?” “Oh sure. I’m fine now.” Physically, anyway. “But the crisis opened my eyes and I gave my life over to Him. I figured He could run it a lot better than I had.” “This is awesome, Ash. The best news ever.” Though she’d expected nothing less from Chris, she felt a little self-conscious. She might be a Christian, but she was far from perfect like Chris. “It’s all still new, but I know I made the right choice.” “Yeah. Absolutely.” He leaned forward as though he wanted to touch her but instead kept his elbows on the rough-hewn wooden table. The deep spirituality that had marked him as a target for both ridicule and respect at Tarkington flowed from him. He had always had a passion for God that she was only just now beginning to understand. “You don’t know how happy that makes me,” he said. “And all that time whenever I talked about Jesus, you acted bored.” “Not bored, really. Uncomfortable and puzzled. I just didn’t get it. But I was listening, too. You had something none of the rest of us had. A sense of purpose, a sense of who you were and what you wanted out of life.” “Oh, I had my doubts at times, especially at Tarkington.”
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“You?” “Sure. It’s not easy being the odd man out.” “I suppose not.” In truth, she’d never considered how difficult it must have been for him. He’d never complained, but he’d also never had the money for the kinds of clothes and car and entertainment the rest of them enjoyed. She’d had all that but still lacked the one thing he did have: happiness. “So what are your big plans for the future?” She hitched one shoulder. “To raise my son and hopefully to work my way into the head designer’s job here someday. I’m entering the Independence Day contest with some of my best work. If I can win that, I’ll automatically be invited to stay on as an apprentice.” The Independence Day Committee was holding a design contest this year in conjunction with the usual celebrations. Quilts, clothing, hats and any number of other stitched goods could be submitted by contestants around the globe. The prize winner could choose between a cash prize or an apprenticeship with the museum. Ashley wanted the coveted apprenticeship badly. “You always did have a sense of style.” Chris tilted back in his chair, fingers absently rubbing the condensation from his root beer bottle. “I remember some of the outfits you put together. The floppy old hats and scarves and crazy color combinations you wore. A total individualist.” She’d been dying for attention while trying to hide the scared, confused Ashley behind her crazy costumes. She understood that now. “When your sister is a beautiful model that everyone goes ga-ga over, you have to do something to stand out.” “You’re every bit as beautiful as Samantha.” “I wasn’t fishing for a compliment.” “Take it anyway. You always did sell yourself short.” “And you were the nicest guy on campus.” “Well, you know what they say about nice guys,” he joked. “Last place.” She laughed. “Not true. Look at you.” A funny expression crossed his face, but before he could say more, the waitress brought their food. Gabriel slapped the top of his highchair and made excited baby noises. “Don’t you ever feed this kid?” Chris softened the question with a grin. “Trust me, he eats all the time. He loves food.” As was evidenced by his chubby cheeks and thrashing legs. “Even those?” Chris gave a pretend shudder as he pointed at a bowl of English peas. “Poor kid. Mind if I give him a French fry?” “You’ll be his best friend forever if you do.”
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“Can’t beat a deal like that.” He dipped the potato in ketchup and offered it to the wiggling child. “What about us, Ashley? Are we sill friends?” “I hope so.” Friends, she could handle. “Cool. Very cool. Mind if I say grace?” “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.” She folded her hands on the tabletop and closed her eyes. After the quiet prayer, Chris winked at her. Then he popped a French fry into his mouth while handing another to Gabriel. Some of the tension left Ashley’s shoulders. If Christopher only had friendship in mind, he was safe…and so was her secret. They’d both be just fine for a summer.
Chapter Three Christopher didn’t know how much longer he could keep up the charade. After two weeks of finding excuses to see her, he was going a little crazy. But Ashley still held part of herself aloof, as though she was afraid of letting him get too close. Like a butterfly in one of Williamsburg’s glorious gardens, she flitted just out of his reach. She liked him. He was certain of that, but frankly, friendship wasn’t enough. Smiling ruefully, he shook his head. Friends. What had he been thinking when he’d said such a goofball thing? He had lots of friends. He wanted a wife. He wanted Ashley. He wanted to be her white knight whether she needed one or not—the man she looked to, the man she needed in her life. And this time he refused to be the odd man out, the kid who didn’t fit. Here they were on equal footing. He clicked the lock on the blacksmith shop and crossed the short distance to Ashley’s cozy cottage. Last night, he’d weaseled an invitation to her place for spaghetti. Tonight it was lasagna. She was a horrible cook, but he would have eaten dirt and asked for seconds to see her smile. He’d also promised his unbiased opinion on the historical gown she was hand-stitching for the July Fourth contest. Never mind that he was completely ignorant on the matter—he’d use any excuse to spend time with Ashley and little Gabriel. Behind the heavy drapes of her living quarters, a light glowed. He lifted his knuckles to knock but before he could, Ashley yanked the door open. “Get in here, quick.” She plucked his shirt sleeve and tugged him inside. He cast a furtive look behind him. ”Don’t tell me. The British are coming—again.” “No, silly, I want to show you something.” She pointed to Gabriel, who stood hanging on to the couch, fat knees bobbing up and down in a baby dance. In a very short period of time, the little boy’s constant smile and sweet nature had easily won him over, and it hadn’t taken much. He was a sucker for kids. Ashley motioned him toward the couch where she went down on her haunches in front of the baby and held out both arms. “Come to Mama, sugar pie.” Gabriel’s bouncing stopped while he considered the request, but he didn’t turn loose of the couch. Ashley tried again. “Come on, baby. Show Chris what a big boy you are. Walk to Mommy.”
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Still the baby didn’t budge. The situation would have been funny if Ashley hadn’t looked so disappointed. “He took some steps not five minutes ago, and now he won’t do it.” Chris squatted down and held out his arms. “Come on, champ. Show off for your Mama.” To his surprise, Gabe’s eyes lit up and he stretched one hand in Chris’s direction, hanging onto the couch with the other. In the next instant, he let go completely and toddled two steps into Chris’s waiting arms. “He did it, he did it,” Ashley squealed. Chris knew exactly how she felt. Clasping Gabriel to his chest and laughing, he pivoted toward the excited mommy. With a whoop, she threw her arms around both the baby and him. Reflexively, he pulled her close. The next thing he knew he was drowning in eyes as soft as brown velvet. Was it his nearness that sent her pulse tick-ticking against her collarbone? Or the thrill of seeing her baby walk? Just in case it was both, he murmured, “Ash.” The corners of her lips tilted upward. She didn’t move away, just held his gaze with hers. And in that sweet, celebratory moment, Chris knew that this was meant to be his family. He, Ashley and Gabriel. But before it could happen, he needed a small miracle. He needed Ashley to love him, too. Ashley felt the rumble of Christopher’s merry laughter give way to the steady thud-thud of his heartbeat. This close, the gentle scent of shower soap and the strength of arms that wielded a smithy’s hammer were a powerful combination—and a reminder that Chris might be a friend, but he was also a man. She started to pull away, but Chris held fast. “Ash,” he said again, eyes searching hers, sculpted smile questioning. He wanted to kiss her. Not good. Not good at all. Especially since she struggled with the longing to place her palm against his strong, square jaw and let him. But she liked him too much to go there. That was the trouble. She liked him way too much to ruin his life with the scandal that surrounded her. Gently, so as not to hurt his feelings more, she transferred her arms from Chris to her son, putting the focus on Gabriel. Chris got the message and tilted back on his heels, still watching her. While she fiddled with Gabriel’s downy blond curls, Chris spoke quietly. “I have a confession to make.” Her gaze flicked up to his and back down to her son. “Sounds serious.” “Remember a few weeks ago when I said I wanted us to be friends?” Her fingers stilled. “Yes.”
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“That wasn’t exactly true.” Ashley’s heart skipped a beat. Either Chris had judged her and found her wanting, or worse, he hadn’t. Either way, she was in trouble. She opted for what she deserved—judgment. “It’s okay. I understand.” “I don’t think you do.” Chris’s voice remained soft, the tone mesmerizing. The muscles in Ashley’s shoulders, already stiff from hours over a needle and thread, bunched to a spasm. Gabriel wiggled loose and crawled onto Chris’s knee. As if he hardly noticed his actions, Chris bounced the baby up and down. Ashley cast around for something to say but her brain, like a drained battery, no longer functioned. “Friendship is a good start, Ash,” Chris said. “And I want that for us. But I want more.” The skittering pulse stopped and restarted. “I don’t understand.” Or maybe she did. And the idea scared her out of her mind. Regardless of her feelings or of his, what he wanted was impossible…. “Here’s the deal.” Strong, calloused fingers found hers and squeezed. “I let you get away once before. I’d be a fool to let it happen again.” Fighting off a futile surge of hope, Ashley shook her head. Chris the Christian, the nice guy turned minister, hadn’t a clue what he was talking about. She was no prize. She wasn’t the same innocent girl he’d known at Tarkington. As much as she liked him, she couldn’t let him do this to himself. She tried to tease away the seriousness. “Oh, no you don’t, Christopher Sullivan. No fair changing the rules mid game.” “I’m serious, Ashley.” “Get real. You have a ton of women sending messages your way every day. I’ve seen them in the blacksmith shop, on the streets. You don’t need me.” He drew in a ragged breath and blew it out. The puff of air stirred Gabe’s curls. The baby gurgled. “Wrong. I do need you.” Yeah, like he needed to stick his hand into an open fire. She was stuck between telling a lie—which was a sin—and moving their relationship into a new realm, which would also be a sin. She didn’t know what to do. “I care about you, Chris. It’s just that…” His mouth formed a hard line. “What? My bank account’s not big enough for a Harcourt?” “No.” She grabbed his shirt collar. “Don’t think that. Don’t ever think that. I’m worried about you, not me.” “Worried about me? Why? What are you talking about?” Dismayed to have blurted out the worry, she tilted away and grew quiet. “I have a baby, Chris. You’re a pastor.”
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His expression went rock hard. “So?” She flushed red hot. “Don’t be naïve. It matters.” “Not to me. The way I look at it, everyone makes mistakes. Some are just more obvious than others.” He glanced down at the baby on his knees. “And to tell the truth, it’s kind of hard to look at this little guy and even think the word mistake.” “I know,” she said softly. Gabriel wasn’t a mistake, but she had made plenty that Christopher didn’t know about. “I just think we’d be better off as friends, that’s all.” If only he knew how despicable she really was, he wouldn’t even want that much. “Don’t you believe in second chances?” Couldn’t he see how damaging a relationship with her could be to his career as a minister? “I don’t think so.” “What about the second chance Christ gave you?” “That’s different.” “Is it?” he asked. She didn’t know. Eyes narrowed in thought as though some grand scheme took shape inside his brilliant mind, Christopher said, “Give me the rest of the summer to prove you wrong.” When she hesitated, torn between what she wanted and what she knew was best, he laughed and tapped her on the chin. “A couple of months. That’s all I’m asking. I might be worth it.” Oh, he was worth it all right. But was she?
*** The sun moved toward the western horizon and in the near distance on the square, the drum and fife corps warmed up for the evening march through town. Ashley slid the diaper bag onto the handle of Gabriel’s stroller while Chris lowered the baby into the seat. Her son chattered and kicked as if he’d been waiting all day for Christopher’s company. She could totally understand the feeling. On the days she didn’t see him, which were few, life felt flat and gray. In civilian clothes, as they jokingly called jeans and T-shirts, they headed out of the old section of Williamsburg, past William and Mary College toward modern Williamsburg. Ashley was playing with fire and she knew it, but like some kind of warped personality, she couldn’t seem to resist Chris’s gentle courtship. He didn’t push hard, but he did push. Showing up at odd moments to whisk her off for a stroll through the gardens or for a refreshing soda—or times like these when he came by after work with the offer to walk her and Gabriel to the town park. Dating was difficult with a baby tagging along and she figured that was a good thing. She didn’t date. Couldn’t date. But Chris never let Gabriel’s presence bother him. In fact, he seemed to enjoy her son. And to tell the truth, her heart melted at the sight of this big, strong but gentle man who gave her son the masculine attention he craved.
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Gabriel needed a father. A father like Chris. She shook her head to dispel the thought. Chris had asked for the summer and she’d give him that. She’d give herself that. But from there, they had no future. Here in Williamsburg for the summer only, he and his career as minister were safe from her sins. Outside this town, her mistakes were waiting like hungry wolves to hurt everyone.
Chapter Four Ashley stood back to admire the glorious handcrafted dress she’d designed for the contest. Made of watered silk, only the wealthiest planter’s wife could have worn this in the eighteenth century. This was her masterpiece, and after weeks of painstaking work both in the shop and at home, the rich burgundy gown was completed. “It’s perfect, Ashley,” Milly said from her spot at the design table. “You’ve done an excellent job.” Ashley fussed with the lace sleeves. “Do you think it has a chance to win?” “As good a chance as any other.” Milly pushed her wire rims higher on her nose. “Are you wearing it to the Garden Party after the judging?” Ashley nodded. Each year on July Fourth, a garden party was held at the Governor’s Palace. Employees and interns were requested to attend in full colonial dress to create the perfect atmosphere for the tourists. “I designed a cute little suit for Gabriel, too.” “What about your young blacksmith?” “Milly, you are hopeless.” And so was she. Sometimes she wondered why God brought Chris back into her life now, when she’d destroyed any hope of them being together for more than the summer. “Christopher is not my anything.” “Well, he wants to be, so wake up. He’s a catch.” With a roll of her eyes, Ashley draped the carefully folded gown over the shade of Gabriel’s buggy and started out the door. As much as she’d like to talk to someone about Chris, about the terrible confusion inside her, Milly was not the person. Since Gabriel’s birth, she and her sister had been close enough to talk. Though Samantha was on a modeling assignment in South Africa, maybe she’d give her a call tonight anyway. She needed some advice badly. “Talk to you later, Milly. I have to get this dress up to the ballroom before five.” She pushed out into the muggy July afternoon with Gabriel fast asleep. Though the sun shone brightly, thunder rumbled in the distance like an empty train. Hesitating, Ashley cast a cautious eye to the clouds. Water would ruin the gown, but unless her entry arrived on time, she hadn’t a chance of winning. One disadvantage of Colonial living was the lack of modern conveyance at times like this. After a minute of indecision, she pressed on, hurrying down the street. Most evenings this week thunder had rumbled but they’d had no rain. Today would likely be the same. Three blocks into the walk, she was calling herself an idiot. The wind picked up and the sky darkened. A block later, fat drops of rain splattered the top of her head. Frustration and dismay mounted with each hurried step.
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After making certain Gabriel was covered, she flipped open her umbrella, held it close to the gown and pushed the buggy faster. Like always, she’d made the wrong decision and now she’d suffer the consequence. She glanced behind her, considered turning back. She’d already passed all the open businesses but the palace was still some distance. Wheeling around, she headed toward an eatery one block away and directly into the now driving rain. Everyone with any sense had already ducked inside the shops and open buildings. Leave it to her to be caught out in a cloudburst. Holding the umbrella like a shield, she pushed forward, blinded to all but the next step. By now, Gabriel was awake and howling. Water sluiced off the edge of the umbrella into her face, onto the buggy and the voluminous silk skirt. Tears prickled the back of her eyelids. Sometimes she hated herself. She could do the stupidest things. Even God must think she was stupid today. “Ashley!” Out of nowhere, Christopher appeared in front of her and in the next moment a canvas tarp blocked the rain. “Chris, what are you doing out in this?” “Rescuing the damsel in distress, I hope.” He guided them, tarp aloft like a giant kite, down the street and into the restaurant. “I’ve always wanted to add that to my resume. Minister, blacksmith, knight in shining armor. Kind of has a ring to it, huh?” Normally, his joke would have made her laugh and she would have replied in kind. Not this time. She was too busy hating herself. Once inside the old building, Ashley bent to soothe the startled baby and examine the burgundy gown. All the while, she fought tears. “I should have known better than to chance it. I’m so stupid sometimes.” Reaching around her to take Gabriel, Chris frowned. “Why do you do that?” “What? Tell the truth? That I’m a total mess-up?” “Everyone messes up occasionally, Ashley. Cut yourself some slack. No one expected a cloudburst. I sure didn’t.” He hitched his chin toward a table. “Come on. Let’s sit until this blows over.” She left the elegant dress draped inside Gabriel’s carriage. “This is probably ruined now anyway.” “Maybe not. But if it is, would that be the end of the world?” He settled into a chair with Gabriel on his lap. The baby snuggled into Chris’s chest and closed his eyes. “No, I suppose not, but I wanted to win that contest.” Still, Chris was right. It wasn’t the end of the world. A spark of the ridiculous struck her as she cast a baleful glance toward the water-sprinkled dress. “I learned one thing from this. Watered silk does not really need watering.” “That’s my girl. Turn that frown upside down.” The corners of Chris’s eyes crinkled at the childish rhyme. “Do you have anything else to enter?” She shrugged. “Nothing that has a chance. I designed a fancy outfit for Gabriel, waistcoat and britches, everything, but it’s not as elaborate as the gown.” “It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?” She had little hope for winning now, but the contest was still an opportunity to get her work in front of interested people.
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“Well, maybe.” Her spirits lifted the slightest bit. Leave it to Chris to encourage her this way. No wonder she’d fallen in love with him. Her heart stuttered and stopped, then started again. She loved a man of God, a man who needed a perfect wife, a wife with a clean slate. She wondered if God was angry at her for even considering such a thing. “There you go, then,” Chris was saying. “When the rain passes, if the gown is too damaged, we’ll get Gabriel’s duds and head on over to the palace.” He glanced out the window at the brightening sky. “I stopped by your shop to ask you about the Garden Party this Saturday. Maybe we could go together.” Ashley didn’t hesitate. She’d promised him the summer. And even though there was no hope for them beyond this, she wanted to be with him now. “Don’t we both have to attend anyway?” she said, teasing her way past the band of worry determined to strangle the joy of loving. One masculine hand slapped the spot above his heart. “Ouch. There went my ego. A few minutes ago I was your white knight.” He still was. Always would be. “Do you still want us to come to church with you on Sunday?” “Yes, and no backing out now. I’ve already told my friends that I’m bringing someone very special.” She had yet to hear him preach, though he’d asked her several times. This Sunday, a special Independence Day celebration was planned with fellowship afterward. The idea of meeting his congregation gave her the jitters but she’d promised. She breathed a secret prayer that no one in the congregation would recognize her name.
*** Within the walled confines of the Governor’s Palace, music from a stringed quartet lilted over the lush, green maze of boxwood and the vibrant flower gardens. Interpreters in fancy dress milled about, chatting eighteenth century business with one another and the guests who had paid handily for the honor of attending the formal party. Ashley wore the silk gown, and to Chris she was the most beautiful woman in the gardens. He knew she was disappointed about the contest and so was he. If she’d won, he could guarantee keeping her in Williamsburg for longer than a summer. Now, there was only one way to keep her here. She cared for him. He was sure of it, but each time he tried to move their relationship closer to commitment, she backed away. Something bothered her. He wished she’d trust him enough to confide in him. Somehow, someway, he’d break down the wall that separated them. He’d prayed all week about tonight and tomorrow, when she’d promised to attend church. He was certain once she met his friends and congregation, she would see how well she fit in, how much she could enjoy the life here, and how much he needed her at his side. Tonight and always. He took two glasses of foamy punch and moved through the murmuring crowd to her side. “Beautiful lady,” he said, offering a glass. “Flatterer.” But she beamed at the compliment. “You’re looking very handsome yourself.” He stroked four fingers over his embroidered weskit. “I happen to know the town’s best seamstress. She makes me look good.” “Really? And who might this talented lady be?”
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He leaned closer, loving the golden flecks in her brown eyes. “If you and your handsome son would care to accompany me around the lawns, I might be persuaded to tell you.” They both chuckled softly at the silliness and began to stroll the narrow pathways through the enormous gardens. When he reached for Ashley’s hand, she slid hers easily into his. Such a simple act and yet he loved holding her hand, touching her soft skin, being with her. He wondered if she had any idea how much her quiet laugh and gentle insights meant to him. When he shared his dreams, she encouraged and admired. When he shared his worries, she listened. Yes, he loved Ashley Harcourt, a girl some would call out of his league, but he knew God was the great equalizer. Their shared faith was enough. The palace gardens encompassed several acres and before he realized it, they were deep inside the elaborate holly maze. “A person could get lost in here.” “Would that be so bad?” he asked. Her smile was his answer, so they settled on a bench in a verdant nook and talked as night fell around them. Lanterns were struck and the flicker of gas lights lit the evening with a romantic glow. And they talked on. Chris felt a contentment tonight that had been missing in his life. Ashley and Gabriel gave him new purpose. “We can watch the fireworks from here,” Ashley said, “if Gabriel cooperates.” Though he’d been awake most of the evening, the baby now slept, his long eyelashes shadowed on chubby cheeks. “Sounds good to me.” The fireworks were on the palace green in front of the palace. “As far as I’m concerned we can stay here forever.” “Why, Mr. Sullivan. You would compromise my honor by keeping me out here alone forever?” Though Ashley joked, Chris didn’t. “No, ma’am. I’d never do anything to compromise you in any way.” He turned to face her, pulling her hands into his. “I was going to wait until summer’s end to do this, but I’ve been waiting for you for years. I love you, Ashley.” She touched his cheek. “I know.” He held his breath, waiting. Would she finally admit what he knew was true? That she loved him, too? Her answer came in a rustle of silk as she slid her arms around his neck and moved closer. Her soft breath mingled with his until he thought he’d die of waiting. “I love you, too, Chris, but—” He cut her off with a kiss. Tonight he wanted no buts, only the joyous knowledge that she loved him.
Chapter Five Ashley awakened with a sense of hope so powerful she slid to her knees beside the bed and said a prayer of thanks. Last night, she’d told Chris all that was on her heart. For once, she couldn’t avoid the truth and hadn’t wanted to. He deserved to know how lovable and wonderful he was. So she’d told him. She’d told him how
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happy he made her and how he filled her heart with plans and hopes and dreams. She’d admitted how she admired and respected him and how much she’d grown in her faith just from spending time with him. And she’d pledged her love. Part of her wanted to laugh and sing and shout from the courthouse balcony the good news. The sensible part of her was scared silly. They were in love, and for now, that was enough. But would marriage be down the road? Could she take that chance? Chris kept telling her everything would work out, and he was so smart. Maybe he was right. Maybe she could move past her mistakes. Maybe God had forgiven her enough. Now, sitting in his church, she watched her love in the pulpit, saw his eyes twinkle when he looked her way, and felt more special than she ever had in her life. Pastor Christopher Sullivan loved her. When the service ended, he made his way through the small congregation to her side. Friendly faces gathered round to meet her. Though Christopher introduced her only as “my friend, Ashley,” the parishioners smiled knowingly. Anyone watching them could see they were in love. It shone from her eyes like noonday sun. Chris hoisted Gabriel onto one shoulder and placed his hand at her elbow, guiding her down a short hall to the fellowship room. A handful of church members ambled alongside, chit-chatting. Some discussed the sermon, others asked about Gabriel, and still others discussed yesterday’s Independence Day celebrations. They smiled and talked to her, not one of them suspicious or cold in any way. Ashley breathed a prayer of thanks for the warm welcome. Maybe the dream was possible after all. Ladies of the church bustled about setting out covered dishes and preparing the tables. Their good humored chatter blended with the clatter of pans and spoons and scraping chairs. Two teenage girls begged to play with Gabriel and carried him away like a special toy. With Christopher deep in conversation with one of his elders, Ashley stepped into the kitchen section where the warm scent of fried chicken hovered in the air like ministering angels. “This room smells fabulous,” she said and then laughed along with the others, feeling better by the minute. “How can I help?” A redhead with glasses looked up from the oven. “You could start filling cups with ice. Or slice the pies and cakes if you’d like.” Ashley dove in, happy to be useful and accepted. “There sure is a lot of food here.” A grandmotherly lady with rosy cheeks said, “Sure is, honey. Pastor Chris has a thing about feeding the needy. Well, we all do, but you know how he is.” The other ladies looked at her with smiling speculation. “What Margie means,” said the redhead, “is this. After our fellowship, the real work begins. We pack carryout trays, load up the van and take dinner to all the shut-ins we know of and the rest goes to the shelter down by the free clinic. Pastor does a lot of ministry work down there.” For half a minute, Ashley was transported back in time to the day of Gabriel’s birth at the free clinic. A cold wave of anxiety washed over her. Would Chris expect her to go down there? Would she be recognized? “Honey, you’re the color of wallpaper paste. Are you okay?” Margie took Ashley’s arm and guided her to a chair. A fashionable woman near her age, who’d said little, thrust a glass of iced tea into her hands. With a self-conscious laugh, Ashley said, “I’m all right. It’s just so warm in here.”
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“Hotter than the Fourth of July,” Margie joked, swiping at her brow. With the bit of humor, Ashley’s uncomfortable moment passed but she couldn’t shake the feeling that disaster waited like a crouching tiger. When the meal was served, Ashley, nerves still jittery, sat at a long, plastic-covered table next to Chris and picked at her potato salad. The fashionable young woman, whose name was Paige, sat across from them. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize Paige was interested in the handsome young pastor. A twinge of jealousy caught Ashley by surprise and she doubled her efforts to talk to the woman. “Have you attended Crosspoint long?” she asked. “A while.” Paige smiled, but she looked at Ashley with an odd expression. “Something about you seems so familiar. What did you say your last name is?” Ashley swallowed a new attack of nerves. “Harcourt. I’m not from this area.” “Harcourt. Harcourt.” Paige tapped a fingernail on the table edge and stared. “You aren’t related to the man over in Chestnut Grove that used to run the adoption agency, are you?” Ashley’s jitters turned to knee-knocking anxiety. Area newspapers had been filled with the story for months. “He was my grandfather.” “We all read about that. Ashley and her folks had no idea what her grandfather was doing,” Chris said over a fork of baked beans. “No, we didn’t. No one is sorrier than we are for all the problems he caused.” Her grandfather Barnaby Harcourt had falsified birth records and basically bought and sold babies through the years. She shuddered to think his blood flowed through her veins. Some would call her a chip off the old block. “I remember reading about that one girl, Kelly something I think,” Paige went on. “Fascinating story. She and her birth mother had been living in the same town all those years and neither of them knew it.” Ashley wanted to change the subject, but her mind had frozen in fear. “And then the mayor’s wife tried to kill her so no one would discover that the mayor himself had fathered the girl and paid Barnaby Harcourt to get rid of her.” Paige gave a happy shiver. “It was better than a soap opera. You remember reading it don’t you, Chris?” She cast baby blues at Chris—whose expression had darkened. “And then if that wasn’t enough, someone found an abandoned baby on the doorstep, and he turned out to belong to one of the Harcourts.” The moment the words flew out of her mouth, Paige pretended to be surprised. She laid a manicured hand over her mouth and stared at Ashley. “That wasn’t you, was it?” Ashley knew she’d been set up. Paige had known all along. Shaking all over, she glanced at Chris. The shock on his face was all she needed to see. With as much grace as she could muster with her whole world crumbling, she said, “Excuse me. I need to change my son.” “Ashley?” Chris shoved back from the table. “Wait.” But she couldn’t. Grabbing Gabriel without explanation, she hurried out of the building and hailed a taxi. The worst had happened. Christopher now knew her darkest shame. Worse, she had embarrassed him in front of his congregation. Shame was a tidal wave, sweeping her back to that frightening time when she’d made the worst mistake of her life. No excuse was ever enough to justify the sin she’d committed the day
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she’d left Gabriel on the doorstep of Tiny Blessings Adoption Agency. How could she expect Christopher to understand? She didn’t understand herself. “Where to, Miss?” the cabbie asked. Her summer of hope and love was over. She’d known all along she couldn’t have Chris. She’d even known better than to attend his church. Still, for that shining moment last night, she’d almost believed things would work out the way Chris promised. But life didn’t work that way. Some things couldn’t be forgiven. Might as well face the end and be done with it. Christopher didn’t need a woman like her in his life. “Chestnut Grove,” she replied, gave her parents’ address, and, gripping her baby tightly, let the tears come.
*** At dusk, Ashley sat in the shady garden patio alongside her parents’ pool. After explaining what had transpired with Chris, she wanted to be alone. Mother had Gabriel inside while Ashley tried to pray but she was too depressed. Tomorrow was soon enough to make a decision about her internship. The patio door slid open but she didn’t turn around. “I’ll take him now, Mother, if you’re tired.” No answer. She twisted around in her chair and her heart dipped low. She might have known he would come. Chris wasn’t a man to leave loose ends. “I don’t want to talk.” “Too bad. I do.” He scraped a chair over the cobblestones and parked it beside hers. “After you left, Paige told me the whole story. The one she read in the paper, anyway. I want to hear it from you.” Shame suffused her. “Why?” “Because I want to hear your side, what really happened.” The scent of hamburgers wafted on the wind. Someone in the neighborhood must be grilling. “I abandoned my baby. Period.” “There’s more to it than that. I know how much you love him.” “That’s why. Because I loved him. Because I was confused and stupid and sick.” “What kind of sick?” “Mentally. Physically. Every way.” She picked at her fingernail, ashamed to look at the man she loved now that he knew what kind of person she really was. “Mother and Dad were out of the country because of the adoption scandals. They didn’t even know I was pregnant. We never talked anyway. I didn’t think they’d care or help.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “I was so scared, so very scared. And when the fever started…” She shivered at the memory of the terrible sickness, a sickness so powerful she hadn’t been able to remember where Gabriel was, couldn’t remember if she’d fed him. Chris’s hand covered hers. Even in the heat of the summer her skin was cold.
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“I sneaked out of the clinic with Gabriel an hour after his birth to come home. I wanted to think things through, figure out what to do. But then I got so sick. I couldn’t take care of him. I couldn’t stop shaking. And the fever was so bad, I thought I might die. And if I died, so would he. All I could think of was getting Gabriel to some place safe.” “So you took him to the agency.” She nodded. “Stupid, I know. So stupid.” “No. The natural instinct of a loving mother to protect her baby.” “Don’t make excuses for me, Chris. I abandoned my son.” “And you can’t forgive yourself.” “Could you?” Instead of a pat answer, Chris took his time and thought about it. She appreciated that. Platitudes wouldn’t cut it today. “I don’t know, Ash. But I do know this. God forgave you when you asked Him into your life.” “But He remembers. I have to pay for what I’ve done.” “If you think that, you’re aren’t reading the same Bible I do. Jesus paid for your sins and your mistakes, Ashley. All of them, even the ones you have trouble letting go of. Your past is washed away in a sea of God’s forgetfulness, as far as the east is from the west. God doesn’t hold your sin against you unless you keep on doing it.” The smallest flame of hope flickered. “Is that true? Or are you trying to make me feel better?” “Both. I knew you were struggling with something heavy. I just wish you would have told me a long time ago.” “I’m sorry you had to find out this way, in front of everyone. I was so ashamed. Still am.” In trying to protect him, she’d only hurt him more. Since giving birth she understood love in a new light. Love was giving. Love never did harm. By not telling him everything, she’d set Chris up for harm. “Now you know why I can’t be with you. A fallen woman, a woman who would abandon her own child would be a detriment to a pastor. Just like today, no congregation would accept that. I’d ruin your career.” She couldn’t do that to him. Not if she really loved him. “You’re wrong about that.” She shook her head, loose locks tumbling from the knot she’d twisted atop her head. “I don’t think so.” “What if I left the ministry?” “Absolutely not! You’re a wonderful pastor. The people love you.” “After you left, I offered to resign.” Horror filled her. This was worse than she’d thought. “Oh no, Chris. Oh, please say you didn’t.”
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“The church wouldn’t let me. But we had a long, fruitful discussion. That’s why it took me awhile to get here. For some time now, the church has been helping me pray for a wife. I told them I’d found her. But like every one of us, she isn’t perfect.” He tapped her on the nose and smiled. “But close enough to perfect for me. And if they didn’t have it in their hearts to follow the teachings of Jesus in such matters, then I couldn’t be their pastor.” “I can’t believe you did that.” “Believe it. Being a Christian means behaving like Christ. He taught love and compassion, not judgment and condemnation. Paige is a new Christian, too. She made a mistake today. She knows that now, and I hope you’ll forgive her.” Forgive her? Ashley wanted to strangle her. Immediately, she squelched the thought. If she expected to be forgiven, she had to forgive. “Paige likes you.” “I know. But I’m in love with you. God put us together, Ashley. Don’t tear us apart again.” God put them together. She liked the sound of that. Like chocolate in July, her resistance melted. “Oh Christopher, I love you. I’m sorry for—“ He placed his fingertips over her lips. “Shh. No more apologies. All is forgiven.” Forgiven. The sweetest word ever spoken. At last, she understood the depth of God’s love and forgiveness. Understood and accepted. And as her true love pulled her into his arms for the sweetest kiss, Ashley was finally able to leave the past behind and embrace the future, as a woman, as a mother and someday soon as a pastor’s wife.
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All Hallows' Joy by Christine Merrill October, 1814 Cornwall With a storm looming over the coast and the night darkening, Jack Kendall thinks he is lucky to find an inn. But as he gets closer, he begins to sense that all is not right with the place, and that he may be in mortal danger. He considers getting on his trusty horse, Ajax, and riding for the next hotel. But then he sees a pale, but beautiful lady in the window above him, and he is compelled to enter, sealing his fate. Jack’s situation grows ever more precarious as the night progresses, pitting him against evil forces. But the most challenging test of his gallantry—and desire—is the mysterious and haunting Joy….
Chapter One A flash of lightning split the night sky, a crack of thunder following close on its heels. Jack Kendall smelled the tang of a storm on the wind, sharper than the salt of the nearby sea. He damned his own foolishness for journeying to Cornwall in October and on horseback. A sensible man would have waited for a spring afternoon and gone by coach. Instead, he’d set off from London on a whim. He’d chosen the fastest route, meaning to follow the coast to the house of a friend. But he’d only encountered treacherous riding and changeable weather. He pulled his cloak tight around him and spurred his horse toward the building on the road ahead. The faded sign above the door said Ostel an Lusow. He struggled with the little Cornish he knew—Ostel meant it was an inn of some sort. An Lusow… Something about fire, he thought, although there was no picture on the sign to confirm the fact. A bit of bright paint on the board might have given a weary traveler a feeling of welcome. Everything about the place…the overgrown yard, the dark stone walls, the tightly shuttered windows, the dilapidated stable attached to it—seemed to say that outsiders were neither needed nor wanted. But it was better than nothing, and he doubted that fortune would give him a second chance at shelter before the rains came. So he dismounted and called for a stable boy to take his horse. When there was no answer to his cry, he walked the beast through the open doors of the barn himself. A few ill-treated cart horses occupied the dirty stalls with no sign of anyone to tend them. So Jack cleaned a place for his mount, forked some fresh bedding onto the floor and filled the bins with feed and water. His horse gave him an evil stare, as if in comment on the poor surroundings. “Better here than outside, Ajax. And it is only for a night. In consolation, I am likely to get no better treatment inside than you do here.” He left the stable, and went out into the courtyard. A flash of something pale in an upper window caught Jack’s eye and he looked up. Wavering in the square of glass above him was the ghostly face of a girl. He blinked and looked again. Nothing ghostly about her. Just unexpected to see something so lovely in such a grim place as this. She was pale-skinned and golden-haired, dressed in a gown of lavender satin trimmed with lace. It was far from appropriate to the season or the location. But her beauty made him remember easier times. Good wine, fine dinners, dancing in gilded ballrooms, huge blue eyes smiling up into his and the sound of feminine laughter.
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But the lovely face above him now held such sadness that without thinking, he reached a hand out, as if to offer comfort. Suddenly, the vision disappeared, as though it had never been.
Chapter Two Could the girl in the window have been a trick of the fading light? Jack laughed at his own foolishness. More likely she had been insulted by his staring, or had merely extinguished her candle to prepare for bed unobserved by the voyeur in the courtyard. He passed a moment in fancy at what he might have discovered had she left him the light. Her body would have skin as creamy white as her complexion. And if he had found his way to her room for further investigation…. She would be scented with delicate perfume, velvet to touch and sweet to taste. Then he gave a bitter snort. She was exactly the sort of woman who had spurned the honorable advances of a penniless second son two years ago. He had gone to war and made his fortune—but if she thought a retired cavalryman with a pocket full of gold was a better catch, then she had little right to be shocked at the lurid turn a man’s mind could take. The first raindrops hit Jack and he whistled as he hurried the last steps, bursting through the door of the inn and into the public room. Shaking the water from his oilskin, he made his way to a corner table. Without looking up, he called to the barmaid he knew must be close by. “Bring me ale, Molly. Or Polly. Or Maggie. Whatever your name might be. And dinner. And I will need a room, as well. I swear the weather is not fit for a beast.” He was met with dead silence and an air of suspicion that hung thick like the tobacco smoke clouding the low ceiling. It made his skin prickle in warning. A normal inn would be full of maids calling out orders; the clink of glass and rattle of cutlery; the laughter of drunkards and good-natured complaints about the weather, the crops and the crown. There should be the smell of meat roasting, fresh bread and ale. And a feeling of hospitality, for what good was an inn that did not want travelers? But when he glanced around this room, he was met with frowns and narrowed eyes. The clientele were sullen men with the leathery skin of fishermen and sailors, the sort of men who seemed out of place on land. They were motionless, except for the few still puffing on their long clay pipes. All present watched his every move in dead silence. At last, the man behind the bar muttered something in rapid and unintelligible Cornish. The room seemed to relax and return—as though by command—to their drinks and cards. Clearly this was the sort of tavern where one must watch one’s back and one’s purse. The rogues here did not look like they had come together just to enjoy a cup of punch and camaraderie by the pub fire. There was mischief afoot, and Jack had stumbled into the middle of it. Some part of him thrilled at the thought of a fight—before he reminded himself that he’d left that all behind in Portugal and come home for a peaceful life. Instead of calling for dinner and a room, a wiser course of action might be to excuse himself, saddle his horse and continue down the road. But it might be miles before he found another inn, and he had no wish to travel further. So he pretended to relax in his chair, never letting his smile falter. It did not pay to show fear to a gang of wild dogs. Still, his hand dropped into his pocket to finger the pistol he kept there.
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A girl came hurrying out from a door behind the bar, tying on an apron. She drew a tankard, carried it across the room and set it before him. “Joy, sir.” “Eh?” he responded in confusion, for it was a curious greeting. He tossed coins on the table for payment and then looked up into the face of the barmaid. And was stunned to silence. The girl from the window? Surely not. The coloring was right, though. Wisps of gold hair poked from under the cap she wore. But he had seen an elegant lady in lavender. This was a tavern wench, in a plain brown dress of a rough fabric. There was nothing exceptional about her. But in another life, she might have been the girl upstairs. “My name,” she said softly, not meeting his eyes as she took the coins and thrust them into the pocket of her apron. “It is not Polly, or Maggie. It is Joy.”
Chapter Three “Joy,” he repeated. The name did not suit her, for he doubted there was a less joyful person in all of Cornwall. But if he could make her smile, it would be worth the effort, for she had a lovely face, even in sorrow. “Sweet Joy I call thee,” he teased, remembering a line from a poem. “You know Blake?” For a moment, her expression brightened to a radiance that justified her naming. “You know the poet as well.” He blinked in surprise. “It is not often I have the opportunity to discuss poetry with a barmaid.” The smile disappeared again as she cast a quick, worried glance in the direction of the man behind the bar. “Only the one poem, sir. My father taught me.” “How do you do, then, pretty Joy? My name is Jack Kendall.” He pushed out the chair beside him. “Sit with me and keep me company. I will teach you more poetry, if you wish.” Although the verses on his mind now were far less innocent than the Blake—she was a comely thing, with large eyes, full breasts and lips made for kissing. And it had been a long and lonely trip. She did not seem to notice his flirting, but seemed more concerned with the reaction of the innkeeper to her tarrying. Jack saw the barman give a slight nod. The girl caught the signal then smiled at Jack and accepted his offer. But once she was seated she looked worried, as if she did not know what he expected of her. He smiled to put her at her ease. “It is a relief to find someone who can speak English. For a moment, I was feeling quite out of place.” She glanced around the room, then whispered, “They can all speak English, when they care to. And they understand it as well.” He could not tell if it was an innocent remark, or a warning. “Well, then I am glad that you cared enough to speak it, for you have made a lonely traveler feel welcome. And do you speak Cornish? For you can tell me the name of this place, so that I might recommend it to my friends.” She stared in amazement at his words before recognizing it as a joke and stifled a smile. “You have come to the Inn of Ashes, sir.” She saw his look of surprise at the dour name, and supplied, “The last inn burnt. And this was built…”
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“On the ashes,” he finished. “It is well named, for this place is as grim as an ash heap. With such a name, why would anyone stop here?” She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “We do not get much custom. Especially not this time of year.” “The fall?” “Allantide.” He shrugged. “A local holiday, isn’t it? Something to do with putting an apple under your pillow to dream of a husband? Or perhaps a prince? For if you work in ashes, then I think you must be that cinder girl with the glass slippers under your bed.” Perhaps he was mistaken and this was not the girl he had seen in the window. Or perhaps she had been dressing up in her mistress’s clothes and did not want him to reveal what he had seen. Regardless, there was pain and embarrassment in her huge blue eyes now and he had put it there. Jack reached out a hand to touch her arm in reassurance so she would know her secret was safe. She looked surprised at his gentle touch. Then she shook her head and said earnestly, “It is All Hallows’ Eve, as well, sir. And it is unwise to take that lightly. Things are about. Especially so close to the coast.” “What sorts of things might those be?” “Spirits, sir. Things that lie quiet most times are walking the earth tonight. Dead sailors come to land. Knockers and Selkies, pictsies bent on tricking an unwary traveler off the path and over the cliff to drown.” She shuddered. “It would be safer for you to move inland. Those that do not have to would not wish to stay the night under this roof.”
Chapter Four “I should run away because of the ghosts.” Jack laughed in disbelief. “I am quite comfortable here, thank you, love. It is warm and dry. And while your ale is not the best, it is good enough for the likes of me. Tomorrow I shall press on to Penlowen, and I wish to be rested for the trip.” “Penlowen, sir?” Her eyes grew even rounder. “That is where the Mad Lord lives.” “Mad Lord?” he started in surprise. “You can’t be talking of Dick Acherton. We were comrades in arms. I suppose he is a lord, with that great house of his, but I would never call him mad.” “All the lords of Penlowen are mad, sir. Why else would they stay there?” Jack shook his head. “His madness is as big a country superstition as the dead sailors that you fear will come for me in the night.” “Believe what you will, sir. But I have lived my whole life in Cornwall, and I have seen them. And heard them as well.” She leaned closer until the flickering candlelight made strange shadows on her face. Her voice was low and hoarse, and he could feel the words, leaving a chill on his skin. “The Gray Lady, who sits on the cliff edge, weeping for her lost love. The dying men who wail in the night, louder than the sound of the surf. And the spirit lights, confusing ships to their doom.” He snorted. “There are explanations for all of it. Your gray lady is nothing more than a sea bird. Your dying sailors are the sound of the wind in the caves as the tide is turning. And the spirit lights are smugglers at work—or wreckers—trying to trick ships onto the rocks.” She looked frantically around the room, and held out a hand to hush him.
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He noticed the heads of the men around him turn to catch his words, their bodies shifting in their seats, as though to give access to weapons. “Man or spirit, I am not afraid of what lurks about tonight, little Joy.” And he gave an answering glare to the curious men around him. “Very well then, sir,” she said bitterly. “You may think life is all fairy tales and foolishness. But I know what I have seen. And I know that the forces do not like to be made mock. Heed my warning. Finish your drink and get back on your horse before the moon has risen. Ride inland to safety and forget about this place. But do not think that I will weep for you if you stay. For you have brought your destruction upon your own head.”
Chapter Five Joy left him alone, and it was as if the warmth in the room had gone with her. She went to the kitchen and returned with a meat pie, setting it before him without comment. He took a bite, chewing through the tough crust to the gristly beef within. No matter how pretty the barmaid, if his meal was any indication, people did not stop here for the food. Or the conversation. The few men that shared the public room with him pretended to keep their own company. But he knew better—they were actually intent on keeping his. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw covert hand signals and heard the occasional whisper of Cornish passed quickly around the group. He began to suspect that there was more than a little truth to Joy’s warning of danger. He was traveling alone. If he had fallen into a smuggler’s den, it might be best to move down the coast and insure his own safety. With a glance outside he saw that the weather was turning foul and it would be a long, wet ride to the next inn should he set out now. Still, at least he would be alive in the morning. But there was something else. Something wrong about the place that had nothing to do with the clientele. And he could not bring himself to walk away. For there was a mystery in Joy. How many tavern wenches would have recognized even a word of Blake? Her father had told her the poem? More likely her father had been a barman with no reason or facility to read poetry. And her voice… In the few words they had spoken, her accent could hardly have been called coarse. As she had told the stories of supernatural threat, all traces of simple country girl had disappeared. Her speech was that of an educated woman, as were her mannerisms. So what was she doing here? He finished his ale and walked down the short hall and out the back door to use the privy. Since he was near the stables he checked on Ajax. The fine chestnut that had served him so well in Portugal towered over the dray horses in the other stalls with an air of disdain. Without thinking, Jack stroked its neck, offering an apology as he replaced the saddle. “I expect that we will be leaving suddenly, old friend. And you must be ready for it, even if it means sleeping in tack.” The horse gave a resigned snort, and returned to nosing through the dirty straw for the last of his oats.
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As Jack turned back to the tavern, he found the beautiful barmaid blocking his way. The hall was narrow and dark and she was hurrying towards him from the opposite way. She slowed as she neared him and smiled at him in a way that made his blood warm. For a moment, his fears were forgotten and all that mattered was Joy. Her big blue eyes and trim waist, the way her lips were parted, ready for a kiss. Perhaps he had been mistaken and his sense of foreboding was nothing more than fatigue working on his war-shocked nerves. A second conversation with her would set his mind to rest. And if she was interested in a more intimate meeting, he was more than willing to remain at the inn and oblige her. As she drew near to him, he reached out and pulled her to his body. She came easily into his arms, so close that he could feel the beating of her heart as it matched pace with his. Even their breathing was in harmony, quick and shallow from the first rush of desire roused by physical contact. He put his cheek to hers so he could whisper into her ear. “I swear, Joy, you are sweeter than any poem. If you can find the rhythm of my body with a single touch, then what might you do to me if I kiss you?” Her response was soft but matter of fact. “I will do anything you wish, sir. As long as you promise me that you will not stay the night under this roof. There is danger here. You must leave immediately.”
Chapter Six “Girl!” The barman’s voice was sharp and urgent. He stood at the end of the hall, arms folded, with an expression that said the devil was to pay if Joy did not do as he asked. So Jack forced a laugh and planted a kiss on Joy’s unresisting lips before pushing her away. Offering a silent prayer of apology, he gave her a swat on the bottom to send her back into the bar. It hurt him when she flinched at the touch instead of giving the saucy giggle that he would have expected from a normal barmaid. Had he misunderstood her warm response a moment before? But her sudden change in mood was just one more thing out of place. The feel of her pressed against him had been delightful, though odd. Her body was sleek and graceful, not plump and solid like most barmaids he had met. It reminded him of the brief touches he’d received dancing with fine ladies in London ballrooms. The arms that had held him just now did not show the strength gained from a lifetime of tapping kegs or carrying tankards. And she smelled not of stale sweat, beer and sausages, but of lilacs. What were spring flowers doing in a Cornish inn at this time of year? He touched his hand to the pistol again for reassurance. Then he gave a grin and a shrug to the barman, as though to prove that there were no hard feelings. He added an unnecessary weave to his gait as he returned to the table to show he was naught but a harmless drunk. But Jack continued to watch—through hooded eyes—as the girl went to the bar to deliver the rags she had been carrying. The barman grabbed her by the upper arm, pulling her close as Jack had done and spoke quickly into her averted face. She gave a small shake of the head. The man spoke again more insistently. Jack could see the fingers tightening on the girl’s arm. She flinched and shook her head, adamant. Did the man mean to punish her for the liberty Jack had taken? Jack couldn’t let her be harmed for his behavior. “Ale!” Jack called, and slammed his empty tankard against the table as a distraction. “What must a
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man do to get service in this benighted hole? Barman, send the girl to me, or I will think after the answer that she gave in the hall that my company is not good enough for her.” The barman laughed then, as did several of the other patrons. Apparently the words had been right, for he released Joy and thrust a mug into her hand, murmuring something in her ear and pushing her towards Jack. Jack leered in her direction so that his interest in her would seem rooted in lust. She came to him, steps leaden, with none of the willingness she’d shown in the hall. As she neared, she seemed to stumble and the contents of the cup spilled, splashing against his boots and onto the floor. “So sorry, sir.” She said it quickly, and reached for the cloth at her apron to clean up the mess. But the look in her eyes was relief, not sorrow. In a flash, the barman was across the room and upon them, his hand raised to strike her.
Chapter Seven Jack seized the man by the arm with one hand and caught the girl about the waist with the other, pulling her out of range of the blow. “Here now, sir. Such violence is hardly necessary.” He grinned into the florid face of the enraged barman. “Maybe it is for the best. The night is late, and I am tired. I do not need another drink to help me sleep.” He felt the tension go out of the muscle under his fingers, and Jack released the man’s arm, watching him lower it to his side. Jack reached into his pocket and found a coin to toss onto the table that more than covered the cost of the spilled ale. Deciding to keep playing the lecherous-drunk routine, he turned to the girl, still in his grasp on the other side, and bounced her body against his hip. “And how could I be angry for long at such a charming waitress? Give us a kiss, Joy, and all is forgiven.” He expected a light slap in return for the comment, or perhaps a giggle and bawdy remark. Instead, he watched the girl’s eyes dart to the barman for instruction, and saw an almost imperceptible nod of response. Only then did she turn to give Jack a cold kiss upon the cheek. It sickened him to see her look to the brute for guidance after he had almost struck her. What power did the man hold over her? Why did she behave so strangely in his presence? And how could Jack be sure he was not making her life harder through his interference? For now, it would be best to put her master at ease. So Jack laughed as though he had noticed nothing odd in the girl’s behavior, and released her. “There.” Instantly he felt the hostility in the room diminish to the low hum of menace that he had begun to take as normal at the Inn of Ashes. “Now go about your business, dear.” With a worried glance, she went back behind the bar, leaving him alone with his host. The proprietor was standing over him, wiping his hands on a greasy rag. He shifted his bulk from foot to foot, and then gave a deferential bow of his head to acknowledge his “betters.” Jack suppressed a sneer. It was plain that the man meant none of it. There was bile in his eye at having to debase himself to any man, much less this stranger in his inn. He was still angry over the spilled drink and the need to apologize for it was driving that anger near to rage. But if the barman wished to pretend subservience, than why should Jack spoil the game? “No worries, my good man. I assure you, I am content. You may go as well.”
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He could see a flash in the man’s eye, for the dismissal was near to insult. “Are you enjoying the service here this evening, sir?” Jack thought of the foul ale, the even fouler meal and the chances that he’d be better off sleeping with Ajax than trusting the beds. But he gave a nod of satisfaction. “Indeed I am. On a night such as this, it is good to be out of the rain. Thank you, sir, for your hospitality.” “I am sorry it cannot be better. But we do not get many strangers down this road. It has been several months, at least, since we’ve seen such as you.” The man gave him a sly smile. “But there are things that will make your stay more comfortable, I’m sure. I’ve given you something to warm your belly. But if you’d be interested in something to warm your bed…?” He winked and cocked his head in Joy’s direction. “She’s yours for a guinea.”
Chapter Eight Before Jack could respond to the innkeeper’s vulgar offer of the sweet Joy, the man continued, as if he feared offending a guest: “For a guinea you can have the girl and the room. Plus the dinner, of course.” Not her. Not this way. The supper roiled in Jack’s stomach. He glanced at Joy working behind the bar, pretending to be oblivious to the conversation. It was small comfort to think that the inn got no custom, for if the owner would throw her so casually into the equation to entertain a guest… And what was the man to her? Merely an employer? Or was he her father? Or perhaps a lover… Each thought made him sicker than the last. His first impulse was to strike the man, tell him his offer was as vile as his inn and to leave the place and let the cold rain wash him clean of the stench of it. But where would that leave Joy? Bargained away to the next man to wander through the door? Or punished for the loss of his custom. At least if she spent the night in Jack’s arms, he would know that nothing worse would happen to her while he remained under this roof. So he fought down his revulsion and turned to look at Joy, letting the desire he felt for her show upon his face so that the innkeeper might think he was persuaded. He examined her critically, as though he were purchasing a horse—admiring the fine shape of her, the softness of her skin and the curve of her throat. Then he turned back to the innkeeper and said, “A half guinea. The girl is young and tender, but the meat pie was old and tough and not worth a shilling.” The innkeeper let out a roar of laughter and Jack saw Joy flinch. He felt a resurgence of the sick feeling; he was sure that she’d heard every word he said. When she raised her head to look at him there was disappointment in her eyes, as though he’d confirmed her worst fears: all men were brutes. Any sweet dreams she might have had tonight with an apple under her pillow were little better than nightmares once that truth was confirmed. The innkeeper countered Jack’s offer, “For a pound, I will throw in a bottle. Finest in the house. Worth at least that, sir. All by itself.” And he held out a bottle of French brandy, as out of place in this inn as Joy was. Jack gave the innkeeper a toothy grin and said, “How can I resist such generosity?” And then, because he could not help himself, he added, “But only if the girl is willing, of course.” He was still half praying that she would strike him and flounce out of the room. But the innkeeper said, “She will do as she’s told, won’t you girl?”
Chapter Nine
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Joy made no response, other than a slight tightening of her jaw that seemed to say that what happened mattered very little to her. “Go on, now. Show the man you like him.” The innkeeper stalked across the room and hauled Joy from behind the bar, giving her a shove in Jack’s direction. She stumbled across the room and fell against him. He caught her before she could hit the ground, pulling her against his body and giving her the kind of overly familiar embrace that brought another wicked chuckle from the men in the room. Joy disengaged herself from Jack and smoothed her skirts. She looked up at him and the tavern wench disappeared. The posture of the woman before him was as elegant as any lady of the ton, and her expression was filled with venom and ice. She stared through him with the utter contempt that was the only appropriate answer for an insult as base as the one he had given her. Then she marched back to the bar, snatched the bottle of brandy from the innkeeper’s hand and turned back to Jack as though daring him to repeat his offer. He smiled at her hopefully, as though oblivious to her response. With that one smile, Joy’s spirit broke, her head drooping, her shoulders slumped. It was obvious that being with him tonight was the last thing she wished, but she nodded in assent. Jack turned to the man and gave another grin. “It is a bargain, then.” He let out a theatrical yawn. “And now, I believe I am ready to retire. Suddenly, I am unaccountably tired.” The room was filled with knowing laughter. The innkeeper said, “Your room will be the last one on the right.” Joy spoke for the first time. “That is my room.” “It is cleanest.” There was a pause, and Jack saw the rage in her eyes as she registered this further indignity. But then she dropped a curtsy and gave a strange, hopeless smile. “Very well, then. Because milord needs clean sheets.” The face of the innkeeper darkened, as if he wished to punish her for her impudence but would not do it before witnesses. Just as quickly, his false smile returned and he said to Jack, “She will join you there as soon as her duties are completed.” Jack gave a farewell salute to the assembled and pushed back his chair, walking across the room and up the stairs. As he climbed, he could feel many pairs of eyes upon his back. It went against the grain to turn his back upon the enemy. But he suspected that there were men in the room who might object to seeing murder done in front of them. The presence of witnesses was the only thing that had kept him alive so far. Though Jack knew they probably cared not what happened to a traveler once he was upstairs and out of their sight. But it was an advantage he was willing to forfeit for a chance alone with Joy.
Chapter Ten Jack followed the instructions to the room at the end of the hall and opened the door, curious to see what the lair of the mysterious Joy might be. Her room was meticulously clean but bare of adornments. A few dresses hung from the pegs on the wall: ragged silks and crumpled satins, worn, but far too fine for a tavern wench.
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In the midst of them was the lavender gown he had seen her wearing in the window. He closed the door and walked to it, reaching out a finger to touch the fabric. It had seen better days, but there had been efforts at mending. Here and there he found tiny darning stitches picked into the lace, though it seemed that after many nights of trying, the owner had given it up as a bad job. He wondered at the unnamed emotion that kept her from throwing the thing away even though she could not wear it. The few other items in the room were also of good quality but worn almost to pieces. A water-stained Bible rested on a chair near the bed. A small table held a tarnished bit of mirror, a dented silver hair brush and a tiny bottle with a cracked stopper. He smiled, for he was sure if he opened it, it would smell like French lilacs in spring. On impulse, he went to the bed and thrust his hand under the pillow. Just as he expected, there was an Allantide apple. His throat tightened as he imagined the dreams of the girl that lived in this room—a lady, miles away from the tavern below. Even though he meant no harm to her, his presence here was a violation. There was a sound at the door. Joy entered, bottle of brandy in hand. Her head was bowed, but she came toward him with a steady pace, as though she was unsure of what his intentions might be, but unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. He could not maintain the charade a moment longer. He said, in a loud clear voice so there could be no mistaking his feelings, “Now what is this nonsense—” She threw herself into his arms, stopping his words with a desperate kiss. For a moment, he forgot all but the taste of her—which he suspected was the plan all along. She had been right; there was danger here. But she was part of the trap. She was passionate but awkward, as though she knew what it was to be kissed, but not well. She showed no subtly at all, as though seduction was a skill unwanted and unneeded, and tenderness in return unexpected. The wantonness of her eager, open mouth made his body scream for a quick release. But the artlessness of her surrender tore the heart from his body. She deserved better. So he gathered his wits and took control of the kiss from her. He turned it into what he thought she deserved, making it slow and soulful. He resisted the urge to devour the sweetness that she offered. Instead, he coaxed and teased, and let each touch of his tongue to hers be a promise that she would receive nothing other than gentleness and pleasure if only she would give herself over to his care. After a time, she pulled away from him slowly as though she longed to stay in his arms but suspected that a stranger’s kiss was as big a trap as hers had been. Then she reached out and carefully laid her palm flat against his chest so that she could feel the beating of his heart. By the look in her eyes, he was sure that she felt what had thrilled him in the hallway: their two hearts beating as one. When he tried to speak again, she laid a finger on his lips and whispered, “Please, Jack. Not so loud. They will hear. For all I know, they are listening at the door.” “Quiet, then,” he answered, keeping her close and ignoring the pleasure it brought. “Tell me the truth. What is happening here, and what have you to do with it?”
Chapter Eleven Joy held the bottle of brandy out to him. “Drugged. As was the drink in the bar that I spilled. It was a mistake on my part. If you’d taken it they might have left you to sleep in the public room, or thrown you out into the
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stable yard as a jest. But now that they have you above stairs where no one can see what happens? They mean to rob you and slit your throat.” “That does not surprise me in the least. But what does it have to do with you? Who are you, Joy?” Her eyes fell. “Who I am does not matter. I am of no consequence.” “And I say you are. Who are you, and how came you to this place?” “You must leave….” “Tell me, or I will not move an inch.” He tightened his embrace, as if to prove his unwillingness to part from her. Her eyes closed and her brow furrowed. He thought he would have to ask again, for the truth seemed to be having as difficult a time escaping her lips as he would. But finally she said, “It was just as you suspected in the bar. The men below are rogues and criminals. There is no law in these parts, and they make their living smuggling goods from France and luring English ships onto the rocks so that they might plunder them.” “And you?” “My name is Joy Colliver. My uncle had a pleasure boat. It was a small craft but trim and beautiful. We went to sea on a lovely day, but we were caught in a sudden storm. It grew dark and the lights from shore were not the helpful beacons the crew expected. There was no warning of the rocks until we were upon them. And the men who rowed out to help us?” She shuddered. “They were not help, at all. They were wreckers. Scavengers. I do not know what became of my uncle and the others, but I saw the leader, Tallack—the innkeeper—shoot the captain.” “But you survived?” She smiled bitterly. “Because I was more valuable than the cargo.” For a moment he felt her falter. “I have tried to get away. Truly, I have. But it is many miles to help, and they always catch me. After the last time, Tallack said that if I tried again they would most assuredly kill me.” Impulsively, he pulled her even closer, ready to kiss away the tears which he thought would come. But her eyes were dry. It was as though any tears on the subject had been shed long ago and there was nothing left in her that could cry. Then she straightened, making it clear that she was not a soft, yielding girl ready to give over her burden to another, but a resolute, iron-willed warrior. “After my attempts to warn you below stairs, Tallack said that if I did not do my part in trapping you, in the morning he would have two bodies to dispose of, not just the one. But what happens to me does not matter anymore. I cannot let an innocent man be hurt.” He laughed, soft against her skin. Without thinking, his hands moved on her body to caress her. “Oh, my darling. I am not so innocent as all that.” For a moment she looked frightened. But then she said, “I refuse to believe that, sir. For I have seen true evil. And you are nothing like it.” He saw the shadows in her eyes that hinted at what she had suffered in the captivity of scoundrels. But even despite the cruelty she knew they could inflict, the firm set of her jaw said that she intended to put herself between him and the danger. Jack felt a rage, darker and more powerful than any he had known in battle. But he hid it in another laugh and took her hand, bowing over it. “Thank you, Miss Colliver, for your assessment of my character. For you,
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I will be a veritable Galahad.” He looked into her eyes. “But I assure you, blameless is quite different from harmless. Allow me to demonstrate.”
Chapter Twelve He released Joy and went to the window, staring down at the sharp and deadly drop to the steep slate roof of the attached stable. If he were alone he would not fear the climb. But he doubted the girl could manage in skirts if they were forced to rush their escape. “What was to happen, after I was incapacitated?” “I was to signal the man at the door and he would finish you.” “And how many are there in total?” She frowned. “You cannot trust any that are below in the inn. If you cry out, they will not help. But most of them do not have the nerve for cold-blooded murder, and there are only four that you must worry about. Tallack, the innkeeper, is their leader. If you can stop them the others will be too afraid to pursue.” “Equally matched, then.” He smiled at her in encouragement. “For I have you by my side, and you are worth three of them.” For just a moment, she smiled back. It put a touch of girlish color in her cheeks. He nodded at the improvement, then opened the brandy and poured it into the chamber pot under the bed. Then he threw back the covers and arranged himself on the mattress. “Very well. You have rendered me helpless. Do what you must.” He shut his eyes to slits and waited. She froze in horror at the prospect, so he opened his eyes and gave her a smile of reassurance. She bit her lip and shook her head, making no move toward the door. So he shut his eyes again, flopped back on the bed and let out a mockery of a wine-induced snore. This time she almost laughed—before she remembered the circumstances and gave him another worried look. But she did as he asked and opened the door a crack, whispering out into the hall. One of the ruffians from the bar pushed past her into the room, and gave a contemptuous nod in the direction of the bed. She was a clever girl, for without instruction she checked the hallway for a second man and, finding none, she shut the door and trapped the smuggler inside. Oblivious, the man hovered over Jack for an instant. Then the ogre gave a soft laugh of triumph, pulled a knife from his belt and came within striking range. Jack brought up his hand and the brandy bottle connected with the man’s head. He staggered and dropped the blade. There was a moment where the man teetered on the edge of unconsciousness and Jack wondered if the one blow might be sufficient. If he could escape without taking life… But the smuggler was struggling back to his feet. Jack thought of the girl, grabbed the knife and showed him no mercy. Then he rolled the body onto the floor and looked with concern at Joy. She was staring at what had happened without emotion. Jack could tell from the look in her eyes that she had seen and experienced enough violence to leave her numb to things that might devastate another. It made him ache inside. He wished he could take that burden of knowledge she must bear.
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But all he could do was take her in his arms and turn her gently away from the body, slipping an arm around her shoulder. She laid her cheek against his lapel and relaxed against him, honoring him with her trust. His heart warmed to it, pride glowing in him like a lit candle, and he knew he would give all he had to keep that lovely blond head resting against his shoulder, safe and at peace. But in an instant, the moment of vulnerability passed and she lifted her head, squared her shoulders and looked at Jack with concern. “You must go, now. Quickly. Before the others discover what has happened.”
Chapter Thirteen “An escape from the window is in order, I think.” Jack grinned at Joy, hoping to give encouragement lest she be afraid of the climb. “Help me with the bed linens. I mean to make a rope.” He wiped the blade as she pulled the sheets from the bed, and they quickly spliced the fabric together into a serviceable rope with knots at intervals for footholds. Next he secured it to the bed frame and gave a tug, testing it with his weight. He would hardly need to use it, but if it held him then it was more than strong enough to hold a slip of a girl. He glanced outside, searching the courtyard for observers. Then he coiled the linen and threw its stark whiteness into the dark night air. He readied himself on the windowsill, thinking to reach the ground first and steady the rope as Joy climbed down. Joy checked the door again, listening for noise, and then came to him, kissing him quickly on the lips. “Godspeed, Jack Kendall. If they come too quickly, I will claim that you tricked me with the brandy and overpowered the guard. I will raise such a hue and cry that you will hear it all the way to the stables and know that danger is on the way.” “You will…” He cursed under his breath. So she meant to make a noble sacrifice for him, did she? Somehow, the idea that she thought—even for a moment—that he would abandon her bothered him more than the danger of discovery. So he hopped back off the window sill and made an expansive gesture to the rope. “My apologies. I have forgotten my manners. Ladies first.” The words seemed to sting her as much as her lack of faith had him. “Do not mock me. We both know what I have become and the term is not lady. I have risked everything for you, and it will all be for naught if you cannot escape. Now climb down the damn rope and leave me.” “Perhaps, when we have more time, I will teach you to curse with enough conviction to convince me. But that half hearted damn you just gave is more than enough evidence of your gentility. You are very much a lady, Miss Colliver, and in need of my assistance. We will be leaving here together or I will not leave at all. Now, come here and take a look at the climb.” He ignored her militant expression and looked at her feet. “Let us see your shoes. Hmmmm. It will probably be better without. Put them into your apron pocket. And this as well.” He handed her the knife he had taken from the smuggler. “But you—” “I have a pistol, primed and ready. The window is an excellent vantage point, should I need to use it.” And would make him an easy target should anyone shoot back. But it would not persuade her if he mentioned that, so he smiled again, as though leaving her room by the window would be the most natural thing in the world.
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“Now place your feet against the knots or brace them against the stone of the building. Only you will know what feels most secure. Do not rush. Wait for me on the roof of the stable. And if, in future, you wish to kiss someone for luck, do it thusly.” He pulled her close….
Chapter Fourteen Jack gave vent to all the sweet longing he felt for the woman she was and the girl she had been. He put his lips upon hers and she opened eagerly to him so that he could taste her tongue and kiss away her doubts. She was sweet perfection, but if he was not careful, passion would leave him headless of the present danger and neither of them would escape. So he eased away from her, brushing his lips over her face and nuzzling her throat. Then he pulled the cap from her head to let the beautiful golden hair fall free, stroking it gently as he longed to touch her body. He held her tight, feeling the ripe curves of her body soft against his. She shuddered in response, hungry for the few scraps of genuine affection he offered. And then, sweet merciful heaven, her hands were on his face, drawing his mouth back to hers. She was kissing him in return. She was not content just to receive pleasure, but wished to give it back to him as he had taught her. Joy’s fingers trembled as she stroked his cheek and his hair, as though she could hardly believe that what she felt was real and feared her own response to it. But he could feel the certainty growing in her, moment by moment, as her kiss grew in passion. What began as kitten-soft touches of her tongue grew bolder. She nipped at his lips and thrust her tongue deep into his mouth, her arms wrapping around his neck and fingers digging into the muscles of his back and shoulders. She was unable to hide her desire, not just for freedom, but for him. She broke the kiss and pushed away from him. Jack saw a single tear clinging to her lashes. She hurried to brush it away, as though any display of emotion was a sign of weakness. Trying to make her tone gruff, she said: “If climbing out of this window is the only way to make you leave, then I suppose it must be done. At least when I fall and break my neck I shall not have to see what becomes of you once the smugglers catch you.” Then she did as he suggested, removed her shoes, took the knife and stowed them both in her apron. Jack held his breath as she grabbed the rope and stepped over the edge of the windowsill. There was a moment when she first took all her weight upon her arms that he feared he would lose her. The climb was unfamiliar and the rain would make her clothes heavy and her fingers cold. He saw her slip, but then she gritted her teeth and tightened her hands on the sheet, scrambling until her feet found toeholds in the stone wall of the inn. There was a pause as she gathered courage. Then she lowered herself a few inches, and a few more. She descended at a slow but regular pace to the wet slates of the stable. She slipped once on the sharply slanted roof, but she found her footing again and turned up to him, a smile of triumph on her beautiful face. Jack smiled in response and blew her a kiss. Then he took hold of the rope and stepped over the sill himself. He tried to ignore the cold and the water trickling down the back of his neck. It would not do to let Joy see him hesitate. He was only a few feet from the window when he heard a cry from the ground below. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the smugglers, three of them, gathered in the stable yard and pointing up at him. They had not yet seen Joy, for her dark clothes blended with the stone wall. She shrank back against the building, letting the edge of the roof shield her from view of the men below. He ignored the cries of, “Shoot him, get the guns!” and hurried his decent. If he could not reach the roof before they shot, there was no hope for him.
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As he descended lower, he willed Joy not to move, no matter what might happen to him. There was still a chance for her if she kept quiet and hidden until the smugglers had gotten him. Ajax was saddled and ready; she had but to go to the barn, find him and climb on. The horse would take her to safety and Jack’s effort would not be in vain. Suddenly, there was a burst of activity. He heard Joy cry out, the sound of scrambling and more cries from below. Then a single shot.
Chapter Fifteen The gunshot sounded like a thunderclap and Jack tensed, waiting for the ball to strike him down. But he felt nothing, heard no singing of lead or impact on the stone around him. Which meant they had seen Joy and fired upon her instead. The knowledge brought a sickening fear worse than any he had felt in Portugal. He dropped the last few feet to the roof, ready to come to her aid. But when he turned, she was already on the ground and running for the woods. Jack temporarily forgotten, the smugglers turned on her, enraged at her betrayal. Tallack was sprinting over the wet grass in pursuit, and another man had raised his pistol in her direction. Jack fought the desire to follow her; she was running so swiftly and was already so far away that he doubted he’d be able to catch her before the smuggler did. He could not help her until he got to his horse. Still he damned himself for his uselessness that she might face Tallack alone. He looked down into the stable yard at the two remaining smugglers. The first shot had missed her, but she might not be so lucky a second time. Before the man with the gun had a chance to aim, Jack pulled his own pistol from his coat and shot. He watched as the man collapsed without firing. Then he slid down the slates toward the edge of the roof, bracing himself for the drop at the end. He landed in a heap in the dirt of the inn yard, jumping up immediately to face the last smuggler as he rushed at Jack. Jack had but a moment to offer a prayer of thanks that the other man didn’t have a gun or knife. As the criminal reached him, Jack punched him in the stomach. His enemy doubled over, gasping, and Jack struck him in the temple with the spent pistol in his other hand. The smuggler collapsed, unconscious in the mud of the stable yard. Giving no more thought to the man at his feet, Jack turned to face the woods, his heart in his throat. Joy had run that way. How far could she have gotten before Tallack caught up with her? She was light and fast and he must trust that she could outrun the man, at least for a while. As he sprinted for the stable door, he whistled to Ajax, who gave a shrill whinny in answer and began kicking against the boards, ready to break down the stall and charge into action. He envied the stallion’s confidence—Lord only knew how he would find the girl. It was dark and spitting rain, and he did not know the land. But he had to try. He mounted and rode at a gallop towards the spot he had last glimpsed her golden hair.
Chapter Sixteen
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As Joy ran for the woods, she heard the sound of the bullet whistling past her head, striking the wood of a nearby tree. Terror rose, thick in her blood, threatening to blot out reason. She stumbled, catching at the branches of a nearby tree to regain her balance. A thorn scratched at her finger, and the sharp sting of it was like a tonic to her nerves. Suddenly, she could feel the grass, wet and slippery under her bare feet, and taste the damp, salty air in her mouth and stinging her lungs. Her senses sharpened. The world around her became more real than the nightmare she was leaving behind her. She smiled. No matter what might happen tonight, the worst was finally over for her. She would run for the cliff and be over the edge before they could stop her. She could hear the shouting behind her and the sound of Tallack yelling to his men to get Jack. Another shot. Tallack’s swearing grew louder and closer as he followed her. If she could, she would take the smuggler over the edge with her as she fell and see an end to him. She would have revenge as well as freedom. In either case, the distraction of her flight would buy Jack enough time to get down off the roof. If he gained the ground, she was sure that he could take care of himself. She felt a moment’s regret that she would never know what happened to the man behind her. She could picture him besting the remaining smugglers and riding away on the fearsome horse she had seen when he arrived. After watching him in action tonight, it was impossible to believe that he might die. As she ran, she imagined so much more. That her life was the one she had been dreaming of when he’d spied her in the window. The way it used to be…. Jack would meet her in a drawing room or at a dance. He would choose her over all the other girls and behave with the same rakish gallantry he had shown tonight. He would flatter her until she blushed and shepherd her through the modest risks of a London season until he won her heart. Was he a good dancer, Joy wondered? She would never know. But she imagined he must be, or how could he sweep her from her feet? He had stepped perfectly formed from her Allantide fantasy. Of course, her dreams had been too mild to include kisses…. She came back to her senses quickly. She was well past the clearing and into the woods. But she could still hear Tallack crashing through the branches behind her. Her feet were cut by the rough ground beneath them and her side ached from running. But it could not be much longer. Either she would find the cliff or Tallack would catch her. Joy fought back the fear that had begun to rise again and fumbled for the knife in her pocket.
Chapter Seventeen Once he was past the clearing and into the trees, Jack could only guess the route Joy had taken for there was no path. It was unlikely that she’d have followed one anyway, even if it was there. He forced his doubts aside. She was too smart to be caught so easily. And she was strong as well. Joy would evade Tallack until he could help her. He would dispense with the cretin, pull Joy up into the saddle, and carry her to safety. He would take her far, far away from this place—ride to the ends of the earth, if that was what she wanted.
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But by God he would see her smile again. And if he was fortunate, there would be other kisses like the one she had given him. If that could be their future, then he would make it his life’s mission to banish the demons from her past. But first he had to find her. Perhaps she was hiding near the edge of the forest, waiting until Tallack tired of the chase. Jack slowed and called her name softly into the darkness, and waited for an answer. In the distance there was a fleeting sound. High-pitched. Feminine. In daylight, he’d have taken it for the call of a bird. But what bird would still be singing in the dark and the storm? So he rode toward the noise. As he went, he could hear the sea, louder than before. The wind in his face was wet and tasted of salt, not just the rain that had been falling. He must go carefully. Who knew when the trees might open up to reveal a cliff face and empty air? The sound came again. It was clearer this time. Unmistakable. The cry of a woman in danger. Frightened, frustrated and alone. An eerie shriek of terror dissolved into hopeless sobbing. The hairs rose on the back of his neck, and Jack was shaken to the core with the feeling that the crying woman was already beyond help. It was too late to save her. He had failed. He fought the sudden, irrational terror. If Joy still cried, there was time. But she was in mortal danger, and he could only help if he did not give way to despair. He spurred his horse to the noise, which seemed to grow louder with each step, drowning out the storm and the sound of surf striking rock. It rang in his head until he thought it would drive him mad. If he could not save her, he would spend the rest of his life hearing that scream and those sobs, knowing that he had been the cause of them. He had led Joy to her death and been unable to protect her as he had promised. Jack swallowed his fear and dug his heels into the sides of his horse, spurring Ajax on toward the cliffs. The wailing pressed against them like a living thing, trying to push them back. His horse strained against it, winded as though he had been running uphill, and Jack cursed the poor beast to urge him on. If they hurried, there could still be rescue. But if not? Then by God there would be vengeance.
Chapter Eighteen Joy hitched up her skirts, fought down the fear and ran faster, trying to blot out the pains in her body and the terror of her circumstances with thoughts of Jack. He was better than dreams. For in reality, there had been those beautiful kisses. Although she had learned far too much about too many things while at An Lusow, Jack’s kisses had come from a wondrous place, far outside of her experience. They made her feel light and strong, gentle and small, scared and safe, and a hundred other things at once. Were all kisses meant to be this way, or was it just because they had come from Jack Kendall?
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She might never know. But she was glad that she had received them before it was too late. Before Jack, she had begun to believe that there had never been a life before the brutality at the inn. Maybe her past, and all that she had been raised to expect, had been an illusion to be wiped away by harsh reality. But now she knew the truth. Her foot caught in a root. She struggled to recover from the fall, only to feel her ankle twist as she was yanked upright again. Tallack had caught her by the back of her dress. In desperation, she looked up—she could see the cliff edge through a gap in the trees, scant feet ahead. It frustrated her to be stopped again with her objective just out of reach. “Did you think you would get away from me so easily?” He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tugged her backward. She had hardly found climbing through a window in the pouring rain while dodging bullets to be the least bit easy, but she bit back that response. Instead, she saved her energy for struggle as she tried to twist out of his grasp. “Because of your little tricks, Bines is dead and Pascoe dying. And someone must pay for that. I’ve left Dungey to deal with your gentleman friend. You will answer to me, girl. And when I’ve finished with you, we’ll have no more trouble with curious strangers tempted by that pretty face.” He spun her about and cuffed her to the ground. So he meant to beat her again, did he? And drag her back to the inn? The pain in her cheek paled against the anger rising inside her. He had taken all that she had, all that was good, and destroyed it. But if he meant to take Jack, too, and keep her alive so that she might remember what she had lost…? “No.” His expression at her denial was just as shocked as if she had slapped him in return. “You don’t say no to me, girl.” “From now on, I do as I like.” She grabbed for the knife in her pocket, and as he reached out for her, she brought it up quickly, cutting his hand. As he screamed, she scrambled for the cliff.
Chapter Nineteen “Joy!” Jack’s voice broke on the name, and he was unable to hide the panic he felt. The woman’s cries were growing nearer. He called out to her, hoping that she would guide him to the spot. He must focus on the positive—if she was still crying then she was still alive. And as long as she lived, there was hope. There would be no more nonsense of running for his own good. Because she must know that his heart could not stand the thought that he might lose her again. Without warning, the trees opened before him onto the bare cliff face. Jack saw Joy and Tallack struggling near the edge. Tallack was looming over her, but she was holding him back with the knife. There was a mark upon her cheek that might become a bruise—if she survived. But there was a cut upon him as well, for his hand was dripping blood. As Jack watched, Joy made a lunge with the knife. The smuggler laughed and caught her by the wrist. Near blind with rage, Jack spurred his horse forward to ride the man down. He longed for the cavalry sword that he had left behind in Portugal.
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But death by the blade would be merciful compared to what he would do with his bare hands to the man that had brutalized his Joy. But for the first time in his life, Ajax rebelled. The horse froze, dead in its tracks, as though Jack were demanding he jump off the cliff and not run towards it. It tossed its head in terror, eyes rolling white, foam flecking its lips. Then the great beast reared, throwing Jack to the ground, and bolted for the woods. Jack hit the dirt hard, knocking the wind from his body. As he fought for the first great breath, his brain struggled with the panicked knowledge that Joy was scant feet from him. Every second counted and he could not move to aid her. Then the air flooded back into his lungs and Jack surged to his feet. And froze in his tracks, just as his horse had done. Joy was huddled on the ground in much the same position he had seen her moments before. But the smuggler who had towered over her was retreating. Slowly. Unwillingly. Step by halting step, he was backing toward the cliff edge behind him. The expression upon his face was stark terror, his eyes rolled white just as the horse’s had been and his head was shaking slowly from side to side. About his neck were twined the hands of a woman. Thin, bone-white, blue-veined and dripping with the sea. Long, unmarked and graceful—the hands of a lady, but strong enough to pull the large man near off his feet. Tallack struggled, but his progress toward the ragged edge of rock was inexorable. He turned, trying to shake her off, and Jack could see the figure that held him. The woman’s hair hung in wet black snakes around the perfect oval of her gray face, and her sodden gown was green with seaweed and slime. In life she might have been a beauty. When she turned her head and stared at Jack with her horrible blank stare, he knew that he was looking into the eyes of death. Suddenly she tipped back her head and opened her dark blue lips. The ghostly cry that had drawn Jack to the spot became a shriek of triumphant laughter. Then she lunged forward toward the cliff edge, taking Tallack with her. The smuggler’s heavy boots passed the last bit of loose ground. He wavered for a moment, arms flailing at nothing, grasping for the ghost woman who held him. But she was gone, like a swirl of mist. And then he screamed and fell. The sounds of his struggle echoed and died away. And even the wind was strangely silent, as though nature itself stood paused in horror at what had occurred.
Chapter Twenty Joy pulled herself up and went forward to stare at the waters below. There was no sign of her captor and she wondered if it was a sin to feel relief. His end had been a terrible thing to behold but would the Gray Lady have taken an innocent man? She closed her eyes, for it made her dizzy to look and faint to think of all that had happened. When she opened them again, Jack was beside her, reaching for her hand. “Come away from the edge. It is not safe to stand there too long.” She smiled sadly. He did not understand what an illusion safety could be. “I needed to see that he was gone. To be sure.”
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“He is gone. There is no one to hold you here.” He held his hand higher, so she could not ignore it. “Come with me. If you have possessions to reclaim, we can return to the inn.” She shook her head. “There is nothing. I have lost all.” “Then once I have located my horse, I will find you a dry room in a proper inn, as far away as can be managed.” A room in a proper inn. After all this time, the idea was less real to her than the Gray Lady had been. Jack acted as though it would be possible to start fresh. But how long could she pretend that her past did not exist? And would it be fair to expect him to? “You needn’t bother, you know. You have done more than enough by ending this.” He was looking at her in surprise. “It is no bother. In truth, it is the farthest thing from it. My job is not finished until I have taken you away from this place and the memories of it.” “The memories will follow both of us where ever we go.” “Never say that. We have all the time in the world. Years ahead of us. Someday, this will be the distant past. Nearly forgotten.” He was so handsome. And his words were so beautiful. But she felt the heaviness in her heart, and shook her head. “Memories fade with time. As will yours of me. You are free. I never meant to trap you here. Go, and forget me.” “I cannot.” She gave him another sad smile. “Then I must help you.” She turned from him to face the cliff. The water below was cold and dark. But at the end she would feel nothing and the waves would wash her clean. “No!” He must have guessed what she meant to do, for he caught her about the waist and held her close to his chest. “Let me go, Jack.” She struggled briefly, and then stopped. It was dangerous on the cliff and she did not want him to fall. Joy could feel his loyal heart, beating strong against her, as though it were her own. “Life together or death together, darling. The choice is yours. But now I have you, I will not let you go.” And she believed him, for he kissed her gently, the way he had in her room when he had made her believe that nothing mattered but the feel of his lips. As she had then, Joy’s struggles ceased and she kissed him back. She twined her arms about his neck and relaxed until she was nestling against Jack, safe in his embrace, as he backed slowly away from the precipice. When she looked up at him, there was the same playful light in his eyes that had drawn her from the first moment she had seen him. “You are mad, Jack.” “Mad for you, perhaps. But saner than some. I have money enough and a horse that will carry two.” He smiled down at her. “Joy Colliver, will you have me?” She shook her head, but this time it was in amazement. “If you are all I have, then I think I will be a rich woman.” And she let him lead her into a new beginning.
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Taggart's Bride by Allison Leigh She became pregnant by one brother, and married the other. Now her first love is back — who will Jolie choose? Seven years ago Drew Taggart married the young and pregnant Jolie Stewart when his brother had abandoned her. But now Darian Taggart is back in town and the two brothers are competing for the same woman. Who will Jolie choose?
Chapter 1 "I suppose you heard." "Hmm?" Jolie Taggart finished folding the last bath towel and added it to the neat stack sitting atop the shining oak dresser. She wanted to get the laundry put away so she wouldn’t have to do it the next day before going to her part-time job at the post office. Waiting for him to elaborate, she glanced up and in the wide mirror over the dresser saw the reflection of her husband, Drew, standing on the other side of the bedroom. He’d unbuttoned his chambray work shirt and as she watched, he yanked the tails from his jeans and shrugged out of it, balling it up in his fist. He wasn’t looking at her, though, and she stifled a longing little sigh at the sight of Drew’s bare chest. Her husband was nothing if not a magnificent-looking man, though he’d likely figure she’d lost her mind if she told him so. She scooped up the stack of towels and walked past him to the linen cupboard tucked in a corner of their bathroom. She juggled the high stack and opened the door. The shelves were jumbled, as if Evan had been rooting through for one of his toys. She knew it was more likely that it was Drew who’d left the disorganized mess. He did that when he was searching for an old towel to turn into a grease rag for whatever engine he was trying to fix around their small spread. She spied a relatively neat corner and began fitting the stack of clean towels into it. "Heard what?" Drew didn’t immediately answer and she raised her voice a little. "You suppose I heard what?" She glanced over her shoulder, hearing Drew’s soft footfall behind her. “Darian’s back," he said in his quiet voice. Jolie blinked. She was aware of a slow tumble of pale blue and peach terrycloth as the towels she’d been putting away slid from the shelf to the cool white-tiled floor. Her stomach clenched. "I...excuse me?" Drew watched her, his deeply brown eyes unreadable. "You heard me." She swallowed. She’d been married to Drew for nearly seven years now. In fact, their anniversary was just a few days off. She’d knitted him a cable-knit sweater in a beautiful silvery gray color. It had taken her months and she’d had to bribe Evan with a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts to extract his promise that he wouldn’t tell his daddy what she’d been working on every afternoon between the time she picked Evan up from school and when she put on dinner before Drew came in for the day. She reached for the towels, automatically refolding and stuffing them in the cluttered closet. One of these days she’d pull everything out and organize it properly, she thought stupidly. "How, uh, how do you know? Did you see him? Talk to him?" Did you tell him about Evan? She wanted to ask the question but didn’t. Couldn’t.
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"Helen told me." Jolie relaxed a little. Helen Taggart was Drew’s stepmother, having married his father when he was but a teenager. "So he’s in Gillette, then. At Helen’s." A few safe hours away from Weaver, Wyoming, where she and Drew and their son, Evan, lived. Their son. No matter what circumstances had led to Evan’s birth, she considered Drew to be Evan’s father in every way that counted. She believed that Drew felt the same. She realized Drew hadn’t answered her. "Drew? Darian is...in Gillette. Isn’t he...?"
Chapter 2 "Yeah. He’s in Gillette," Drew finally said. Jolie eyed her husband, thinking that she should feel more relief than she did. If only she could read Drew’s thoughts! But even after all these years, she couldn’t begin to hazard a guess. He’d never been one to wear his emotions or his thoughts on his sleeve. Not with her, anyway. Drew...well her tall, dark, and intense husband usually gave new meaning to the idea of one keeping their thoughts to themselves. She realized she was chewing the inside of her lip and deliberately made herself stop. She wished Drew wouldn’t stand in the doorway like that. It made her feel decidedly edgy. Even after all these years she was still overwhelmed by the feelings he roused in her. It wasn’t just sexual, either. It was something entirely more complicated. And it was something she, alone, felt. She forced herself to focus on the topic at hand rather than the mystery that was her husband. "Do you think Darian will come to Weaver, then? To see you, I mean?" "To see you, more likely." Drew lifted one sun-bronzed shoulder in a faint shrug. "He has no reason to want to see me," she said carefully. She couldn’t help but wonder what that shrug meant. So uncaring, yet somehow a hair too casual. Or maybe she was just looking for signs of...of something that wasn’t there. "You’re his brother, Drew." "Half-brother." She’d always thought it odd how both men had always made that particular distinction when referring to one another. They’d shared a father, with Drew nearly 10 years older than Darian, but the two men were as different from each other as night was from day. And they’d never gotten along. At all. "Half, then," she allowed. "But it’s been seven years since he went away. Of course he’ll want to see you." Just because she found the idea abhorrent didn’t mean it wasn’t a possibility. The corner of Drew’s mouth curled, but the movement held no amusement. "Yeah. Maybe if he’s screwed up and needs me to clean up the mess." Jolie stiffened, feeling a pain deep down inside her. A pain that was with her always, even though she managed to ignore it for the most part. Time seemed to have a way of doing that, she’d learned. She pushed to her feet and looked up at Drew. Her husband in all ways save one — he didn’t love her. He never had. And the pain inside stemmed from fear that he never would.
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She moistened lips gone dry. "Like you had to clean up the mess he made with me, you mean," she whispered even as her heart silently cried out for him to deny it. But only silence, thick as a humid summer day, hung between them...
Chapter 3 After a seeming eternity, Drew made an impatient sound and shoved his heavy dark hair away from his sunbronzed face. He pitched his shirt into the hamper, moving past her. "For God’s sake, Jolie. You know that’s not what I meant." "Do I?" She made herself speak matter-of-factly but it took a huge effort and even then she wasn’t sure she succeeded. "We wouldn’t be here right now if it weren’t for...for — " "For the fact that my half-brother left you alone and pregnant seven years ago? No, I guess we wouldn’t have married." Though it was true, having him state it in such an unemotional way hurt. Deeply. His eyes, so dark a brown they sometimes looked nearly black, watched her intently. As if he were waiting for something. But what? She knew that Drew hadn’t married her because he’d loved her. He’d married her because of his overwhelming sense of family responsibility. She may have been foolish enough to fall in love with her own spouse along the way, but that didn’t mean he’d done the same. "Drew, I..." she trailed off. She didn’t know what to say. "He’ll probably stay in Gillette. If he stays at all." Again, Drew seemed to be watching. Waiting. "That’ll please Helen," Jolie managed despite the knot in her throat. Before Darian took off all those years ago, Helen had doted on her son to the exclusion of everyone else, though she was admittedly fond of Drew. And she’d detested Jolie on sight. Helen hadn’t changed much in the years since. "Perhaps you should go there to see him." The suggestion came out, surprising even her. "Why would I want to do that?" "I don’t know!" She struggled to control her voice. "To see what he’s doing back in Wyoming since when he left he made it clear he never intended to return. To keep him from coming here, maybe. You can’t possibly want him to see Evan." "Do you want him to?" "Of course not!" "Then there’s nothing to be concerned about." He reached into the tiled shower and flipped on the water with one hand even as he unfastened his leather belt with the other. With an ease that still managed to dry Jolie’s throat, he shucked the rest of his clothes and stepped under the water. On any other night, he might have hooked a long arm around her and pulled her — part protesting, part giggling, all delighted — under the water with him. But not tonight. Not tonight when they both knew his brother — half-brother — had returned after a seven-year absence. But Darian wasn’t only Drew’s younger half-brother. He’d been Jolie’s first love.
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And before he took off, leaving her life in tatters, he’d unknowingly fathered the precious boy who slept in the bedroom at the end of the hall. The boy who called Drew "Daddy." Jolie closed the cupboard door on the towels she’d finally succeeded at fitting inside, and picked up her husband’s discarded clothing. She slowly pushed them into the hamper atop his shirt. Through the textured glass of the shower door, she could see his tall blurred form standing beneath the pounding water that was already sending curls of steam over the door. Drew didn’t think Darian would even want to see him unless it was to clean up one of his messes. Jolie couldn’t say whether Drew’s estimation of his half-brother was correct, or not. All she knew was that just the news of it seemed to have put a wall between her and Drew that had not existed even 10 minutes earlier. So she couldn’t help the suspicion that Darian’s return would change their lives, yet again...
Chapter 4 "Mom? Who’s that man?" Jolie transferred the last sack of groceries from the cart to the trunk of her car. "What man?" "Him." She followed Evan’s pointing finger and felt her stomach drop through the snow-dusted earth beneath her boots. She wanted to turn tail and hustle Evan back inside the grocery but it was already too late. He’d spotted her, flashed a smile and headed straight in her direction. Nothing to be concerned about? Darian Taggart was as different from his older half-brother, Drew, as spring was from fall. At 22 he’d been all bronzed skin, chestnut hair, and vivid blue eyes. At 29, he was...even more so. Jolie swallowed down a jolt of nausea and nudged Evan toward the car. "Get inside the car, sweetheart. The wind is getting really cold." "But who’s the man waving at us?" "Nobody." She practically frog-jumped him toward the passenger door and yanked it open. "Come on, kiddo. In you go. I don’t want your cold coming back again." She pointed at the package sitting on the middle of the seat that her best friend, Hope Leoni Clay, had given her earlier that day. "You can open that now, if you like. It’s a new video game from Hope." Hope’s husband, Tristan Clay, among other things also designed video games. His new company, CeeVid, had just opened an office right in Weaver. "I think she said it’s the one that will be released next year." Thankfully, Evan dove for the package with fiendish glee. He loved getting an advance crack at the games that had become exceedingly popular. Not that Jolie was surprised. Everything Tristan Clay touched seemed to turn to gold. What Jolie liked most about Tristan, though, was his ability to make Hope happier than she’d ever been in her life. She pushed the car door shut just as she heard the scrape of a boot behind her. Bracing herself, she turned and came face-to-face with Darian’s blinding white smile. "I would recognize those blond curls of yours anywhere," he said cheerfully, and before Jolie could guess his intentions, he’d put his hands on her hips and lifted her right off the ground to swing her in a half circle. Pure shock held her silent for a long moment. Then she grabbed for his shoulders. "Put me down!"
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He laughed and set her on her feet, but her relief was short-lived when he leaned over and kissed her full on the lips. "You’re as sweet as ripe peaches, Jolie Stewart. Just the way I remember you." Jolie couldn’t have said a word to save her soul. "Well? Don’t you have a smile for an old friend?" "Old friend?" She parroted. He grinned, as seemingly oblivious to her discomfort at the arms he still had looped loosely around her as he was to the snowflakes that had begun to fall. "Well, Jolie girl, we did have some good times, didn’t we?" His gaze flicked toward the car. "But you’re probably an old married lady by now, if the looks of that boy is anything to go by. So who’s the lucky guy?" "I am," a grim voice said behind them, startling them both. "And I’d appreciate it if you’d stop necking out here on the middle of Main Street." Jolie stared, dismayed, at Drew who’d appeared out of nowhere. She was faintly aware of Darian’s arms dropping away and his astonished "You?" even as her knees went weak and her vision blurred. It was her every nightmare come to life, she thought faintly as the world around her faded to an odd, wavy gray. "Drew," she whispered...and everything went black.
Chapter 5 Darian was standing closer to her than Drew. He caught Jolie in his arms just as she crumpled. Drew’s hands curled into fists. The sight of his wife in his half-brother’s arms bit into his gut like a vicious dog. He yanked open the rear door of Jolie’s car. "Here," he said shortly. He brushed his hand over Evan’s head as the boy leaned over the back of the front seat, his eyes wide. Darian, having settled Jolie on the back seat, backed away. Drew rounded the car and climbed behind the wheel, starting the engine with a savage motion. He shot out of the parking slot, marginally aware of Darian jumping out of the way, and drove straight to the doctor’s. "Daddy? Is Mommy sick?" Evan’s face was pinched and pale. "She’ll be okay," Drew promised gruffly. He turned sharply and pulled into the parking lot of the medical clinic, parking right in front of the entrance. "Grab Mommy’s purse," he told Evan. He went around to the back and gently lifted Jolie from the seat. In just the few steps to get to the clinic, snowflakes fell on her hair, glistening like diamonds against her golden curls. He carried her inside, Evan trotting behind. "She needs the doc," he said, heading right past the receptionist toward the examining rooms. It helped that he was familiar with the new Weaver medical clinic. He ought to be, considering he’d helped build it, fitting in the work between the hours he spent doing his real work as a cutting horse trainer. The door to the second room was open and he carried Jolie inside, lowering her to the high, padded exam table. Jolie’s eyes opened and she stared up at him, confusion clearly written in her tawny eyes. She started to sit up. "Drew? What happened? Where — " "So, what’s the problem here?" Dr. Rebecca Clay glided into the room, moving around Drew to look at Jolie. She’d already flashed a light in Jolie’s eyes before anyone could speak.
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"I just...I got a little dizzy. That’s all." "She passed out cold," Drew corrected grimly. "Don’t be ridiculous," Jolie said defensively. "I’m fine. I guess I’m hungry. I missed lunch and — " "And we’ll just talk for a minute, okay?" Rebecca was calm as she managed to quietly, but implacably, nudge Drew and Evan from the room. "My nurse, Gloria, brought in brownies to the office today," she whispered with a quick wink to Evan after assuring him that his mom would be just fine. "They’re in the reception area if you want one." "I want to know what’s wrong with my mom first," Evan said, all young male and determined. Somehow, the sight of his son looking the doctor’s square in the eyes that way made Drew’s tension ease a little. "Come on, pal. Relax." He closed his hand over Evan’s shoulder. "It’ll just be a few minutes. Then we’ll take your mom home and make sure she eats that lunch she missed. Right?" Evan didn’t look too enthusiastic, but he nodded and went in search of the brownies. "You have one, also, Drew." Rebecca’s voice was soft, but firm. "Give me a minute with her alone. We won’t be long." He looked over the top of the doctor’s head. If Jolie gave one indication that she wanted him to stay, there was nothing the physician could do to keep him away. But Jolie’s gaze met his for only a moment before she looked aside. "Go relax, Drew," Rebecca urged again and with nothing else to be done about it, Drew joined Evan in the reception area. But relax? He doubted it. Particularly when he saw Darian step into the office and look around...
Chapter 6 "Have you had other episodes of dizziness?" Jolie finished buttoning her blouse and started to shake her head. "Well, a few, yes" she admitted to Rebecca, flicking a glance at her. There was something about the female physician that inspired trust. "But nothing this bad." "Nausea? Missed periods?" She felt the blood drain from her head and sank back against the exam table. "You think I’m pregnant?" Rebecca’s lips twitched. "You know better than I at this point, Jolie. Is it a possibility? Might as well look at the most obvious explanation first, don’t you agree?" Despite everything, she and Drew had never discussed having more children together. They’d married because of Evan and anything beyond that had never been an issue. Perhaps that was odd, considering how long they’d been together, but Drew had never brought it up, and Jolie had taken her cue from him. Besides, she’d been too busy trying to walk the tightrope of being a wife without letting her husband know that she’d gone beyond their original arrangement by actually falling in love with him.
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"I suppose it’s a possibility," she admitted, feeling the color return to her face with a vengeance. Though for what reason, she couldn’t say. She and Drew were married, after all. "But I’d have to be pretty early along. And I really think that it’s unlikely..." "Let’s run a test to be certain. Okay?" *** Ten minutes later, Jolie walked out of Rebecca’s office, feeling more dazed than when she’d come to and found herself in Drew’s arms in the exam room. The tableau that greeted her, however, was a blow she could have done without. Drew standing near the wall, his expression closed. Darian sitting on a chair next to Evan, their two heads close as they looked at the handheld video game that Evan was playing with. "What are you doing?" Her voice was sharper than she intended. Evan’s head lifted and he bounded over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You’re okay?" She leaned over and kissed his forehead. "I’m fine," she assured him. Then she straightened and looked at her husband. "Nothing to worry about at all. I’d like to go home, now, though." "Hey, great," Darian pushed to his feet. "Ma told me that Drew there built a house with his own two hands. Could hardly believe it. Can’t wait to see it. I guess that’s the house you two share. Strange how Ma never said you guys were hitched." "No!" She flushed and looked at Drew, wishing that he would say something. She wasn’t surprised at all that Helen hadn’t mentioned her. The woman would prefer to pretend she didn’t exist at all. "I mean...perhaps another time. I am feeling a bit tired." Darian shrugged. "Sure. Whenever. I’ll be around a while, after all." At that, Drew looked over at his half-brother. "Why?" "Because I’m going to be working at CeeVid. I’m moving to Weaver, man. I thought Ma told you all this. Isn’t it great? It’ll be almost like old times again." Jolie felt Drew’s dark eyes like a physical thing. "Sure," he said sardonically. "Like old times."
Chapter 7 Drew stood in the dark bedroom looking down at the twin-sized bed and the sprawling lump hanging half off it. Jolie had joked often enough that Evan could sleep standing on his head in a snowbank and Drew suspected it was close enough to truth. Once Evan had wound down enough from the excitement of the day, he’d hit the hay hard. He leaned over and smoothly lifted his son’s head and shoulders back onto the mattress. Evan, predictably, didn’t stir. Not even when Drew pulled the quilt up over his shoulders, nor when he suddenly sat on the side of the bed, his weight denting the mattress.
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A good part of him wanted to scoop up the boy and hold on tight. Never let him go. Evan was his. His. He had been since the day Drew had talked a broken-hearted, desperate girl named Jolie Stewart with corkscrew curls out of giving up her baby for adoption and into marrying him. But the truth was, even then he’d expected this day to come. Seven weeks, seven months, seven years. What did it matter? Drew had known even then that he was living on borrowed time with his beautiful blonde wife and dark-haired son. Because sooner or later either the man she’d loved, his half-brother, would return; or she’d fall for someone else. Someone who’d be able to give her the large family she’d once dreamt of having. "Drew? What is it? It’s after midnight. Is Evan all right?" His head shot up at the whisper. Jolie was padding into the room, her arms hugged around herself the way she had of doing when she was chilled. "He’s fine." He stood and watched her smooth her hand over Evan’s tousled head. "You’re cold. You should get back in bed." She turned and looked up at him, lifting one hand to push back the hair that hung in wild curls half way down the back of the faded blue football jersey she must have appropriated from his side of the closet. The movement made the too-wide neck of the shirt slide down one ivory-smooth shoulder. Desire, hard and hot, ripped through him. He very nearly reached for her. But the knowledge that she’d passed out just from the mere sight of his half-brother kept his hands to himself. "What about you?" she asked. Dark amusement curled through him as he followed her into the hall and quietly pulled Evan’s door closed. "I’ll be along." Once he’d stuck his head out in the cold night air, that was. She took a few steps along the hallway toward their bedroom. Then stopped. Turned back, looking at him. Her eyes were shadows in the dim light. "Drew, are...are you all right?" His amusement died. "Why?" "I just — You aren’t...well — " "Spit it out, curly cue." Her soft lips trembled at the nickname, then firmed. "You seem...I don’t know. Upset. Ever since you told me about, about — " "Can’t you say his name?" She made a soft sound. "You are upset. You haven’t even come to bed." "Did you want me to?" Her lips parted. "Of course I want you to get some sleep. You’re up every day before dawn and — " "Sleep." She cast him a look he couldn’t read, then just as quickly looked away. "You’re my husband." He didn’t know what devil drove him. "And that’s why you want me to come to bed."
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"Actually," her soft voice sounded strained. "I think we need to talk..."
Chapter 8 We need to talk. Drew figured those had to be four of the most god-awful words around. They were never a prelude to something good. He looked at Jolie. He’d married her. He’d loved seeing her pregnant. Getting big and round with her baby, she’d been everything he’d ever thought a woman could possibly be. Containing his desire for her during that time had just about killed him. But he’d done it. And after the baby came, after they’d settled into a new routine with the three of them, right here in this house that back then had been little more than a weathertight skeleton, it was Jolie who had finally come to him. Jolie, who’d shyly told him that she was ready to be a real wife. It had been the night before their first wedding anniversary, he remembered. With no effort at all he could recall every single detail of that night. From the way her hair had flowed wild and abandoned across the white sheets to the way her breath had caught in her throat when they’d joined together for the first time to the way he’d lost control with her like he had never done before. But she’d still been in love with Darian. It had been Darian’s name that she’d mumbled night after night in her sleep while she’d tossed and turned, caught in the grip of a dream that Drew’s imagination had no trouble whatsoever deciphering. Yeah, she’d loved his gregarious fun-loving half-brother all right. And to his dying day he’d remember that particular fact. "Let’s just make it quick," he said evenly. "Darian’s back. Apparently to stay. You don’t have to tell me how you feel about him." "But that wasn’t — " "I’ll find a new place to stay in the morning. Unless you want to move out instead. I’d just as soon not sell this place, though, if you don’t mind. We can work something out about the land and the stables." He didn’t know what, though. He trained cutting horses. He needed space to do it. She’d gone pale. Even in the dim light he could see it. He caught her arms in his hands. She was so cold he could feel the goosebumps on her satiny skin. "Are you going to pass out again?" She wrenched out of his arms. "No, I am not. What do you mean, move out? What on earth are you talking about?" On the best of occasions, Drew didn’t figure he had an over-abundance of patience. And now, it was in seriously meager supply. "You and Darian." "Me and Darian...what?" "I saw you two today, remember? Climbing down each other’s throats." Jolie felt Drew’s words like a physical slap. "He kissed me," she said stiffly. "And you fainted dead away." "I was shocked. And...and hungry."
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Drew didn’t respond to that. She stared at him, feeling the very foundation of her world cracking right beneath her feet. But how could that be when they were standing in their very own hall right outside their bedroom? Her voice felt brittle as she forced the question past her numb lips. "What exactly are you saying here, Drew?"
Chapter 9 Jolie waited, feeling on the edge of a bottomless chasm. Drew’s tall form filled her vision. A button looked loose on the front of his denim shirt, she noticed, and felt the urge to scream rise inside her. "You can have Bennett Ludlow represent you if you want," he said. His voice was low. Husky. "He’s right here in town, so it’ll be convenient for you. I’ll find a lawyer from over in Braden." Had she ever felt this cold in her life? Only by clenching her jaw was she able to keep her teeth from chattering. "Lawyers. You...want a divorce, then. That’s what you’re saying." He didn’t answer immediately and she felt a quick dart of hope. But then he silently inclined his head. Just once. And hope died. Drew no longer wanted her as his wife. Maybe later she’d appreciate the irony of the situation. Unwanted by both Taggart brothers in one lifetime. But right now, right this minute, she could barely draw breath. "And Evan?" Finally, Drew showed some emotion. His jaw cocked to one side and he shoved one hand through his hair, leaving it in disheveled black waves that made her fingers long to stroke back from his brow. "You can have anything you want, Jolie. But I won’t lose my son." No, you’ll just throw away your wife. The cry went unspoken. One thing was clear. If she didn’t leave his presence right this second, she was going to break down. "You built this place," she said stiffly. "You’ll stay here." Then she turned on her heel and went into their bedroom. She pushed the door closed, hearing it latch very, very quietly. Her vision blurred as she leaned back against the door panel. After a long moment, she heard the creak of a floor board. The scrape of a boot. And then...nothing. She slid down the door and buried her face in her hands, tears slowly scalding their way down her cheeks. *** "What do you mean you and Evan have moved into Rebecca’s old apartment?" Despite the horrified question from Hope, Jolie continued sorting mail into the post office boxes. She tried to have the mail in the boxes by 10 very morning. The townspeople counted on it. "I mean we’ve moved. As of yesterday." "But...but why?" She wouldn’t cry. She just would not. She’d spent all last night in tears, muffling them in her pillow so she wouldn’t disturb Evan in the next room. He’d made no secret of his confusion of the turn of events that had
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them hastily packing some of their clothes and moving from their wood-surrounded ranch house to the apartment that had once been Dr. Rebecca’s home before she’d married Sawyer Clay. Jolie was confused, too. And surely by now there weren’t any tears left inside her. "Ask Drew," she told her friend. "He’s the one who decided it." She slotted the last letter and slammed shut the hinged metal door. "Tristan hasn’t said anything to me. He and Drew are best friends but I don’t think Drew’s told him a thing." Hope’s violet eyes were shocked behind her delicate gold-framed glasses. She followed Jolie back out to the front counter of the small — and mercifully empty — post office. "I don’t understand this. I thought you guys were the perfect couple." So much for not having any tears left. "You and Tristan are the perfect couple," Jolie corrected. She dashed her fingers across her damp cheek and blindly began straightening the mailing supplies stacked on the counter. "You love him and he loves you." Hope frowned. "What are you saying? Don’t you love him?" The slippery express mail envelopes scattered all over again. "Yes, I love Drew. But he doesn’t love me, Hope," she admitted miserably. "He never has. And I need to start facing the fact that he never will."
Chapter 10 Hope was staring at Jolie after she’d told her the real bare bones of her marriage as if she’d never seen her before. "When you eloped with Drew it seemed like the most romantic thing ever. I can’t believe you never told me the truth. That you bore all that worry alone. I was off at college, but still — " Jolie pressed her fingertips against her aching temples. "I couldn’t tell you. It was so humiliating, Hope. Once Darian got what he wanted from me — " her lips pressed together for a moment " — he headed on down the road just like my mother warned me he would. But I wouldn’t listen. I had visions of becoming Darian Taggart’s bride. His wants were rather less romantic." "And Darian left town before you learned you were pregnant with Evan. Then, in steps big brother and you became Drew Taggart’s bride instead." It was a simplistic explanation but Jolie didn’t have the energy to correct her friend. The truth of the matter was much more complicated. "Essentially." "Drew was protecting you. He cared about you, even then, Jolie. For goodness’ sake, he was at the height of his rodeo career. He was one of the top competitors in the PRCA." Jolie swallowed. Nodded. He’d not only given up his career, but his inheritance from his father that Helen had controlled, all to ensure that her child remained a Taggart. Helen had detested Jolie badly enough that after their quiet elopement, she’d packed up her house in Weaver and moved to the more populated Gillette. She’d always considered Jolie beneath her, mostly because Helen and Jolie’s mother had never gotten on. Even in a town as small as Weaver, there had been definite attitudes. And Helen had had it in spades. Drew hadn’t let any of his stepmother’s disapproval deter him, however. Heavens, he’d been a grown man and not given to taking orders from anyone, much less his stepmother. Which had further cemented Helen’s dislike of Jolie. Since then, Drew had built up his reputation as one of the best cutting horse trainers in the
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country and even now his schedule was booked at least two years out. He still visited Helen regularly, and Jolie generally went along. But the woman’s attitude hadn’t changed much over the years. "Then surely that tells you how much Drew cared. He wouldn’t have had to marry you, Jolie. He might have found other ways to help. He was — " "Was protecting my child," Jolie interrupted. "Because he knew I was going to have to give the baby up for adoption." She pressed her palm to her abdomen at the terrible memory. Her mother had been nearly incapacitated with her penchant for alcohol. Jolie supported them as best she could since she’d been 15. That summer, after Jolie graduated from high school, Darian had left town and his mother, Helen, had assured Jolie that he wasn’t likely to return. She’d been only 18 years old, but she’d known she couldn’t hope to provide a suitable life for her child no matter how badly she’d wanted to keep the baby. Drew had been back in town during that time recovering from several cracked ribs and he’d learned of Jolie’s predicament when he’d come across her crying right here in this very post office. Jolie had never felt so alone as she had then. She’d had no means to support a child, no matter how much she wanted the baby. Abortion for her was simply out of the question. She’d known she’d have to give up her child for adoption. But Drew had offered an alternative. And though she’d first refused, he’d hung around for weeks, gently, casually, inexorably changing her mind in that quiet way he had. "Drew latched onto Darian’s return like a drowning man, Hope." Jolie still could hardly believe what had occurred. "He wanted out, obviously. And now he’s got an excuse that his conscience can apparently live with. He even told me to hire Bennett Ludlow to represent me in our divorce." Hope frowned. "But he’s never given you any indication that he wanted out of your marriage before, has he?"
Chapter 11 Jolie sank onto a high stool and buried her face in her hands. "Oh, Hope. I don’t know if there have been signs. All I knew was that I fell in love with Drew. He gave up so much for Evan and me. I didn’t deserve him. I never wanted to hurt him or bring him harm." Hope tsked and slid a comforting arm around her shoulders. "Who says you have? Or that you didn’t deserve him? For goodness’ sake, Jolie. You two have been together for years. I’ve never thought Drew was the kind of man who’d put up with an unacceptable situation for seven minutes, much less seven years. You need to tell him how you feel!" "So he can feel sorry for me all over again like he did when Darian dumped me? I can’t face that, Hope. I just can’t. If there’s one thing this has made me realize it is that I can’t keep on this way." Her hands pressed unconsciously against her abdomen. "I won’t be just a responsibility to him." Hope sighed. "I can’t believe Darian is going to be working at CeeVid," she muttered. "And he really doesn’t suspect anything about Evan?" "No. And he’s not going to, if I have anything to say about it. Drew may not want me, but he is Evan’s father. On that, at least, we agree. Some day we’ll tell Evan when he’s old enough to understand. But not now. Not yet." Both women looked up when the bell over the door tinkled softly. At the sight of her handsome hunk of a husband entering, Hope patted Jolie on the back. "You and Evan come to dinner tonight," she said softly before moving around the counter toward Tristan and the baby he held. "I can’t," Jolie said. "There’s a parent/teacher meeting at school."
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"Tomorrow then," Hope insisted. "And I know you probably don’t feel like company, but if you don’t come to us, we’ll come to you. Promise me, now." "Marriage has made you bossy," Jolie observed, striving for some sense of normalcy. "Motherhood has made her bossy," Tristan Clay corrected, his smile crooked and utterly indulgent. "And your son here is making it obvious that there are some things he prefers you for, sweetpea." Jolie watched Tristan transfer the blanket-bundled baby Erik from his arms to Hope’s as they left with a wave. If ever there was a man besotted with his wife and child, it was a former jetsetter named Tristan Clay. She closed her eyes and wished she were a better person. The kind of person who wouldn’t feel envious of her very best friend’s happiness. Then the bell jingled again signaling the steady start of postal customers and Jolie could only be grateful, for it gave her little time to sit and brood. She didn’t take a break until lunch. Even then she sat in the back where she still had a view of the front counter. Her sandwich held little appeal, but she forced a few bites down, mindful of what Dr. Rebecca had told her. The door chimes jingled and she was glad of the interruption from her depressing thoughts. She tossed away the half-eaten sandwich and went out front. Her stomach lurched unsteadily. "Drew," she breathed. Had he changed his mind? "What are you doing here?"
Chapter 12 It had been two hellish days since Jolie had silently moved out of their home. And the sight of her was like glimpsing sunshine through a blizzard. Before he did something stupid, like beg Jolie to come home whether she loved someone else or not, Drew set the small duffel bag on the counter. "Evan called me." A look he couldn’t decipher flitted through her eyes. "When? He’s in school right now." Drew dragged his gaze away from her face, only to be distracted by the sweet shape of her breasts beneath her sunny-yellow, skinny-knitted sweater. He realized that Jolie was still waiting. "This morning. Before school," he said. "He wanted this stuff. Told me you’d said to drop it by here." "I didn’t..." Jolie unzipped the bag, peering inside. She frowned a little and pulled out a pair of hightops from the jumble of trading cards and balls and CeeVid games. "Are you sure? He outgrew these shoes months ago, Drew. Perhaps he meant another pair or something." Hearing his name on her lips had always driven him a little nuts. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his aging down vest so they wouldn’t do something stupid. Like reach for her. "There are no other pairs. You left his closet very nearly empty, which you know good and well." She blinked and slowly drew the zipper closed. "What did you expect? That I’d leave behind half of his things? This was your idea, remember?" And she hadn’t uttered so much as one protest. His fingers tightened into fists. "Have you talked to Bennett yet?" Her chin angled. "I didn’t realize you were in such a hurry."
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He swore. "Jolie — " But she waved her hand, shaking her head. "Just...go away, Drew. I’ll make sure Evan gets this bag." "You’re still going to bring him home for the weekend, right?" They’d agreed to that in excruciatingly polite tones before she’d begun packing up the contents of his son’s closet. She turned away, setting the duffel behind the counter. "I said I would, didn’t I?" Her voice was muffled and he wondered for an impossible moment if she was crying. But when she turned around again, tossing her glorious curls around her slender shoulders, her tawny eyes were bright but dry. "Is there anything else?" She’d spoken to him like he was merely a postal customer, and nothing more. Sure in hell not as if he were the man who’d shared her bed and her body for the better part of their life together. His hands came out of his pocket and he leaned over the counter, thrusting one hand unerringly through the silky coils of her hair to curl about her neck and catching her shoulder in the other. He caught the shocked expression on her face in the bare moment before his mouth covered hers...
Chapter 13 Kissing Jolie now was the same as it had always been, Drew thought. Like trying to capture wildfire. She made a soft sound, her lips parting beneath his. He caught her face between his hands, angling her head. Plundering. Inhaling. Savoring. The wildfire spread as easy as a flame through dry grass when he felt her small, slender fingers touch his jaw. Tentative at first. Then more surely as she pushed them through his hair, cradling his head. His own hands drifted down her back, up her sides, feeling the uneven breath she drew lifting her rib cage and her heart pounding in her breasts that so perfectly fit his palms. Even through the ribbed knit he could feel the peaks tightening under the thumbs he brushed over her. She moaned, her back arching, and he reached for the hem of her sweater. One thinking part of his brain cursed the counter separating them. And then Jolie was twisting her head away from his. "No. No, Drew, we can’t." He went still. Slowly withdrew his damnable hands from her and planted them flat on the counter. His head bowed and he hauled in a long breath. "I’m sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn’t have done that." But he wasn’t sorry. He’d never been sorry for wanting her. Maybe that was his own damned luck. Or his own personal hell. Wanting the woman who wanted Darian, his half-brother. Jolie’s knees were water. She could barely breathe for the way her heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t know what to say. What to do. Everything inside her urged her to hurry around to Drew’s side of the counter and pull his head down to hers, regardless of the fact that they were standing right there in front of God and Country and whatever Weaver postal customer decided to come into the post office. Only he was sorry he’d kissed her.
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He hadn’t changed his mind about anything. "I think you’d better go," she whispered. He shoved back his hair, his depthless brown eyes watching her for a long moment. Then he nodded abruptly. "Tell Evan I’ll call him before bedtime," he said. Then he walked out the door, leaving the little bell jingling after him. Jolie’s vision blurred. She stood there until the sound of the bell had long faded. Until finally, feeling an ache in her soul, she went through the back room to the small restroom in the very rear. And there, she lost the meager lunch she’d managed to consume. After, she rinsed her mouth and splashed water over her face and looked at her pale reflection in the small mirror over the sink. What on earth was she going to do? She was no longer an 18-year-old girl with no resources whatsoever. And yet, once again, she’d found herself pregnant by a man who no longer wanted her...
Chapter 14 The jingle of the door drew Jolie like a magnet. She dashed out, her silly heart thinking it might be Drew again. But her feet stopped short at the sight of the other Taggart. "What do you want?" Darian held up a wrapped parcel. "Doing business on my lunch hour, Jolie girl." She could hardly ignore him, even though she wanted to. She weighed the package and reached for the cash he held out. When she did, he linked his fingers with hers and leaned toward her, over the counter. He smiled, looking revoltingly secure in his own charm. She twisted against his hold and wondered what on earth she’d ever seen in him. "Let me go, Darian." He didn’t. "So how on earth did you end up shackled to dull Drew?" "He’s not dull," she said coldly. She finally managed to extricate herself from his grip. "Drew’s done more with his life than you could ever hope for." And she suspected that Darian had always been envious of that. "The only thing interesting that Drew ever did was rodeo. But he hung up his bevy of buckle bunnies when he married you, I suppose." "Having a bevy was much more your style than Drew’s." Not because Drew wasn’t as attractive as his younger brother. In fact, Drew was far more intense than Darian, a fact that had as much to do with Drew’s personality as it did with his thick dark hair, carved features, and mesmerizing brown eyes. Mesmerizing brown eyes that no longer wanted to look on her as his wife, she reminded herself harshly. She counted out Darian’s change and set it on the counter between them. She wasn’t taking a chance that he would grab her hand again. "What are you really doing back in Weaver, Darian? You can’t expect me to believe it’s because you missed it here."
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"I got a good offer from CeeVid," he said. "Don’t act as if they sought you out," Jolie countered immediately. "I wouldn’t believe it and I can easily find out the truth." His lips thinned. "So I approached them. Big deal. I’m good at what I do and they hired me." "But why Weaver, Darian? CeeVid has other offices." Nothing about the last few days made any sense. Surely this was something that could be explained, though. "What are you doing? Hiding out from some woman you led on?" He looked away for a moment and Jolie knew instinctively that her sarcastic comment had been much closer to the mark than she’d expected. But then he was grinning that look-at-me-I’m-so-charming grin again. "So, what do you think, Jolie girl. Might be nice if we were friendly-like since we’re gonna be neighbors." "I don’t think so." "Afraid big brother wouldn’t approve?" "Since it is apparent to most of this town by now that I’ve moved out, I guess that hardly matters now, does it?" "Why did you? Move out, I mean." Jolie didn’t answer that. She had no intentions of letting Darian know that he’d had any affect on her marriage. Fortunately, Darian seemed content to have his question go unanswered. "Drew always did like acting the hero," he said smoothly, instead. Jolie swallowed. She didn’t know what this turn of conversation meant, but she knew she didn’t feel comfortable with it. "W-What do you mean?" He lifted one shoulder in a motion eerily like Drew’s. "Well, he’s the one who got the girl, now isn’t he?"
Chapter 15 Driving to Hope and Tristan’s house on the other side of town later the next evening, Jolie couldn’t contain a shudder at the memory of Darian’s words. She didn’t know why it hadn’t occurred to her that Darian might be staying at the motel that comprised the rest of the building where Rebecca’s apartment was located. For years, the place had been the only motel in town. But since CeeVid had come to town, bringing with it a rush of new growth, one of the national chains had opened a motel on the opposite end of town. Foolish of Jolie to assume that he’d have chosen the new place. It had to be her preoccupation over that lamentable fact that kept her from noticing the familiar black pickup truck already parked alongside Hope and Tristan’s sprawling place. But Evan noticed Drew’s vehicle. He bounded out of Jolie’s car before she’d barely stopped. "Daddy’s here!" A sudden knot tied itself in Jolie’s stomach. She wanted to drive away. To run and hide and continue licking her wounds. But Hope had already thrown open the wide front door of her home, letting Evan inside as she walked toward Jolie’s car.
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"I didn’t know," she said quickly. "This is Tristan’s doing. Please don’t turn around and drive away." Jolie sighed and climbed out of the car. "Evan saw that he’s here. It’s too late to back out." She made herself shrug even as she wished she’d changed out of the blue jeans and flannel shirt that she’d worn to work. But then, why should she dress up for a husband who’d more than made it clear he wanted out of their marriage? She followed Hope into the house and realized she was pressing her lips together, unconsciously urging some color into them. It was immediately clear when she followed Hope into the kitchen where Drew had his hip perched on a high barstool that he’d not been expecting to see her, either. "Hello, Drew. How are you?" Then felt her cheeks flame at such inane politeness. His lips twisted a little. But there was no denying the pleasure on his face when he glanced down at Evan, who seemed to have forgotten his too-big-for-hugs stage, and had thrown his arms around his dad’s waist. Jolie turned away, an ache deep behind her eyes. She blindly picked up a knife and a burstingly ripe tomato that was sitting on the cutting board. Hope caught her gaze and must have read the desperation in them for she calmly announced to the men that, unless they wanted to finish cooking supper themselves, they needed to get out from under foot. They went. So hurriedly that under other circumstances, Jolie would have laughed right out loud. Instead, she found herself trying not to flinch when Drew’s arm brushed her shoulder as he and Evan moved past. But she still felt his touch reverberate through her. And she still seemed to taste his kiss on her lips. She couldn’t help looking up at him, only to find his dark eyes watching her closely. As if he, too, was remembering the previous afternoon when he’d kissed her as if there were no tomorrow...
Chapter 16 Jolie must have imagined that heated look in Drew’s eyes. He stepped past her, his "‘scuse me" barely audible. Once they were alone in the kitchen, Hope gently nudged the swinging door closed, assuring them even more privacy. "Talk about some serious vibes," she murmured as she slid the butcher’s knife out of Jolie’s hand and replaced it with the head of lettuce she’d just washed. "Tear that up instead," she suggested. "Safer than having you cut off a finger." Jolie’s fingers tightened, easily reducing the head into quarters. "He has a helluva nerve," she muttered. Hope’s eyebrows lifted. "Why’s that?" "Coming into the post office yesterday. Kissing me senseless. Then apologizing." Bits of lettuce flew as she tossed bite-size pieces into the salad bowl that Hope had set out. "The nerve, indeed." "And Darian with his stupid comments. I swear, Hope, I’m beginning to think moving away from Weaver might just be a good idea. There’s an opening at the Braden post office. I saw the notice today." Hope looked startled. "You don’t really mean that, do you? Weaver’s your home."
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Jolie’s shoulders slumped. "No. I don’t really mean it. Oh, why did Darian have to come back now of all times?" "Maybe it’s high time he did," Hope said softly. "I...what?" Her friend shrugged, looking faintly apologetic. "If it makes you and Drew wake up to each other, then I can only think that’s a good thing." She tossed tomato wedges into the salad bowl and reached for a cucumber. "You said yourself that you were in love with your husband, Jolie. Maybe it’s time you told him so. Particularly considering the circumstances." Her voice was pointed as her gaze flicked to Jolie’s midriff. Jolie sank down onto the bar stool. "How’d you guess? Did Rebecca tell you?" "Of course she didn’t. Just because she’s my sister-in-law doesn’t mean she’d break a confidence with a patient." Hope poured a glass of lemonade and set it in front of Jolie. "I recognized some of the signs. That fainting episode, for one thing. And you have that look." "Great," Jolie laughed brokenly, her forehead pressed to her palm. "Pretty soon the whole town’ll know, too. Seeing as how it’s so obvious to others." "Obvious to me," Hope chided gently. "You know that you must tell Drew." "I know. I know. Things are just such a mess." "Then put on some gloves and clean up the mess. You know I used to envy you, Jolie. Because you had so much more freedom when we were kids than I did. Gram was so strict about everything. My dress, school, church, my friends." "Your grandmother cared." Jolie said. "My mother — before she died — didn’t much care what I did as long as it didn’t interfere with the path to her gin bottle." "What I failed to realize when we were kids, though, was that what I perceived as your freedom was far outweighed by the responsibilities you bore. And for whatever reason, it’s left you feeling like you’re undeserving of the love that any wife should feel right in expecting from her husband." "Just because you and Tristan didn’t start your marriage under the best of circumstances yet are now as happy as two pups in clover doesn’t mean that is going to occur for Drew and I. We’ve been married years, Hope. Don’t you think that if he...loved — " she had to push out the word " — me, he’d have said something by now?" Hope picked up the salad bowl and headed toward the swinging door. "I don’t know, sweetie. You love him, but it doesn’t seem like you’ve ever told him that."
Chapter 17 Evan sat between Jolie and Drew at the table. He was so clearly delighted to have his parents together that it made Jolie’s heart ache. As a result, she was barely able to swallow more than a few bites of the delicious meal that Hope had prepared. Afterward, Hope plopped the baby on her lap into his playpen and began tidying up the dishes. She pushed a stack of plates into her husband’s hands and looking rather amused, he followed her into the kitchen. Leaving Jolie and Drew alone.
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Evan had already been excused and was fiddling with some new high-tech gadget of Tristan’s in the great room just a bit beyond the dining room. Jolie stifled a sigh and looked down at little Erik in the playpen, smoothing her fingers over his soft cheek. About six months old now, he was a happy baby with his mother’s violet eyes and his father’s striking features. He grabbed her finger and chattered nonsensically. She couldn’t help but wonder what traits her child would carry. How would her and Drew’s genes combine together in the life they’d created? Would the baby have Drew’s beautiful brown eyes? Her naturally curly hair? Or would their child resemble his brother Evan, who — except for his blue eyes — looked so much like Drew that people often remarked on the striking resemblance? "You always did look good with a baby in your arms." Drew’s voice startled her. He’d sounded positively pained. "You make that sound like a bad thing," she said. His lean jaw was so tight it looked white beneath the permanent bronzing caused by hours and hours spent beneath the Wyoming sun. His thumb was working the edge of the label free from the bottle of beer he’d barely touched. "Just a fact." Had he figured out that she was pregnant with his child? "Drew — " He suddenly pushed to his feet. "At least you’ll be able to have more when you and Darian get married." Her jaw dropped. She very nearly shook her head to shake loose the buzzing that followed hard on the heels of his words. She rose and settled Erik on his colorful quilt that was spread on the floor. Painfully aware of Evan who was still within earshot, she pushed an angry finger against Drew’s hard chest. "You may not want me any longer," she hissed, "but coming up with that stupid statement is really low, Drew." He circled her wrist with one hand, easily pulling her finger away from drilling a hole right through his gray shirt. "And denying it serves no purpose, either," he said flatly. "He came out to the house, today, Jolie. I know all about it." Her fingers curled and she twisted her hand, but he held her fast. "Know all about what?" "He told me all about the wedding plans. Don’t pretend you don’t know." If Darian was up to mischief, Jolie didn’t know what she’d do to him. But she promised herself it would be slow and very, very painful. What hurt, however, was the evidence that Drew could so easily discard her. "If he’s making wedding plans," she said thickly, "they’re not with me." Then she called to Evan and told him it was time for them to leave. It should have come as no surprise that he didn’t want to go. She stood there, looking at those two Taggart males — one young and defensive, one mature and intense and utterly, impossibly unreadable — and felt all her self-defenses crumble...
Chapter 18 "Yes, Evan," Jolie said huskily. "Stay with daddy tonight. I’ll pick you up after school tomorrow. T — tell Hope and Tristan goodnight for me, please." She turned hurriedly away from Drew and Evan before she could no longer contain her tears. She hated being so tearful. It made her feel weak and inept. Hormones, she reminded herself as she hurried out to her car, pulling her jacket on as she went. It had to be hormones making her so emotional. So unequipped to handle the mess in which she’d suddenly found herself.
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Watching Jolie tear out of the house like the devil was at her heels, Drew frowned. She’d been pale and quiet throughout supper, casting him surreptitious looks when she’d thought he hadn’t been looking. He’d figured she was trying to come up with a way to break the news that she and Darian were already planning their future. But just now, when he’d brought it out into the open, she’d looked as white and shaky as she had when she’d passed out into Darian’s arms the other day. The realization had him on his feet. What if she fainted while she was driving back home? No, not home. To the apartment that she was currently staying in. Tris came into the room. "Did I hear Jolie leave?" "Yeah." Drew leaned over Evan. "You mind staying here with Hope and Tris for a bit?" Evan, who was once again thoroughly occupied with the computerized toy, shrugged. "You gonna go get Mom?" Drew didn’t know how to answer that one. "I’m gonna make sure she gets home okay," he finally settled for. *** The windows of Jolie’s apartment were dark. If it weren’t for the sight of her car parked near the back door, Drew would have thought she wasn’t there. He threw his truck in park and pushed open the door. It had started to snow again. He headed toward the door, stopping short when it unexpectedly opened. Darian, head down and hands shoved in his pockets, strode around the side of the building and disappeared from sight. Drew caught the gleam of Jolie’s gilded curls as she stood in the doorway. His half-brother hadn’t noticed him, but Jolie sure in hell did. In the faint light shining from behind her, he saw her stiffen and begin to shut the door. His boot stopped its progress. She didn’t fight him. Merely turned away. He pushed open the door and followed her inside. He found her sitting in the kitchen, arms folded tightly around her slender body. She didn’t speak. Just tossed her wild mane of curls behind her shoulders and looked at him in the dim light. "Where did Darian go?" He heard her sigh faintly. "Darian. Always Darian," she murmured. "To Braden, I imagine." "What for?" Her lips pressed together for a moment. "Because that’s where his on-and-off fiancée lives..."
Chapter 19 "His fiancée." Drew repeated the words, unable to quite believe them.
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"Yes," Jolie assured. "His fiancée. He told you of his plans but obviously neglected to tell you the name of his intended. I suppose he thought it was one more thing that Helen would have told you. Do you think I’d make it up?" He shoved his hand through his hair, even as he cursed his half-brother all over again. "I’m sorry." Jolie looked up at him, her expression sad. "For what? That you’ve lost your easy excuse to call it quits with me?" "Dammit, Jolie — " She popped up to her feet, slashing her hand in the air. "Just stop. I don’t have the stomach for this right now." She walked into the living room. "Where’s Evan, anyway?" "Still at Tristan and Hope’s." He followed her, catching her arm in his hand. Feeling her go stiff as a board. He ignored it and turned her inexorably around to face him. "I’m sorry that he hurt you again." Admitting it didn’t come easy. "Who, Darian?" She stared at him with that same look she’d been wearing for the past few days. The one that silently asked if he’d lost his mind. "The only thing that Darian’s return proved was that our marriage is a sham." Her throat worked. "I’d thought...hoped — " Something hard and tight lodged in Drew’s chest. A sham? He’d devoted his life to Jolie and their son even though he’d known they weren’t truly his. It was a hard truth to face. "Hoped what?" Her lashes swept down, hiding her tawny eyes. "We’ve been...married...a while, Drew. But I don’t think we’ve ever talked about what’s in our hearts. Not really. We talk about Evan, we talk about our friends and what’s going on around Weaver. We talk about the horses you train and about my job at the post office. But that’s about it." "I know what’s in your heart." "Do you?" Her lips twisted. "You’ve got one up on me, then. All I know is that you don’t want me, anymore." "Dammit, I’ll always want you." The admission came out, low and fierce. "But I want you to be happy, more. And if that means Darian, then that’s something I’ve gotta live with." "When have I ever suggested that I would only be happy with him? I don’t love your half-brother!" "You used to cry out his name in your sleep. Every damned night, Jolie." Her lips parted. "Used to, Drew. Did you ever ask me about the dreams? Of course not! You’re Mr. Tall, Dark, and Silent. The man who sacrificed his future for the poor little pregnant girl who couldn’t take care of her life. The man who gave up everything just to ensure his nephew didn’t get raised by strangers!" "I got everything," he growled. "But I knew it wasn’t mine to keep. You were Darian’s." "I wasn’t. And I’m not." She swiped her fingers over her cheeks. "I was 18 and infatuated with a handsome college boy who was home on summer vacation. But I got over that infatuation pretty darned quickly when it became clear he’d only been out for some summer’s entertainment." "Your dreams — " "Nightmares!" Her arms lifted. "Nightmares, Drew. When I’d find him stealing Evan away from us. And they went away, didn’t they? Because I knew that you and I would never let anything happen to our — " her voice broke " — to our child."
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Each tear that he saw slide down her cheek felt like acid burning in his soul. He could no more resist her pain than he could swing from the moon. "Ahh, curly cue," he murmured, brushing his thumb over that trail of tears. "You deserve so much more than I can ever give you..."
Chapter 20 Jolie closed her eyes against the sight of Drew. So tall and darkly beautiful. "I know you don’t love me," she whispered. "But pushing me toward Darian isn’t something that makes up for what you don’t feel. I don’t blame you, Drew. All you wanted was to make sure my child was provided for; that he remained a Taggart. My falling — " "All I wanted was you. The baby...Evan. He was icing on the cake." She shook her head, disbelieving. "You married me because you felt sorry for me." "I married you because I looked into your golden brown eyes and saw forever." Fresh tears collected in her eyes. "But you didn’t...why...we — oh dammit, Drew!" She wanted to kick him. She wanted to kiss him. "Are you in love with Darian or not?" "No! I’m in love with — " His tension suddenly penetrated the cocoon of misery surrounding her. An unexpected calm swept through her and she thought she might well contentedly drown in the depths of his dark eyes. "I’m in love with you," she finished quietly. "Darian was the flash. But you...you were the substance. The real thing. And I knew it practically from the start." He folded her in his arms. "You deserve more." His lips burned over her temple. "I thought I could let you walk away, but I can’t." "Push me away, you mean. You can spend the next few years paying for it." She twisted her head around until her lips found his. "Say it, Drew. Give me the words. Just once and I’ll never ask again." He kissed her. Long and deep. And when he lifted his head, his breath was ragged and her head was filled with stars. "I love you. Always have. Always will." "Then why do you keep saying I deserve more? All I want is what I have. You. Evan." "And babies. You told me once you wanted a houseful of kids." He gently captured her face in his hands. He pressed his mouth to hers. Then let go of her, stepping away. Jolie reached out for him, but he’d turned away and didn’t see her outstretched hand. "I can’t give you that houseful." His voice was rough. "You stay with me and Evan is all we’ll ever have." It was a good thing there was a chair nearby, for she sank weakly onto the arm of it. Having Evan would have been enough, she thought faintly. "Why would you think that?" "I had the mumps when I was younger. The doctor said I could write off...well, you know." She settled her hand on her abdomen and sent up a prayer of thanks. "You never had a test to be certain." "What was the point? Just more proof that I can’t father a child."
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"Oh, Drew," she whispered. "Do you know what tomorrow is?" "Our wedding anniversary." "Hmm." She pushed to her feet and moved over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She pressed her cheek against his strong back. "Do you know what tonight is?" She felt the deep breath he drew. "Six years ago was the first time we made love." "That night was when I truly felt like Drew Taggart’s bride. I knitted you a sweater for our wedding anniversary," she murmured, and practically felt his reaction to the seemingly odd comment. "I bought you a bottle of that perfume you’re always drooling over." She smiled faintly and, still keeping her hands on him, slipped around to face him. "But I have another gift for the both of us. For our true anniversary." She took his big hands in hers and pressed them to her flat belly. He looked pained. "Jolie — " "I’m pregnant, Drew. You and I...we’ve made a baby together. That is why I fainted the other day." "But...how — " She tucked her tongue between her teeth, trying very hard to contain the joyful laughter bubbling inside her. Oh, she loved him so! She stretched up, wrapping her hands around his shoulders, pressing her breasts against him. And now that the truth was out between them, she planned to tell him she loved him on an exceedingly regular basis. "In the usual way," she assured gently. "If you’d like a reminder of the process, I’ll be happy to show you." Drew swept his hands down Jolie’s back and stepped back, staring incredulously at her. "You’re serious." She nodded. Smiled and the brilliance lit up every corner of his soul. He swept her against him, kissing her, swinging her in a circle. It seemed Darian’s return hadn’t been such a bad thing, after all. "It’s a miracle," he whispered. "You’re a miracle." "It’s love. And I have only one more thing I want." Jolie tilted her head back, looking up at her husband, feeling the love in his eyes like a warm glow. "Anything." "Let’s go get Evan," she said. "And then let’s go home." "Yeah." Drew’s smile was long and slow and utterly sweet. If she hadn’t already loved him, she’d have fallen for him just for that smile alone. "Let’s go home," he said. "Where we all belong."
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Hot Target by Suzanne McMinn Stationed halfway around the world, charitable worker Diamond Chavez lost everything she knew and loved in an attack on the village where she worked. Now living back home with her daughter, Ally, she’s finally beginning to put the pieces of her life back together—until a stranger shows up at her door. Quinn Monroe claims to be from PAX, the humanitarian organization that Diamond was once a part of. Barging into their home, he insists that Ally is in danger—but could he be the threat?
Chapter 1: "I want to go see the kittens! Please!" Diamond Chavez looked over her shoulder at the cute-as-a-kitten herself five-year-old. Ally had her little face scrunched in her beggar pose. She was so adorable at it. And she knew it. "Okay, but we have to leave for school in ten minutes. So be back in five." Sparks danced in Ally's clear blue eyes. Pouty face all gone. "Thank you, Mommy!" She threw her thin arms around Di's waist then whirled away, ponytail flying. The back door slammed, rattling the old farmhouse. Di blinked back the sting of dampness behind her eyes. Mommy. God, that still hit her like a rock every time. She was so lucky. Lucky to be back in West Virginia. Lucky to have Ally. Lucky to not be dead like Ally's parents, and Nick. She should have been there, on Valuatu Island, the day her world had blown up and her entire immediate family—except Ally—had been destroyed. She'd had problems with her pregnancy, so she'd been airlifted back to the States for medical care the tiny war-ravaged Pacific island couldn't provide. She'd lost the baby, and the next day, she'd lost her husband and her life to the madman who'd decided if he couldn't have Valuatu Island, then no one else could. Through the window over the kitchen sink, she watched Ally skip across the backyard grass. Barefoot, dammit. She didn’t even have school shoes on yet, and she needed a sweater over that sleeveless top. The little girl reached the old barn door and banged inside. Di set the last dish in the drying rack, turned off the water, reached for a towel, and reminded herself she’d sworn to stop fussing over every little thing about Ally. The doctors all said she was fine. Fine. Really fine.
Chapter 2: Tires crunched on the gravel out front, the sound carrying through the open front windows along with the honeysuckle scent and bird song. If that was Aunt Nonny again, bugging her about going to that damn June barbecue of hers to meet “nice boys,” she was going to scream. She hadn’t come home to Johnson Creek to get married. She’d come home because there was nowhere else to go. She’d needed a place where she couldn’t see Nick’s face, feel Nick’s touch, hear Nick’s friends from the PAX League telling her how sorry they were, or be confronted by reporters who still wanted to talk to survivors from the ill-fated humanitarian mission to Valuatu Island. She’d had to get Ally away from all of that, too. And her late grandmother’s secluded old home in a bend in a holler in the West Virginia mountains had sounded just right. At the time, she’d forgotten about Aunt Nonny living three miles up the road. But it wasn’t Aunt Nonny’s big Chevrolet in the driveway and it definitely wasn’t Aunt Nonny coming up the walk.
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Her pulse swerved where she stood in the still-shadowed parlor, watching the stranger through the front window. She didn’t like strangers. They were never good news. I’m sorry, Mrs. Chavez, there was an incident on the island…. An incident. That’s what they’d called it when a representative from PAX had come to the hospital to tell her about the bombing. For a beat, all she could hear was the thunder of her heart in her ears. She forced herself to shake off the unreasonable nerves. Maybe he was selling vacuum cleaners. Maybe he was canvassing for the upcoming mayoral election.
Chapter 3: She closed the distance to the door, swung it open before he could knock. He reached the porch, and filled it all the way up. Or at least that’s what it felt like. He had dark hair, long enough to curl over the collar of the white button-down shirt he wore under a leather jacket. Jeans rode down his lean legs to meet serviceable boots. His eyes, caught in some shade between brown and black, had a take-charge air that made her want to shut the door for no good reason other than she was absolutely positive they didn’t make men like this in Johnson Creek. Men who exuded masculine power like they were poster boys for action movies. “Mrs. Chavez?” His voice came out low, intense, and the hard planes of his face told her he wasn’t here to offer her a cool deal on a vacuum cleaner. She backed up a bit, her hand still on the edge of the front door. He knew her name. It was Gran’s name on the mailbox, still. Not hers. “Can I help you?” “My name is Quinn Monroe. I’m with PAX.” He held out his hand. She didn’t take it. She was too busy trying to swallow the huge lump in her throat threatening to cut off her supply of oxygen. “Well, I’m not,” she managed. Dammit, her voice was shaking. Her knees were shaking. She had to get a grip. He wasn’t here to tell her someone else she loved was dead. She hadn’t had anything to do with PAX for over two years now. And that was just how she liked it. “I don’t know what you want, but I’m really busy. I’m about to leave to take my daughter to school and—” He lowered the hand he’d been offering. “This is about your daughter.” Her veins thumped. “What about my daughter?”
Chapter 4: “If I could come inside—” “This isn’t a good time.” “This is important, Mrs. Chavez.” “So is getting my daughter to school on time.” There was no sound from the kitchen. Ally was still out at the barn. And suddenly Di didn’t care what this ominous stranger had to say about her. “I’m sorry. I know you must have come a long way, but I have to go now. You’ll have to get in touch with me later.” Or never. Never would work for her. She stepped back to shut the door. His palm slammed against the cracked white paint on the old oak and held it. Laser eyes pinned her through the narrowed opening. New panic arrowed into her system.
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“I’m afraid later isn’t an option,” he said. “If you don’t leave right this minute, I’m going to call the police.” It would take them twenty minutes, at least, to get there, but maybe he didn’t know that. Maybe he didn’t care. He was six utterly edgy feet of power to her five-foot-five slender frame. “And I’ll be writing a letter to PAX.” Lame. That one was really lame. Maybe she should threaten to tell his mother on him, too. She felt a bubble of hysteria rise in her chest. “The police might not get here in time,” he said. “I’m not sure I’m here in time.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And he was more than starting to scare her. “Where’s the girl?” he demanded, and he pushed the door open. She stumbled backward, her mind racing. Run. Just run. And yet she knew that was hopeless. She’d never reach Ally in the barn, get her to the car in the detached garage and get out of here. The stranger slamming the front door of her house behind him looked like he could squash bugs blindfolded while leaping a couple of tall buildings.
Chapter 5: “Just tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything.” Anything but Ally, her heart screamed. She heard another crunch of gravel in the driveway. Then she couldn’t hear anything because her pulse was roaring, absolutely roaring, in her ears when he reached into his jacket, pulled out a gun, and grabbed her by the arm, pulling her out of view of the window. “In about fifteen seconds two men are going to knock on your door. They’re going to tell you they’re from PAX, just like I did, and ask about your daughter. And you’re going to tell them that she’s already at school.” His hot eyes pierced her through the shadowed parlor. She could barely feel his fingers gripping her arm. All she could feel was her heart nearly pounding out of her chest. “And if you don’t, they’re going to blow your head off and the only good thing about that is you won’t have to know what they’re going to do to your little girl.” One car door slammed outside, then another. Diamond Chavez’s face turned ghost-white and in spite of the fact that this was a job, just a job, Quinn’s heart kicked—hard. He cared way too much about the fact that he was terrifying her. If she was scared, then good. He needed her scared. He needed her cooperation. Without it, she’d be dead in the next sixty seconds. So would he, and the little girl would wish she was when terror leader Adal Chaba got hold of her and finished the job he’d started on Valuatu Island. In twenty-four hours three children had already gone missing, their parents violently murdered. Two more had had close calls, close enough that PAX knew the pattern now, knew what was going on. Ten children, including little Ally Chavez, were in danger. It was up to the new covert arm of the PAX League—once purely a humanitarian relief organization but now something far more—to round them up before it was too late.
Chapter 6: And somehow, some way, explain the truth about their children to parents like this—an ordinary woman in neat denim shorts and sunny yellow peasant top looking sexily innocent, just waiting for him to blow up her world. Again. Because he knew she’d already had her world destroyed once.
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“Why should I believe you?” she whispered, and her voice wobbled even as he could see her fighting to keep some sort of control. “Because I already know Ally is here and you’re still alive.” Her vivid blue eyes flickered with fear. Footsteps pounded on the porch steps. She swung around, her blond hair dancing across her slight shoulders. He pulled her back, bringing her frightened eyes right up close. He could feel the panicked tension in her body, almost hear the thud of her pulse. She was confused and shocked and he had absolutely no doubt that she didn’t know what to believe, that her head was reeling right now and all she wanted to do was grab her child—wherever she was—and run. Unfortunately, that would get her killed. “Trust me,” he whispered, pinning her gaze, willing her to do the right thing. And if she didn’t, there wouldn’t be a hell of a lot he’d be able to do to fix it. “Please.” He held her gaze a beat longer, fighting through her fear. “Your daughter’s life is in danger and I’m doing everything I can to save her.” A knock rapped on the door. He could feel her shudder. She lifted her free hand, slapped it over her mouth for a beat as if she was fighting not to be sick or scream. He pulled her over to the door and positioned himself out of sight behind it. Her own car was out of sight, probably in the nearby detached garage, so they wouldn’t realize his car in the drive wasn’t hers. They wouldn’t know he’d beat them here. Not as long as Diamond Chavez played her part.
Chapter 7: Her shaking hand reached for the knob and she pulled it open a few scant inches. “Can I help you?” she said. The thin strain of her voice punched him with remorse that he hadn’t gotten here sooner, even as he knew he’d gotten here as fast as he could. Her shoulders were straight, and even if her long, shaking legs wanted to collapse from under her, she wasn’t going to do it. She was strong. She was a survivor. He had to count on that, for both their sakes. “Mrs. Chavez? My name is James Burton and this is my partner Trey Cobb. We’re from PAX.” “I’m not with PAX, anymore,” she said. “We know that, ma’am. May we come in?” “I’m sorry. I was just on my way out. I have a doctor’s appointment—” “This is urgent, ma’am. It’s about your daughter. Is she here?” “She’s at school.” “You’ll need to pick her up from school, ma’am. This can’t wait. It’s a matter of life or death.” “I can’t pick her up. They’re going on a field trip. To Charleston. To the museum. They’ll be gone already.” A beat passed. Two. He could see the hand she’d kept on the door shaking like a leaf. “What time does your daughter’s school get out?” “What is this about?”
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Good, he thought. Good. If she cooperated too much, they’d be suspicious. “This is about the Valuatu Island bombing, ma’am. Your daughter’s sick. Very sick. If she doesn’t get into immediate treatment, she could die.” Quinn could see the control in her spine drop and her legs nearly buckle under her. He reached out behind the door and swept his hand against her soft, shaking back to support her.
Chapter 8: “I don’t understand.” Desperation choked her voice. He slipped his fingers beneath the bottom of the peasant blouse and tugged just slightly, willing her to get that damn door shut, not give in to panic now. Damn them for scaring the hell out of her before he’d had a chance to tell her right. “We’ll explain everything, Mrs. Chavez.” “I have to go now,” she said, shaking. “School gets out at three, so if you’ll come back then—” “All right, ma’am. We appreciate your cooperation.” The footsteps moved on the porch and she shut the door. She spun, her eyes drenched and wild. “I’m getting Ally,” she said, “and I’m getting out of here. I’m not going anywhere with you, and I swear to God that you can just shoot me right now if you think you’re stopping me.” “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m trying to save Ally’s life—I told you that.” “You didn’t tell me Ally was sick!” “Ally isn’t sick!” He stuffed the gun into the holster inside his jacket and grabbed hold of her. “She’s not sick. Not exactly. She’s—” God, he had no idea how to tell her. “We’ll explain everything when—” “You sound just like them,” she said sharply, fighting him. “I don’t trust you, either. Either shoot me where I’m standing or get out of my way because I’m getting my daughter and I’m getting out of here!” He wasn’t letting go. “You can’t walk out of here with Ally right now.” He pulled her to the middle of the room where they could just barely see the driveway around the edge of the curtain blowing through the open window. The two men stood in the drive. They’d opened the car doors but they weren’t getting in. “They’re still out there. They’re waiting. And you’d better hope to God Ally doesn’t come walking around the front of the house. Where is she?”
Chapter 9: She blinked. “Oh, God. She’s outside.” Where outside?” She pressed her lips together. Dammit, she didn’t want to tell him. She trusted him about one iota more than she trusted the men standing by their car outside, taking their sweet time deciding whether or not to get in and drive off. A breeze kicked in through the open window. Leaves rustled in the trees and wind chimes tinkled from the front porch. Then a door banged from the back of the house and a voice called out loud and clear, loud and clear enough to carry all the way out front: “Mommy?”
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Sheer panic roared in Di’s ears. The world around her slowed and nothing she could do was fast enough to stop this nightmare. One of the men outside dipped his hand inside the open car and pulled something out, something cylindrical and ominous that he lifted in his arm. Her head swiveled toward her precious daughter, skipping innocently into the room with this stranger, Quinn Monroe, and his gun. “Run!” Monroe yelled. “Run!” And he shoved her, hard, toward the kitchen. “It’s a bomb!” Di’s pulse boomed in her ears. The cylindrical object flew in through the open parlor window and danced across the floor, seeming to race with her as she ran. “Run, Ally!” she screamed. Ahead, she could see Ally frozen, then automatically turning, running back toward the kitchen door. She had no idea what happened to the stranger as she reached the door, already hanging open. Ally’s little legs streaked out ahead of her, down the steps, back out into the sun-dappled yard.
Chapter 10: Then all she knew was the deafening blast, and all she felt was the ground rising up to meet her face as she slammed forward. Heat rushed over her and flaming bits of wood flew as she struggled to her feet only to be pushed down again, this time by a hard body that covered and protected her as more wood rained down around them. Stomach in her throat, limbs numb, she lay there for a shocked beat, then he moved, touched her face, and against the black smoke sky, his eyes hit her, urgent and determined. There was a cut on the side of his face and blood streaked his cheek. “Get up!” he yelled roughly, reaching for her arm. “Get up. Come on! We’ve got to get cover!” Ally! She scrambled to her feet, desperate, searching. Ahead, smoke rolled out toward the barn and woods, covering the familiar farm in an eerie cloak. She was afraid to look back, afraid of what she’d see there, what was left of the hundred-year-old farmhouse she’d inherited from Gran. Where was Ally? She couldn’t feel her legs. All she could feel was him, Quinn Monroe, behind her, pushing her on, and the painful bang of her heart against the wall of her chest. The barn lay straight ahead through the billowing smoke. She reached the door, flung it open. “Ally?” she screamed, her voice breathless and dry and hardly recognizable as her own. The barn door slammed shut behind her and the hard palm that belonged to Quinn Monroe clamped down over her mouth. “No,” he ordered roughly. “Shhh.” Her mind reeled. Would this nightmare never end? He pushed her on, into the barn, past the empty horse stalls, past the scattering, wild-eyed nest of kittens in the tack room, past an antiquated tractor, shoving her into the corner between tall stacked bales of hay. No Ally!
Chapter 11: Her life had gone crazy. He was crazy, maybe as crazy as the men who’d just blown up her house. As if he could read her mind, he pulled her around, taking his hand off her mouth, his hard eyes pinning her from his brutally handsome face. “They don’t know if you made it out of the house,” he whispered, his low voice burning into her. “And they don’t know about me. And we don’t want them to know, not yet.”
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“Ally—” she started, whispering, too, but not willing to hide here in this barn when her child was nowhere to be found. She clutched the front of his shirt, desperate. “I saw her run into the woods,” he said quickly, quietly. “They’ll look for her there, but not yet. And before they get a chance, they’ll be dead.” He gave her a look of warning. “Don’t move. Don’t make a sound.” She felt terror gripping her, leaving her shivering even as she felt the heat of the fire still on her skin. One of his powerful arms braced her from behind, as if afraid she’d run, and the other reached inside his jacket for his gun—the gun he was apparently quite comfortable using. What the hell kind of PAX humanitarian worker was he? Beneath the hand still on his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, pumping fast, but steady…sure. The world around them had completely ripped apart and he’d barely blinked. The exterior walls of the old barn were cracked, smoky light filtering in. She followed Quinn Monroe’s level gaze to the splinter of yard visible through the boards. Two figures appeared around the side of what had once been her house, walking determinedly through the smoke, guns held in outstretched arms.
Chapter 12: Oh, God. Oh, God. She felt every bone in her legs melt and she sucked in a dry, painful breath as she held her shaking spine straight and somehow kept her feet. Ally. She had to get through this for Ally. Your daughter’s sick. Very sick. Her mind reeled again, and she shot another look at the man peering out into the smoke-filled yard, his weapon gripped tightly, competently, in his fist. She was depending on him, this stranger. I already know Ally is here and you’re still alive. Well, he hadn’t blown up her house, she’d have to give him that, she thought, slightly hysterically. But he hadn’t saved her child yet. And for all the questions bouncing wildly through her mind, Where was Ally? was the only one that mattered now. He still held her tightly against him with one arm, and he felt like one solid sheet of muscle. She couldn’t stand to stay here, couldn’t stand to not be with Ally, comforting her, protecting her. Ally’s short five-year-old life flashed before her eyes and Di’s adrenaline roared. She couldn’t think, couldn’t see anything but Ally, somewhere in the woods. She had to be scared out of her mind— She glanced back through the split boards and all the blood ran out of her head. She heard the mewl of a frightened kitten. The spit of the fire was consuming the house and reaching with wild fingers for the nearby garage. The rock of her pulse was barreling out of control. One of the men stood not ten feet away, staring at the barn, weapon at the ready. The other man was nowhere to be seen. Quinn Monroe’s intense, see-all gaze hadn’t moved, but his hand had. She watched as if from very far away, when it was actually only inches, as he pulled back the trigger and then a loud pop exploded in her ears.
Chapter 13: As the bullet hit, the man’s body punched backward, hitting the ground outside the barn. Quinn pivoted back, hearing a sharp intake of breath from the woman. Her wide, terrified eyes scorched his—she was fighting so hard to not fall apart. He was here to save her daughter and to save her, but he nearly forgot all of that as he pulled her into his arms.
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His heart and mind melded into one hot sensation, just about shooting his discipline to hell when she practically crawled up his body to get closer. She was scared of him, but she was scared of them more—and right now he was all she had. She needed him, needed his comfort, his protection, his strength. He shuddered, feeling the shock of unexpected emotion uncoiling inside him. He’d forgotten how it felt to be needed this way, to need someone else. All his intense training dropped away and he was a man, just a man, holding a woman, and it took everything inside of him to remember that she was just his job. The huge, liquid eyes locked with his held a stunned panic he knew too well. It was the stunned panic he felt, too. He could feel her heart thundering, just like his. Quickly, he lifted a finger to his lips, reminding her of the need for silence. He still wasn’t sure they would walk out of this barn alive. He could feel her heated skin through the thin material of the peasant top, feel the gentle curve of her spine. She was the softest thing he’d ever held and yet she blinked, swallowed hard and nodded as if she were a PAX agent herself. Diamond Chavez had no training, had no idea what was going on, but she tipped her chin and straightened her shoulders because she was a survivor. She was determined to be brave, determined to save her little girl, even while her drenched eyes shone with fear.
Chapter 14: There was a creak from across the building, then the sound of the barn door slamming open. She jerked, and he pulled her against him again. He could feel the fast rise and fall of her chest as she fought new panic. The gun felt heavy and hot in his hand. One more. One more of Adal Chaba’s evil henchmen to go, and he’d have a chance to get Diamond Chavez and her little girl to safety. The U.S. government had failed, and now innocent people were paying the price—but he’d be damned if that price was going to include Diamond Chavez and five-year-old Ally. Chaba had run a bio warfare factory on Valuatu Island before the U.S. had chased him out. The dictator had managed to sneak out with his materials, only to use them in vengeance against the natives and American humanitarian workers assisting in post-war reconstruction. And so the PAX League, once an organization dedicated solely to the philosophical pursuit of global peace through human rights missions, environmental campaigns and charitable projects such as the Valuatu Island hunger delegation, was now in the process of transforming into something more. The new top-secret layer of PAX, Paranormal Allied eXperts, had formed upon the recent discovery that a shocking number of the children who’d survived the Valuatu Island bombing had returned home with strange aftereffects. Physiological mutations. Research had already begun into the chemical secrets of Chaba’s bomb in a drive to not only save those children but to create new superagents just like them, with powers that could save the world. Little Ally Chavez’s medical records had already been tapped, and the fact that Chaba’s men had tossed a bomb into the house knowing she was there meant they, too, knew what had happened to Ally Chavez— what turn the mutation had taken in her case.
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They knew the blast could kill the woman who had become her mother…but not the little girl. And somehow, some way, he was going to have to explain that to Diamond Chavez. If he got her out of here alive. How long Chaba had understood the varied impact of his bomb on survivors wasn’t known, but the sudden rash of kidnappings and murders connected to the children’s families had told PAX they were out of time. The fledgling agency’s small corps of agents had been dispatched just nine hours ago to gather up the remaining targets. Quinn had picked up a family in the middle of the night in Virginia, sent them back with the team, and then headed straight here. He needed backup, badly. His team would have already dropped off the family from last night and should have been heading back his way. He prayed to God they weren’t too late. Outside, the sound of the fire consuming what was left of the farmhouse cracked and popped. Inside, he heard the thud of his own pulse and felt the quiver of Diamond Chavez’s spine as the footsteps moved slowly, methodically, through the barn. The door of an empty horse stall banged. Then another. Footsteps. Kittens cried as the footsteps moved into the tack room then back out. Quinn stood so still, he would swear he could hear the man’s breathing. Diamond didn’t move, her eyes fierce and frightened on him as he held on to her gaze. Another step brought Chaba’s man even with the antiquated tractor. Quinn dropped his hand from Diamond’s back, and slowly, carefully, without a sound, pushed her behind him, made her as safe as she could be. He didn’t want to think about how he’d feel if she died. And the little girl… He had to block the angelic face of the girl who’d skipped into Diamond’s parlor a few moments before from his mind, focus on nothing but the cold, hard, deadly mission before him.
Chapter 16: One more step, two. Come on, bastard, he willed silently, lifting his gun. He wanted nothing more out of life in this moment than to send one more of Chaba’s men straight to hell. The barn floor creaked as the man came around the tractor. He would be in a straight line now through the hay. And before the bastard could think the same thing he did, Quinn fired. New shock hit Diamond as the thud of the body hitting the barn floor told her Quinn’s shot had struck home. She’d just seen two men die. Not to mention watch her house being blown up. She wanted Ally. And she wanted to crawl up Quinn’s body again and hang on. He was a stranger, but he’d saved her over and over already, not just physically but emotionally, as well. He’d held her, and somehow he’d made her believe in him, and believe in herself, too. She leaped forward as Quinn moved slowly, carefully around the hay bales, weapon at the ready. She couldn’t see what was going on, but by God, she wasn’t letting him leave her. Then there was a sound and Quinn moved like lightning, boom, and fired again. The thud this time was final. With the second shot, the man wasn’t getting back up. She rushed after Quinn, barreling into the powerhouse line of his back. “He’s dead,” he said, stepping around the body of the man she’d talked to at the door of the farmhouse only a few minutes before. The man who’d claimed his name was James Burton and that he was from PAX. Blood spilled out over his chest from two bullet holes.
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Quinn shoved the gun in his jacket then stooped, put his finger to the man’s pulse to make certain. His icehard eyes locked with Di’s. His jaw looked like something sculpted out of granite even as his movements remained methodical, casual, fully at ease in this danger. “Thank God,” she breathed, relief whipping through her, followed by a sharp urgency. “Ally—” He stood. “We’ll find her,” he promised. She ran after him as he strode through the barn. “What do they want? What do they want with Ally?” The desperate questions ripped out of her. He sliced back a look suddenly filled with something tortured, something dark that frightened her more than anything else, even the men who’d come after them. “There’s no time—” They reached the front of the barn and he stopped, unclipped a device from his belt loop, flipped it open. “This is all the time I have!” she cried, fighting down the lump of hysteria threatening to rise into her throat, make her burst into awful tears and maybe pound her fists on his chest. “I want to know what they want! What is wrong with Ally? Just— God, I’m not asking you for a dissertation. I just want an answer!” “All right.” His gaze held her, his voice low and quick. “There was something in Chaba’s bomb. The chemical cause is unknown at this time, but the contamination is real.” “She is sick then!” Contamination. The word rocked over and over through her mind. “She’s not sick!” Quinn Monroe gripped her shoulder with one hand. “She’ll need some specialized treatment, and she—” He stopped, and her skin crawled with anxiety. “She what?” Her voice came out in a raw whisper she could barely hear over the bang of her heart.
Chapter 18: “Some of the children have been found to have genetic mutations. They can live normal lives,” he rushed on at the sharp intake of her breath. “But they aren’t normal. We’ve already seen Ally’s records.” “No. No, they told me Ally was fine. The doctors assured me she was fine.” The doctors had run tests and more tests and no matter what they did, they couldn’t find any disease in spite of the evident abnormalities. “They said—” “They wouldn’t have understood what they were seeing. They wouldn’t have understood what her abnormal temperature readings meant, why her cell count was so high. They wouldn’t have understood that—” “That what?” Now she fisted the material of his shirt in her hand. “What?” “There’s a reason they threw that bomb in the house when they knew Ally was there. They knew it wouldn’t kill her.” Di’s stomach dropped away. She felt dizzy and scared and she wanted to believe he was crazy all over again. This was nonsense. But even as her mind reeled with denial, she knew Ally was different, always had been, ever since the bombing. What did he mean, they knew that bomb wouldn’t kill her?
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“We’ll explain everything,” Quinn said. He started punching buttons on the face of the device he held. “But first we’ve got to find her. Where would she go in the woods? Where would she hide?” Her life had been taken over by the unbelievable, and in the last thirty seconds he’d just made it even more unbelievable. She swallowed hard. Ally. Just focus on Ally. The little girl could be anywhere for all she knew, but—
Chapter 19: “Maybe PawPaw’s tree,” she said, shaking, God she was shaking so hard and she had to be strong for Ally. “Across the creek, there used to be a cabin. It’s torn down now, but there’s a tree house my grandfather built when I was a little girl. One of my cousins repaired it after I moved back here and I take Ally there whenever we go for walks in the woods.” The last time she’d taken Ally for a walk in the woods seemed like a hundred years ago, another lifetime, even though it had just been last week. Ally loved to play in the lazy creek barefoot, catch tadpoles and skip rocks, then they’d go to the tree house and bring Gran’s antique children’s tea set and…her heart lodged in her throat and her veins crashed with the need to hold her little girl. Now, right now. “Let’s go.” “Wait.” His level gaze pinned her. “Where, exactly, is this tree? What direction from here? Where’s the closest clearing to this tree house?” “It’s across the creek just above where it flows into the river. There’s a clearing there—my aunt owns it and she sold timber last summer.” “Good.” Then he spoke into the device he held to his ear. “Need backup ASAP,” he said, and continued in response, “Two men. That I know about. Both down.” He propped the communication device between his ear and shoulder to pull out another small instrument. The electronic panel on its surface glowed to life as he hit buttons and a map of Johnson Creek zoomed in. “Where?” he demanded of Di. She swallowed hard, guided him as he scrolled the screen to the location of the timber clearing. He reeled off numbered coordinates that meant nothing to her before shoving the instrument back into his jacket then flipping the communication device shut, as well. “Could take a good fifteen minutes before they get here,” he told her. “Chopper’s on the way.”
Chapter 20: She swallowed hard. Before who got here? Who was he, really? What sort of PAX League did he belong to, because there was nothing about the PAX she knew that she recognized in this formidable man with his gun and his gadgets. A roar sounded above the barn. Quinn Monroe’s see-all eyes suddenly went flat, dead. “That’s a chopper.” “You said it would be fifteen—” “That’s not PAX.” He charged to the open door of the barn. “That’s trouble.” The thunderous rotors brushed by the top of the barn, blasting smoke and debris from the still-burning house. Quinn turned and grabbed Di’s arm. “Looks like I’m not the only one who called for backup, and looks like theirs was closer. We’ve got maybe ten seconds to make the tree line,” he said, low, rough. “And one second to pray they don’t see.”
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Panic charged up Di’s throat. Oh God, no telling how many men would jump out of that chopper and come after them. Quinn Monroe looked like he was made of stone, but he was real, he was human, and they could both be about to die. “Come on,” he urged, his voice hot in her ear now as he pushed her out ahead of him. “The barn will cover us part of the way. I’ll cover you the rest. Run!” Diamond didn’t look back as she raced for the cover of the woods twenty yards from the barn. They had seconds, at most. Quinn felt the first bullet whiz past his ear as they burst between the trees. Bark exploded beside them. Shouts rang out and more shots followed them as Diamond stumbled over a root, fell. Quinn whipped back, shot the closest pursuer, watched the man’s body shoot backward and hit the ground. Then he chased after Diamond, dragged her to her feet, protecting her with his body.
Chapter 21: A hot ball of fire burst in his shoulder. There’d been three of them, and he’d taken out one. Shots fired after them telling him the other two weren’t giving up. In the covering thickness now, he pulled Diamond sideways, taking her on a crisscrossing path to make tracking more difficult. The searing fire in his shoulder burned down his arm as they flew. Branches and underbrush clawed at them as they charged through the blur of vegetation and foliage and tree trunks. Vines and small limbs whipped and scratched at their faces, until the shots and shouts dimmed in the distance. They reached a wide slab of rock stretching out above a bend in a gushing creek that formed a dark pool, before rushing on over cascading stones toward the river. Diamond fell to her knees on the moss-topped rock, choking for air. Quinn pulled her to her feet. Her desperate blue gaze snapped with fear, her chest heaving. Blood sprang from one particularly bad scrape on her cheek. He shoved the gun in his jacket, ran his hands down her shoulders, her arms, even as his own shoulder exploded with pain at every move. Had she been hit? “Are you all right?” His own pain meant nothing. She was terrified, and he wanted to tell her how proud he was of her for how strong she’d been…and still was. When he thought of all she’d been through two years ago, this was achingly unfair, and it wasn’t over yet. And how much he cared about her terror made no sense, except that it just was. She was sexy as hell, but his response to her heat and fear was unexpected…. He couldn’t hear anything suddenly but her wild breaths and the bubbling of the creek. They’d lost the pursuers, but for how long? “Are you okay?” he asked again. “Mrs. Chavez—”
Chapter 22: She laughed in a way that almost sounded like a sob. “I think you can call me Diamond. Di.” Then she blinked, hard, twice, pushing back tears. “I’m okay.” She nodded bravely. Then he saw the moment her gaze dropped and she saw the blood. “You’re—oh, God. You’re shot.” “It’s a flesh wound. I’m fine.” He wasn’t fine at all and it wasn’t a flesh wound, but it was irrelevant to what he needed her to do right now. Sweat ran down his back and he felt a shiver sing through his body. He needed medical attention and he hoped he lived long enough to get it. Di was still staring at him in horror. “Your arm is covered in blood!” she breathed fiercely. “You’re not fine! You’re hurt.”
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“Which way is PawPaw’s tree?” he asked tightly, urgently. “We can’t stop now.” She swallowed visibly. “We have to get across the creek. This isn’t a good spot. Here. I’ll show you.” She reached for his good hand, started to lead him off the rock to head along the creek bank. He stopped her. “Wait.” He stood there, eyes locked with hers, listening. Where had Chaba’s men gone? The silence of the woods, broken only by the endless babble of the creek, closed around them eerily. They needed to get to this PawPaw’s tree she’d told him about, but the last thing he wanted to do was lead Chaba’s men straight to Ally. “Where’s PawPaw’s tree from here?” he asked, his gut tight now, knowing what he had to do and not liking it. She wouldn’t like it, either. But they both had to put Ally first. She pointed. “Across the creek, that way. Another couple hundred yards or so, the woods thin out and then there’s a clearing where the cabin used to be—you can see the bare ground. The field where they cut timber last year is there. PawPaw’s tree is an old oak, gnarled, huge. The tree house—”
Chapter 23: “All right.” He deliberately made his voice hard, low, fast, brooking no disagreement. “Go.” “What?” Her eyes widened sharply. “You and Ally come first,” he said. “Go, hurry.” He pushed her along the creek bank. “If anyone follows, I’ll take care of them. I’ll be right behind you.” Maybe. If he survived. “Why?” Her eyes flashed panic. “They’re back there,” he reminded her. “They’re coming. I’ll stay here, cover you. You need to go to Ally. In a few more minutes, the chopper will be there, in that clearing. Trust me—when you see the chopper there, that’s PAX. Trust me, Di.” She dragged in a raw breath, blinked back tears in the drenched eyes pinned to his. “You really are with PAX, aren’t you?” He nodded, and he knew he owed her answers. The bald truth was that these could be his last seconds with her. “PAX has changed, Di. You’ll find out everything after you and Ally get back to D.C. There’s a new underlayer to the League, designed to protect future humanitarian missions and the world, designed to make sure nothing like Valuatu Island ever happens again. Ally…she’s not the only one. Research is already underway. We’re building agents, agents like you could never imagine. Agents who will have powers like Ally has, and the others. But first we have to save the children. Go, Di. Go to Ally!” There was a sound in the woods behind him and his pulse thudded heavily. There was no more time, not for him, not for Di, not for finding a better place to cross the creek. There were still two men on their tail. A bullet whizzed past his ear. Di jerked, her eyes flashing shock. He didn’t hesitate. “Jump, Di! Then run and don’t stop!” A gasp caught in her throat as she turned, hit the deep pool of water below. He pivoted, crouched, as another bullet sang past his head, and fired back. The thunk of the shot striking home didn’t relieve him for a second.
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He scrambled sideways, his back against a thick tree trunk. He could hear Diamond clambering up the opposite bank. Thank God. Di was past the creek. Home free was just a few hundreds yards away—the PAX chopper would be landing any minute. His heart banged steadily in his chest. Where was the other one? Then he knew, God he knew, what a big mistake he’d made when he heard her scream. Di felt iron hands gripping her shoulders, whipping her back against a hard chest. The cry strangled in her throat as the man’s hand slammed over her mouth, leaving her desperate for air. She saw black for a nauseating beat, then adrenaline charged past the shock and fear as she felt the chilling butt of a gun press into her temple. “Let her go,” Quinn’s voice rang out from across the creek. Spots swam in her vision and she blinked hard. Quinn emerged from the trees, stood on the rock where she’d leaped into the creek. Blood soaked one shoulder and his dark eyes burned from his now too-pale face. “Where’s the girl?” the man holding her demanded in return. Holding her hostage with one powerful arm, he held the gun to her head with the other hand. She was soaking wet, but too much blood pounded through her veins for her to be cold. She felt almost disembodied. This day couldn’t be real…. Where had this man come from? Somehow he’d circled around, crossed the creek before them— “You’ll never get the girl,” Quinn shouted. “Give it up. Your friends are dead, all of them. No one’s here to back you up. It’s just you and me now.” He stood on the edge of the rock, his weapon trained on the man’s head. “But it’s not just you and me for long. My team is on the way. They’ll be here any minute. You can live or die—your choice. Surrender, and I’ll let you live.”
Chapter 25: “Right.” The man gave a bark of laughter. “I see your backup.” “Don’t be a fool,” Quinn said, his voice low, deadly. “You can’t win here. She’ll never take you to the girl. And if you shoot her, you’re dead.” The man’s hold on her tightened and Di’s pulse boomed in her ears. This standoff couldn’t end well and she was right in the middle of it. “Have you told her what you want to do with her little girl?” the man grated. “I want to save her little girl from you and from Chaba,” Quinn said, his fierce gaze searing her across the eerie shadowed creek. “So you haven’t told her the truth!” His voice was suddenly hot against Di’s ear. “He’ll turn her into a secret government research project,” he hissed. “They’re snatching all the children from Valuatu Island and taking them to a government clinic. You’ll never see your little girl again.” Di’s blood froze, then her heart kicked. No, she didn’t believe him. She fought him, and the hand over her mouth slipped. “I don’t believe you!” she breathed harshly. “Your friends just tried to kill me!” He slammed her back against his chest, his arm banding her to him by her throat. Spots danced in her vision again.
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“Don’t listen to him, Di,” Quinn ground out. Through her wavering vision, she could see his burning eyes pinning her. “Did he tell you what she can do?” the man demanded hotly. No, no, he’d never really told her that, not exactly. Why did they want Ally? They wanted to save her, that’s all he’d said. And she believed him. Trust me, he’d told her. And she did. They’re snatching all the children from Valuatu Island and taking them to a government research clinic. You’ll never see your little girl again.
Chapter 26: She didn’t buy it. Quinn hadn’t lied to her, not this whole time. Her head reeled as she fought for consciousness as the man’s arm nearly cut off her windpipe. “She could go to the sun!” the man spat in her ear. “She could man a mission to the sun! She could walk through fire like another flame. Do you think the U.S. government will ever let her go?” No, no, no. That couldn’t be true. She knew after what Quinn had already told her that Ally had some kind of special power, and maybe it was withstanding heat. But she didn’t believe the rest of it. After all that he’d done to protect them, Quinn wouldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t be part of anything that meant she’d never see Ally again. The certainty that settled in her heart on that score should have shocked her, but she just knew it was true, knew Quinn was honorable. She would trust Ally’s life to him, totally. “Let her go,” Quinn demanded again. “Where is that team of yours, hmm?” the man taunted. “He has no team,” he hissed in Di’s ears. “They’re probably dead. Chaba’s already killed them. They’re not coming. Save yourself. Take me to the girl and I’ll let you live. I promise.” As if his promises meant anything. He would kill her, she had no doubt of that, and then Ally’s life would be in Chaba’s hands. But the sick thud in Di’s veins told her he could be telling the truth about something else. Chaba could have already killed Quinn’s team. There was no chopper. Nothing. Just the rush of the creek and the wind in the trees and the pounding horror of her heartbeat. And what if more of Chaba’s men were coming? They’d kill her and Quinn both. And then what they’d do to Ally—
Chapter 27: “I trust you,” she told Quinn, pinning him fiercely with her gaze. “I know you wanted to save us both.” With her eyes, she gave him permission, the permission to do what he had to do—take the shot, send this man to hell, no matter the risk to her own life. Every second this standoff went on put her daughter in more danger. “But it’s enough if you save Ally.” Quinn’s heart almost exploded out of his chest at the hopeless pain in Di’s eyes. Desperation like he’d never known before speared into him. No, it wasn’t enough to just save Ally. He had to save Di, too. He held his weapon steady, a bead trained right between the eyes of the man holding Di hostage. There had to be another way, a way that wouldn’t put Di’s life in so much danger. If he pulled this trigger, the man would pull his—and Quinn couldn’t live with the consequences of that. Then the sudden thunder of choppers overhead obliterated everything.
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The man holding Di twisted his head sharply upward where the break in tree cover above the creek revealed a glimpse of cloudless blue sky, then he pushed Di down and in horrific slow motion turned the gun on Quinn. “No!” Di’s scream broke through the roaring rotor blades of the passing chopper. Quinn jumped to the side, a bullet whizzing past his ear as he fired back. The man tumbled to the creek bank—hit—before he could shoot again or try to run. Di scrambled to her feet, face pale as moonlight, as the man rolled, thunked, into the creek. Water covered his body and he didn’t come back up.
Chapter 28: Quinn wasn’t waiting, wasn’t looking for an easier place to cross. No matter what, he wasn’t letting Di out of his sight again. Quinn shoved the gun in his jacket and leaped, splashed into the water, came up gasping for air to slam through the creek to the bank. Di reached for him, pulling him up and he didn’t think, didn’t even breathe, until he had his arms around her. She was as wet as he, shaking, holding on just like he was. Unexpected emotions ripped through him as he held her strong body, felt her heart beating as hard as his. He pulled back, just far enough to look straight into her eyes. “Thank God,” he breathed. “Thank God, you’re alive.” He ran his hands down her shoulders, her arms, heedless of the fire of pain raging in his shoulder. He could hardly feel it, anymore. Could hardly feel anything but the rushing of his pulse and the shock of relief that she was alive and PAX was near. She gazed up at him—and all he could think was that she was so courageous. Tears spilled down her cheeks, burning hot against his fingers where he still touched her. “I’m sorry,” she said thickly. “I’m sorry. I should have trusted more—” “You trusted too much,” he argued roughly. “God, Di, you were ready to trust your daughter to me, completely.” The enormity of her faith punched him in the gut. “I swear to you, that man was lying. It’s true that Ally can’t be hurt by fire. The mutation in her case has made her impervious to even the most extreme heat. But Ally will never be taken away from you. I swear it!” he repeated fiercely. “Never!” “I know. After all that’s happened, I know I can trust you with anything.” Her voice caught on a sob. “It was PAX I didn’t trust, didn’t believe they’d come. But I should have known that if you said they were coming, they’d be here. I just knew you’d save Ally. You didn’t need me—”
Chapter 29: “No,” he broke in, hearing the break in his own voice, his heart jumping into his throat. He held her eyes. “I would never have let you die.” “I know,” she choked out. “I know, that’s what I was afraid of. I was afraid you’d die for me.” And all he could do was hold her to him even more tightly because now neither of them had to die. The blackness of only moments before was now light and bright and so full of unexpected promise, he could scarcely take it in, didn’t know yet what it all meant. He was just glad to have Di in his arms, safe. He could have held her for a long time, but he had to let her go for now. As relieved as she was, her relief was incomplete. “Let’s go get Ally,” he said.
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Together they raced through the woods. Di felt as if her heart would pound out of her chest. The cabin clearing, PawPaw’s tree, the timber field beyond burst into her vision as they broke out of the woods. She could see the chopper landing, men dropping out of it. Oh, God, what if Ally wasn’t in the tree house? Sick fear clawed up her throat as she screamed Ally’s name, her voice torn away by the still roaring chopper blades. She could hear every pound of her pulse as she climbed on numb feet up the steps made of planks nailed to the tree trunk and burst over the top to see— Ally crouched, eyes like humongous saucers, in the shadowed corner of the tree house. “Mommy!” she sobbed, and flung herself so hard at Di that she might have fallen out backward with Ally in her arms except Quinn was there, just behind her, to catch her. To save her, to save Ally, the way he’d been all along.
Chapter 30: Together, they scrambled down, Ally with her the whole way. When she reached the bottom, looked up from Ally’s clinging, sobbing arms to see him standing back as if he didn’t know if he belonged, she held on to Ally with one arm and held out the other. “This is the man who saved us from the bad guys,” she whispered thickly to Ally. “This is Quinn. He’s our hero.” The little girl gazed up at him with shocked, tear-soaked eyes. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said gently. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Di’s heart all but burst when Ally said, “Thank you,” and held out her little arm to him, too. Quinn’s eyes shone clear and full of emotion, and he stepped toward them, wrapped them both in his arms. “Am I hurting you?” Di asked, guilt slicing her. She knew he had to be in pain, but he’d kept right on going as if there wasn’t a bullet in his shoulder. She could see fatigue on his face, but he would be all right. He was alive. They were all alive. He shook his head. “I’m better than I’ve ever been in my life.” He jerked his head toward the chopper and the men racing toward them. “They’re waiting.” A lump filled her throat. “You’re coming with us, aren’t you?” “I wouldn’t go anywhere else,” he promised. Her heart popped. She could feel his body, powerful and protective and oh so sexy, next to hers. And this wasn’t the end for them, she just knew it, knew it with the same certainty that she’d known she could trust him with Ally’s life. She wanted to know this man…beyond the adrenaline-filled action that this morning had taken them through. A foolish grin took hold of her lips. And then he grinned back at her, his just as foolish, and amazingly hot.
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“I want to see you again, Diamond Chavez,” he said lightly even as new emotion burned in his dark, fierce gaze. He reached up to stroke a strand of hair from her face. “Just warning you.” Fresh tears brimmed in her eyes and her breath caught, just from the way he was looking at her. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
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The Boys' Club by Amanda McIntyre London, 1850 Lucille Smith’s passions have ruined her life—divorced, disowned from her family and now fired from her job because of them. But when the mysterious and darkly compelling Lord Grant Thurgood recognizes that fire within Lucille, he offers her a job, and she thinks she’s finally gotten lucky. Only the job has certain…stipulations. In exchange for luxury and a very handsome wage, Lucille would act as mistress to Lord Thurgood’s Boys’ Club and fulfill the members’ every desire. All members but one—Lord Thurgood himself. The man who, with one touch, has burned himself onto Lucille’s body, into her every thought and fantasy, and lit a fuse within her that will ultimately explode.
Chapter One I have no job, no home. I stared at the paper that verified my future—or lack of one. You are hereby given notice that as of tomorrow morning, June 17, 1850, Lucille Bonnie Smith is terminated from room and board at 321 New Hampton Court. Reason for termination: rent severely past due. 321 Hampton Court was, of course, Miss Boden’s lodging for single women. She ruled her house with an iron fist, generally clenched tight with a large portion of my work pay. If I had work pay. I was seeking to become independent and I was having some success in that—until today, when my supervisor called me into his office and accused me of creating a disturbance among the male workers. As absurd as I knew it was, my experience with men had shown me that they like a bargain, especially when the gain is heavily weighted to their favor. “Miss Smith.” My superior motioned me to close the door. “How long have you been with us now?” I did as instructed, then stood in front of his desk, hands folded submissively in front of me. “A month, sir,” I answered with propriety, though my instinct warned me that his intent was less than proper. He was a staunchly perfect man by appearance; his attire, desk and clothing were all neat and tidy. But now he shuffled the papers on his desk, nervously averting his eyes from mine. His hand disappeared below the desk, and though the desk obscured my view, I could see by the faint blush in his fat cheeks just what his musing was. “Miss Smith, here at Livingston and Company we believe in the spirit of teamwork. Do you understand my meaning?” I shifted my gaze to the wall above his head. Oddly there were no photographs of his family. “I’m not at all sure that I do, Mr. Livingston; perhaps you should explain?” “Here is my dilemma, Miss Smith. Something that I feel if we put our heads together—discreetly, of course— we could perhaps find a solution.” ”Go on, Mr. Livingston.” “If you are successful in resolving this issue then it might mean a substantial raise in your pay, Miss Smith.”
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“Then I am definitely interested, sir.” I knew what he was getting at; men generally have few other things that weigh so heavily on their minds. But I am not a timid virgin, and the offer was tempting. “How much, Mr. Livingston, if I may inquire?” I stepped closer to the desk, so I could but barely peer over the edge into his lap. His cock, somewhat limp, lay listless in his hand. “I can see your problem.” I mused. “Fifteen shillings more, Miss Smith. For a monthly private visit to my office. I swear it will be of the utmost discretion.” Certainly, the steady income would aid in attaining my goal of independence much more quickly…. “What exactly is your problem, Mr. Livingston?” “It…won’t stay firm.” “It?” I queried, holding back my smile. Such odd creatures, men—one minute bold, the next shy as a virgin. He leaned forward and whispered, “My manhood, Miss Smith.” He glanced at me then, his expression grim. “And pray, sir, how do you feel that I may be of value in resolving this issue, more so than say…your wife?” His eyes grew narrow and he offered a wicked smile. “Because, Miss Smith, since your arrival, every time I see you, I grow instantly hard.” He looked at his lap. “See there, how you affect me? My wife, poor woman, does not have the same effect.” I didn’t want to tell him just yet that the issue might not be her at all. “Miss Smith, I think you have a gift, for I have heard other men in the factory speak of the same occurrence. Whatever mysterious effect you seem to have, I thought perhaps you could help relieve my ache, Miss Smith.” “Your ache?” I said, sighing, quite unsure how best to deal with his request. He was not a repulsive man, and in my short, but disastrous marriage, I had been privy to a man’s cock. “And were I not to accept your offer, Mr. Livingston, what then?” “Times are difficult, Miss Smith, especially for a woman in your unfortunate standing, estranged from your husband.” In short, he knew he had me in a difficult position. He turned his chair to the side, fully exposing himself to me. “A good job is hard to find, Miss Smith.” I should have walked out then. Instead, I stuck out my hand. “Payment up front, Mr. Livingston…cash. Times being what they are, you understand.” He hesitated for a breath, then dug into his pocket and pulled out a few coins. He stuffed them into my palm and eased back into his chair, his eyes glassy with anticipation. “You’re clean?” I asked, kneeling before him. “Certainly, Miss Smith. And you as well?” He clamped his hands over the chair arms. “Indeed, Mr. Livingston. Now if you’ll relax, let’s see how this works for us both. You may have…issues that I am unable to help you with.”
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I patted a strand of hair escaping my upswept tresses and leaned forward, lifting his semi-hard cock in my palm. Easing my hand down its length, I leaned forward and took him gently between my lips. “My heavens, Miss Smith, that is delightful,” he sighed, slouching in his chair. I attempted to blot out his disruptive sighs as I teased his velvet tip. Perhaps it was a gift, though my former husband had not appreciated it nearly as much as Mr. Livingston was. His hands fell into my hair, mussing my precisely wound coif. “Yes, right…ah, yes…there Miss Smith. It’s a wonder…you’ve exceptional talent, Miss Smith, oh ye-s-s-s,” he hissed as he pushed his cock further into my mouth. I heard the door open. “Mr. Livingston, your wife is here on a matter she insists is most urgent— Oh, my, sir, I…” I could not see at first from my vantage point who had interrupted us, but I guessed by her gasp it was Livingston’s assistant, and further guessed the view of me on my knees pleasuring my boss had indeed come as quite a shock. I glanced up as another woman brushed past the mesmerized assistant. “Bryce?” A stately looking woman appeared at her side. Shock registered on both of their faces. “Who is that woman and why has she got her mouth on your…your…private parts?” she gasped, her gaze darting from him to me and back, waiting for an answer. Her face clouded with fury. I eased back and waited for my superior to confess his dirty deed. However, in a moment I’m sure was divinely inspired, he leapt to his feet, closing his pants as he pushed me aside. “My pet, she came in begging me for money and mesmerized me with her charm. She was devious in her manner and before I knew it, well…she took advantage of my weak state, my love.” He grasped his wife’s shoulders, pleading for her to see his lying sack of filth as truth. He needn’t have gone to so much bother; I judged from her dress and manner that she was not about to give up her comforts quite so soon. She glanced at me, weighing the options in her mind. “Let her go,” she insisted, folding her arms in defiance. “But sweet-ems,” he stammered, not quite ready apparently to give up his new-found toy. “Now,” she stated flatly. “Of course, you’re absolutely correct. Miss Smith, gather your belongings. I want you gone within the halfhour. This company will not have its employees cavorting in such a way.” “Yes, sir, I agree.” I waltzed past the strange couple with my head held high. “Oh, you might want this back since we weren’t quite finished.” I dropped the coins in his hand and walked out, smiling as I glanced at the shocked assistant who stood watching the entire story unfold. “Bryce, what is this?” I heard “sweet-ems” scream as I walked down the hall. But my head wasn’t quite so high when I returned home and found the eviction note under my door. In all likelihood, news of the incident at work would travel quickly to other employers, and there would be little hope now of finding a respectable job, if one could call it such. What more could I do than gather my few belongings and take a walk in the park?
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If there is anything that my dear mother instilled in me, it was the need for a woman to be independent. Not by example, of course, as my father held her tight beneath his thumb. No, it was by observation that I developed into the practical woman I am—that and the lessons I learned from my arranged marriage. Based on a business merger, I married the son of one of my father’s clients. My father was elated; it brought a lucrative standing to his business. But it was evident from the first that my new husband felt he’d married beneath his worth. That much I could deal with, but nothing prepared me for the extent to which he could be so inhuman and cruel. Once he succeeded in taking my virginity, he had no other use for me—except when meeting with my father, then all was bloody right with the world. Not that it would have mattered to my father what my husband did to me in private; it was a woman’s duty to comply. Not long into our marriage, I discovered his mistresses—or mistresses, I should say—both of which he kept exceedingly well. I decided that what was good for him should be no less good for me, and so began to turn to the comfort of strangers, finding a world of pleasure inside of me that seemed to bring pleasure to others. I discovered the gardener was as passionate in tending my flower as he was with the gardens outside. Once, I met a traveling American at an outdoor pavilion and found happily that our interests went far beyond the realm of great art, inspired perhaps by finding a discreet room cut off from the public where we embellished in our own form of international relations. I paid little heed to my dear husband—other than what was socially required—but when he came home from a trip and found me in bed with his handsome and very talented cousin, he quite unexpectedly found his morality and sent me from his home without a thought. My father was devastated, of course, as it cost him shares in the company holdings, and he forbade my return home. And so with what little I had, I found my way to Miss Bodin’s rooming house. I had accepted my fate, seeing it as a fresh start. I was pretty, in good health and discovered that I was made of stronger courage than I knew. I would survive this, too. I enjoyed the brilliant blue sky of the morning, choosing not to think about my state. Then I spotted an old man sleeping on the park bench and imagined myself beside him later tonight. My stomach churned from hunger and concern. “Excuse me, miss? Are you about to take this seat?” A low, soothing voice melted over my shoulder. I looked behind me, and there stood a man with eyes the color of a stormy sea. He was taller than I by some measure, and dressed impeccably, his aristocratic appearance groomed and polished down to the precise moustache over his tempting mouth. “No, sir.” I stepped aside to allow him passage, quite unsure what to do next with myself. “Are you employed nearby?” he asked, taking a seat by the old man, who stirred briefly and dozed back off. “Sir?” I glanced at him, surprised he would strike up a conversation with an unaccompanied woman. I eyed the older gentleman. Perhaps I could stretch protocol a bit. “I used to be.” I turned to walk away. “Are you looking for employment, then?” he called. I stumbled, and at once he was at my side, holding my arm. I hadn’t had any breakfast—for that matter I hadn’t eaten in two days—and I was quite sure my pallor must have been ashen. I sheepishly looked around to see if anyone watched us. Still, there was something in the sincerity of the stranger’s concerned gaze that prompted my response. “Are you making me an offer, Mr….?”
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His moustache tipped upward as the corner of his mouth quirked into a small smile. He carefully released my arm. “Let me give you my card. As it happens, I am conducting interviews later this afternoon. If you are interested, I am looking for a housekeeper of…exceptional skills.” I held back a smile. “Indeed.” His dark brow rose as his eyes narrowed to my veiled challenge. “You have a bit of fire beyond the color of your hair, Miss…?” “I didn’t catch your name, sir?” I replied. He bowed deep and tucked his card in my palm. “Lord Grant Thurgood. My address is on the card. I can arrange for a carriage to pick you up at your residence, if it is more suitable.” “I haven’t said that I was interested.” “My mistake.” He said, smiling. He bowed and tipped his hat before walking away. “Interviews begin at three sharp,” he called over his shoulder. I stared after the austere man and could not help but be intrigued, not to mention desperate, to take him up on his offer.
*** I gratefully accepted the tea and scones he set on the table, listening as best I could as I reveled in the exquisite taste of the first food I’d eaten in days. “You’ll receive seventy-five shillings annually,” Lord Thurgood stated in a business-like tone, “and an additional fifty shillings if I find after six months that your work is exemplary.” He leaned back in his luxurious, tufted red-leather chair. His grand, dark-wood desk, larger than anything I’d ever seen, was polished to a high sheen. He noted my fascination to the piece. “I had the wood for this imported from Africa. It’s very rare, but endures well and is exquisitely beautiful, don’t you agree?” He smoothed his palm over the desktop with a look of pleasure etched on his face. “I do love beautiful things, Miss Smith.” His stormy gray eyes met mine. “That’s why I chose you.”
Chapter Two I swallowed a bit of scone. “Chose me?” I wondered how many other applicants he’d approached in this same manner. “Lord Thurgood, I am flattered, but seventy-five shillings is most extravagant. I assume this would include some care for children as well? I do have some tutoring skills.” His brow rose with interest. “And what else might you be proficient at, Miss Smith?” “I am an avid reader, play piano, and can sing…a little. Though I’ve not yet had much experience, I would be able to teach on an elementary level if necessary.” He smiled, continuing to rub his palm gently over the wood. I noted his hands—a weakness of mine with men, I must admit. Well-manicured with long fingers, capable, firm. Suddenly I needed a sip of tea. “I have no family or children—that I am aware of,” he added, with a slight lift to his mouth. “I travel quite frequently on business and pleasure. I like adventure, Miss Smith. When I am home, apart from the social events I choose to attend, I also host a special group of like-minded gentlemen…a sort of boys’ club, if you
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will. We meet once a month for social and business discussion. As host, I am responsible for the monthly entertainment.” I chose wisely to ignore his remark about children. “Boys’ club?” I queried, my curiosity piqued. “Close friends whom I have met through business, primarily. One or two that I’ve known longer.” “I see,” I remarked pleasantly, beginning to get a glimpse of something more in his offer. Was he hiring a mistress then, or a companion? Regardless, I was a practical woman and I needed the steady employment. Moreover, in truth, Lord Thurgood fascinated me on many different levels. “I don’t see that being a problem, Lord Thurgood. I am quite capable of serving large groups.” For the position, I could certainly learn fast enough, at any rate. “Indeed.” His gray-green eyes glinted with interest. “I have my cook, of course, but aside from housekeeping skills, I need someone with exceptional social skills.” Ah, then it was as a companion. “What type of skills, if I may ask?” I glanced over his shoulder at the ornate Oriental statute on the table behind him. I tipped my head ever-so-slightly and it appeared that the two men and the woman between them were engaged in some sort of sexual contortion. My gaze snapped back to Lord Thurgood. “I’m sorry what did you say?” “I need a woman with confidence. One who is comfortable in being a woman, able to speak her mind, knowledgeable of politics and current events. Do you consider yourself knowledgeable, Miss Smith?” I stared at him, unable to speak—he had given me the freedom to speak my mind. How refreshing, if not a little curious, that a man of his caliber would make such a request. “I do consider that my background and experience make me knowledgeable on many levels, Mr. Thurgood,” I countered, waiting for him to offer a quick, condescending comment in return. Yet his grin only widened. “Splendid.” He slapped the desktop softly. “Now, if you decide to accept the position—“ “What about your other interviews?” I interrupted. “With all due respect, Miss Smith, I honestly don’t believe I could find a more suitable candidate.” I was charmed, though a wicked part of me had almost hoped he had wanted me as his mistress. I wouldn’t have minded curling into his embrace on a whim. He was knowledgeable, a traveler, a lover of art and education, and enjoyed romance—or so it seemed. “May I be bold on a point, Mr. Thurgood?” “I wish you would be, Miss Smith. I adore boldness, especially in a woman.” His boyish grin was so natural that I smiled in return. He stood and removed his coat. “You don’t mind, do you? I find it rather warm in here.” “I…” I cleared my throat, watching below hooded lids as he removed his coat. He was impressive, with a wide breadth of shoulder and a narrow waist. His taste in clothing was very stylish, yet did not conform. I found that, too, a refreshing aspect about him. He slipped the jacket over the back of his chair and faced me, fisting his hands at his back, further stretching taut his pristine white shirt. At the angle at which he stood, I could not help but note the slight tent to his smooth trousers. I sensed a weakness at my knees and was grateful I was seated. I took another sip of tea to quench my sudden thirst. “Now, what was it you were saying?”
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His soft, rumbling baritone coaxed tingles down my spine. A drop of perspiration trickled down the small of back, sneaking into my undergarments. I scanned the room, noting that every statue in the room or piece of art on the walls featured depictions of people engaged in various forms of…intimacy. “Lord Thurgood, I should like to point out that I sense a tension, almost carnal in this room.” Would he deny it as so many men would? Or would he be open about his affinity for the human body and all its wonder and mystery? “Do you like my collection?” He followed my gaze to a painting on the wall, then returned to retrieve a response from me. His eyes were mesmerizing, like a tempest storm. At every turn—his manner, his clothes, even his scent—defined his impetuous, aristocratic eccentricity. “I find the human form a most intriguing subject, don’t you?” “They are…very interesting.” I shifted, aware of a decided tingling in my breasts. I glanced down, hoping my reaction was not evident. “You say you’re not married, Mr. Thurgood?” “No, nor am I looking to be, but I do find your interest flattering, Miss Smith.” “No! That’s not my meaning, sir….” I felt my cheeks grow warm. He chuckled quietly. “Come now, let me show you the rest of the house, perhaps it will intrigue you enough to stay on.” He held out his hand, ushering me through the study door and into the foyer. “Is it proper, milord, for me to accompany you beyond the main floor?” I walked past him, careful not to get too close, and caught a tantalizing whiff of his spicy cologne. It called to me of exotic places, wild and free, very masculine and a bit dangerous. I had to admit between my need for a job and Lord Thurgood’s charm, my brain was addled. “Perhaps. Does that frighten you, Miss Smith? More importantly, do I frighten you?” I stared at him for a moment, taking in the confident expression. Yet I was not ill at ease. For a brief moment I fantasized that we were retiring for the evening. He’d, of course, check the door, locking out the rest of the world as I waited with anticipation upstairs, unwinding and brushing my hair to accommodate his fingers later when we were alone. A gentle evening breeze would make the curtains dance as he slowly undressed me, stretching my desire thin. His lips would seduce me along the curve of my neck with whispered words of his wicked intent until all that stood between us was his clothing. “Miss Smith?” His deep voice jarred me from my most wicked thoughts. But no more wicked than his devious smile. “Shall we?”
Chapter Three My hand trembled as I walked ahead of him. I clung to the smooth, cool banister rail, realizing that the carpet padded the sound of our footsteps. The scent of lemon oil and fresh flowers wafted through the air, giving notice that the upstairs windows were open to allow for the breeze. I sensed Lord Thurgood behind me at a respectable distance, yet well within reach if he chose. On the first landing, I paused to admire an opulent colored glass window. “How lovely. Was it here when you purchased the property?” My heart raced as he came to stand beside me. He did not apologize when he brushed against my thigh.
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“I commissioned it from a radical artist friend of mine. It’s a depiction of Eve offering the apple to Adam.” He turned to me, the heat of his body evident so close to mine. “Do you like it?” I pulled my gaze from his. “I always—“ I glanced up at him briefly. “Go on, Miss Smith.” he prodded. “Well, I always wondered why people blamed Eve for succumbing to temptation.” Strangely, I did not have any discomfort in speaking my thoughts with him, as I might with another man. “Ah,” he spoke with a nod. “It’s a shame. Adam, of course could have refused. But then again…” He stepped ahead of me on the stairs and turned with a roguish grin, wiggling his dark brows. “If he had, where would we be?” He forged ahead without concern for propriety and I must admit I felt a great liberation in his company. He spoke to me as if I was more than a housemaid. The value he placed on my thoughts and opinions— unheard of for a woman, and particularly one of my station—was indeed a wonder. “There are seven bedrooms and three lavatories on this level.” He pointed to the right. “At the far end is the master chamber, on the right.” He pointed in the opposite direction. “Down here on the left overlooking the gardens is your—excuse me, would be your chambers.” “You have me housed on the same floor as the master bedroom?” “Unorthodox, I realize, but you will find little in this house that conforms to the whims of society, Miss Smith.” He said, grinning. I sensed no malice or threat in his manner, just a simple frankness that I liked, and so let the subject drop. As I walked down the corridor, my thoughts were overcome by the splendor of the richly decorated hallway. The walls, papered in deep-wine colored brocade gave it a regal look. Polished oil lamps provided light intermittently along either side of the narrow hallway. At either end were two tall windows that reached from floor to ceiling, brilliant in a profusion of colored glass. Two narrow book tables flanked opposite sides of the hallway, each holding a bowl of apples and a short stack of leather bound books. “Your home is exquisite, Lord Thurgood. Clearly you appreciate the art of educating oneself.” “I count curiosity as one of my passions, Miss Smith. I have many books; my library downstairs has hundreds. You are most welcome to peruse them at any time.” “Thank you, sir, reading is one of my favorite pastimes…when time permits,” I added as an afterthought. He picked up a book from the nearby table. “This is one that you may find interesting, then. It’s splendid, really. A poem by Vatsyayana. In particular, the illustrations of the Kama Sutra are exquisitely detailed.” I nodded, offering him a brief smile. Clearly, he was a man well-versed in the ways of the world. I could do worse than be under his influence. We continued down the hall. “Here we are. As you can see, you have a bed, dressing table, the bath has running water and is yours alone—and a most amazing claw-foot tub. In the wardrobe,” he said, swinging open the doors, “are your uniforms, as well as a variety of gowns and other attire essential to your duties.”
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The room was a feast for the eyes. Never in all my days had I seen anything so magnificent. The bed was twice what I needed, the duvet and pillows fluffed and white. It was more like royalty than a maid’s chambers. White curtains danced in the afternoon breeze, and at one end was a set of French doors overlooking a beautiful flower garden. “It’s like a dream, Lord Thurgood. Fit for a princess.” I ran my hand over the fat hardwood bedpost as I ogled the inviting bed. “I am not at all certain of this, Lord Thurgood. It is more than a housemaid deserves. Perhaps this is a mistake— “ A dizzying sense of guilt assaulted me—perhaps it was the talk of Eve being tempted. I felt the need to flee and hurried to the door, running straight into his chest. He cradled me in his arms, preventing me from either coming or going, though I confess I wanted to remain there forever. “It suits you perfectly,“ he soothed quietly as he rubbed his hands over my upper arms. “But I am just a housemaid, sir.” He lifted my chin with a gentle nudge of his finger. “When I saw you in the park, the way you held your head, the gentle sway in your walk, I said to myself: that is no ordinary woman.” “You did?” I held his gaze, unaware until it slid from my shoulders that he’d unbuttoned my caplet. “I said, there is someone special. A woman refined, educated…knowledgeable.” “I am a quick study,” I replied, captured by his sensual smile. He grinned as he lifted the comb from my hair and my tresses tumbled over my shoulders. A rush, new to my senses, swept over me, different from with other men I’d known. Was the role of mistress what he wanted from me after all? “What would you have me do next, Miss Smith? Your wish is my command.” I’d never been given so much authority by a man…by anyone. The freedom was heady. Yet as I worried my lip, I knew what he wanted. What I wanted. “I— I…think—” I stammered as his hand slid over my waist and up my rib, resting just beneath the curve of my breast. His movements were so controlled, patient, as if awaiting my instruction. “Yes, Miss Smith?” The air escaped my lungs as his face drew near. Filled with such desire, his eyes held me captive. I could not move—indeed I had no wish to. “I think, milord, that I have never kissed a man with a moustache,” I whispered, holding his lust-filled gaze. His hands on me made me feel brazen and the freedom aroused me, causing me to think exquisite, naughty thoughts. “Are you a naughty girl, Miss Smith?” he said, reading my thoughts as his mouth trailed down the slope of my neck, his hot breath searing my tender flesh. I could not speak, I was lost in a euphoric trance.
Chapter Four “I hope you enjoy this as much as I will.” He captured my mouth, his tongue darting out to trace my lip. I was a slave to the slow, methodical movement of his hands on me, offering me exquisite pleasure. “I feel decadent,” I sighed as his thumbs brushed across my covered breasts. “Under my roof, you shall never want for anything. You need only ask and it is yours.”
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His ardent kisses grew hungry, his hands pushed through my hair, holding me to him as he ravished me with his heated kisses. He parted my blouse and with a satisfied gleam in his eye, he knelt, taking one rosy tip through my undergarments in his mouth before paying equal attention to the other. Backed against the wall, I held my palms flat to the yellow-rose wallpaper, pressing my chest forward to encourage his ministrations. In a lust-filled fog, I opened my eyes and watched the curtains swirl as if in a fantasy. I felt deliciously faint and wanted nothing more than to lie with him on the luxurious bed. “May I lay down, milord?” I whispered, hoarse. “Allow me.” He bowed and scooped me at once into his arms and laid me down amid the bay of pillows. Half-dressed, I smiled up at my new employer. The lust in his eyes dissipated, and so did my smile. “What troubles you, milord?” I queried, wanting to resume the passion of a moment before. “Your taste is sweet, Miss Smith, and so beguiling that I lost my head. I’m certain you have many more questions. Rest now, and when you awaken perhaps you’ll have a nice soak in the tub. Dinner is promptly at six. My guest is Lord Richfield this evening; he is a friend and founding member of the club I told you about.” I lifted my blouse to cover my semi-naked form, quite unsure what to make of his sudden change of heart. “Yes, milord.” I didn’t wish to press him for the answers to the myriad of questions swirling in my head, at least not until I was secure with the job. He put his hand on the doorknob. “Milord?” I spoke up, finally finding my courage. “For what it may be worth, I was not offended by your attention just now.” His gaze held fast to his boots, but I noted the tick in his firm jaw. “I appreciate that Miss Smith, nonetheless there are some rules that even I must abide by.” He closed the door behind him quietly, leaving me more determined than before to learn more about him.
*** Refreshed from a short nap, I savored the luxurious bath, filled with lavender-scented bath salts. Closing my eyes, I propped my head back on the curled edge of the tub and let my mind drift to earlier in the afternoon. Had I gone mad? Was I so desperate for food and a roof that I might consider being a companion to a strange man for as long as he needed me? Or was it worse that I actually wished that he wanted me as his mistress? I could not say which held the greatest danger—perhaps both. But I knew that the decision, once made, would be mine, and mine alone. Still, I could not deny the longing that had assaulted my body as he touched me. And what I would do for another glimpse of such divinity…. My hand slid over my flesh, dipping low at the juncture of my thighs. My hand transported me to the memory of milord’s attention to my breasts, and I found the joy of my longing. Sweet fire smoldered deep inside me, rising toward the heavens in erotic splendor. I bit the side of my hand to quiet my cry of pleasure as my body gave up to the shattering bliss of my handiwork. I sighed, despondent that it was not Lord Thurgood himself bringing me to this ethereal pinnacle. Still, if I was careful and gained his trust, perhaps there was hope he would consider the value of a more permanent arrangement between us? To that end, I was willing to endure most any whim he set before me as a test of my loyalty. Did that indeed make me a naughty girl, or one who saw the opportunities before her?
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*** I chose a blue column gown as dress for dinner, and as I descended the stair, the smells coming from below tantalized my senses. At that moment, Lord Thurgood emerged from his study and paused, blatantly staring at me until I averted my gaze. “Pardon me, Miss Smith, I do not wish to seem rude. It’s simply that in that gown you are transformed into a rare beauty.” He held out his arm, and I again felt odd that I was being treated more like a guest than a potential house servant. But I would play his game, hopeful that in the end we would both get what it was that we wanted. “Miss Smith,” Lord Thurgood stated as we entered the dining room, “I would like you to meet my colleague, Lord Brandon Richfield. He happens to be in London on business. We share many years, and have a great deal in common in business dealings.” The handsome stranger took my hand, bowing to me as though I was Thurgood’s wife. Perhaps it was the dress, but I confess I was not certain that Lord Richfield was aware of my true position. “Welcome to Thurgood House, madam. It is a pleasure.” He glanced at my new employer, though I’d yet to actually tell him I’d accepted the position—and certainly not that I had an ulterior motive for taking the job. “We now have one more interest in common, Grant.” Lord Richfield gushed. “She’s perfectly delightful. Her skin is exquisite, just like milk and honey as you said.” Richfield stared at me with a fixed grin. Behind him Lord Thurgood offered a slight smile. “You flatter me, Lord Richfield,” I replied with a short curtsy. “Delightful, Thurgood, simply delightful.” “Shall we sit down then?” Lord Thurgood held out my chair. As I sat, he whispered in my ear, “You are radiant, Miss Smith.” I did not feel at all myself in such expensive attire, and I was not certain that I would not wake up at any moment on the park bench and find this all a dream. The frock I wore was made of silk and satin, with a high bodice and low neckline that gave a tempting view of cleavage. It fit my form like a glove, accenting my curves with subtlety and grace. I listened quietly as the two chatted over each course served to us by an older woman I assumed was the cook. It occurred to me that perhaps I was to serve as Lord Thurgood’s companion as a show for business and social affairs. For what he offered and the quality of my keep, I would be all too happy to comply. However, I had more to learn of this “club” first. After dessert of tiramisu and coffee, the men stood to retire to Lord Thurgood’s library. “I’ll excuse myself then gentlemen,” I spoke as Lord Thurgood once more held my chair. “We can discuss the contract come morning, Miss Smith,” milord whispered. “There is no need, sir. I am ready to sign.” I glanced over my shoulder and smiled, pleased when he offered one in return.
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We parted company and I started for the hall to collect my belongings. The lamp in the foyer was dimmed low and so I was startled when Lord Richfield emerged silent from the shadows. “My apologies, Miss Smith. I wanted to say again how pleased I am that you are considering Lord Thurgood’s proposal.” “Actually, Lord Richfield, I have only just told Lord Thurgood that I plan to sign at first light.” His body, so close to mine in the narrow hall, shifted, and I felt his thigh brush against mine. “That is splendid news, Miss Smith. I hope in the days to come we shall become better acquainted.” “My dear Brandon, why don’t we let Miss Smith get her beauty rest?” Lord Thurgood emerged from the dining room and offered a pleasant smile as he ushered his guest to the library. Lord Richfield bowed to me and excused himself to enter the room and my new employer held my gaze as he walked toward me. “Not that you need beauty sleep, quite frankly, Miss Smith. Shall I arrange a carriage for you to return to your previous lodge to gather the rest of your belongings?” I had no other belongings, of course, and no place to lie my head, save perhaps a park bench or alleyway. I worried my lip, avoiding his steady gaze as I thought of a response. “Miss Smith, what is it?” “I am…between residences at present, milord. All that I own, I brought with me today.” It sounded horrid even to my ears, but his finger on my chin brought my eyes to meet his. There was a kindness in them, mixed with something more. “Then you shall stay here tonight and tomorrow begin your new life, Miss Smith. Welcome to my home.” He paused. “However, it appears that Lord Richfield is clearly enamored with you, so I kindly suggest it is wise to secure your chambers’ lock tonight. Brandon likes his cognac and I don’t want him taking leave of his senses.” He touched my cheek softly. “I confess I would have difficulty of the same crime myself if it were not for the stipulations of the contract you have agreed to sign.” “Stipulations?” I queried, brought back to reality by his words. “We can discuss them tomorrow, it’s late and I must see to my guest.” “Of course,” I agreed. It would not be proper for me to assume his time with company waiting in the study. With that, he bowed and took his leave. I melted against the wall, my stomach aflutter in his presence. The number of questions were growing in my head, along with a need welling inside that I knew would torment my dreams.
*** His hands, slow and thorough, moved over me, caressing, squeezing my breasts. Spooned against my back, I succumbed to the warmth of his naked flesh to mine. His rigid staff poked against my thigh in anticipation of my submission to his passionate advances. Was this a dream, or had milord returned in the dark of night to finish what we’d started? The scent of cognac tickled my nose and I stretched like a satisfied kitten, rubbing my bottom against his naked flesh.
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“Yes,” he whispered against my shoulder as he shifted my hip into his lap. I was more than ready for him, as my dreams had been filled with thoughts of the fire in his eyes as we delighted in one another's bodies. With a quiet groan, he parted my drenched rose, burrowing himself deep as he lifted my leg over his knee. The angle provided enormous pleasure and I followed his movement, slow and steady, enjoying each lunge, imagining that when next he took me, I would look into his eyes. I sighed, showing him my pleasure of his efforts. His hips moved faster, his thrusts more shallow, and I held myself against him, teetering on the edge, wanting to experience the shattering light with him. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing my breast into his one hand, as his other dug into the flesh of my hip. I wanted this, as much as I wanted him. A woman’s desires are no less important than a man’s. And hadn’t the afternoon been filled with the foreplay of our true intent? The urgent tap-tap-tap of the headboard against the wall gave me pause, and I wondered if it might wake our guest and create an awkward scene. “Milord, we must not intrude on our guest's slumber, perhaps we should—“ Before I could finish my thought, he abruptly pulled away and I felt the mattress give as he left. A second later, the door opened and closed with a quiet click. It occurred to me that I had not latched the door as instructed. I turned to my back and stared up at the dark ceiling. The realization that it might have been Lord Richfield gave me pause, though I admit I was not entirely dissatisfied—perhaps I was more suited to this idea of being a naughty girl than I once thought. My thighs were yet sore from the contortion, but deliciously so. On the verge of my release, I sought relief from the tension built up inside me. Even though the size of my fingers were no match for the scope of my midnight lover, I was able to quench the fire he’d ignited. Satisfied and ready for whatever adventures lay before me, I closed my eyes and smiled as I drifted into effortless slumber.
Chapter Six I awoke to the delectable scent of coffee and something baking. Scones, I hoped, as I tossed aside the covers and padded naked to the bathroom where I made haste to wash. I found a simple dress, and wondered whether I should don my uniform. I chose to check over the contract once more before signing instead. With expedient care, I pinned my hair atop my head and gave myself a quick once-over in the boudoir mirror. I pinched my cheeks, bringing a subtle blush to my fair skin and bit my lip to add a bit of color. I hoped that if last night’s visitor had been Lord Thurgood, he would be pleased with how well I managed the evening and his sudden departure. If it had been Lord Richfield…well, I would have to deal with that possibility. “Miss Smith, you look well rested. I trust the bed is to your liking?” Lord Thurgood smiled up at me as I descended the stairs. “I had a most pleasant night, thank you, sir.” I detected no look of familiarity in his eyes. “Might I impose on you to read through the contract during breakfast?” I hoped that milord would approach his nightly visit over breakfast. “Of course. Our guest offers his apologies, but he had to leave early this morning on urgent business.”
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Given milord’s silence on the matter and Lord Richfield’s quick departure, it probably had been Richfield that had come to my bed during the night. Though I wasn’t disturbed by the thought, I chose to keep quiet on the matter, at least for now, due to the potential rift that might occur. “If you’ll excuse me, I have some papers to look over. I will leave you to finish your breakfast and read the contract. I will be in my study if you have any questions.” He wiped his mouth—the one I could not forget. I wondered then if he suspected his friend had come to my chambers. Regardless, Lord Richfield was gone now and the incident better left in the past. I read the contract as I ate, and discovered that my services beyond housekeeping were associated directly to being an escort to individual members of the boys’ club. There were several stipulations, including that activities must be restricted to the house of the hosting member, preferably to my chambers. But to what extent was I required to satisfy these requests? Another question pressed on me with greater concern, yet I needed answers to both before I would sign. I found Lord Thurgood in his study hovering over his paperwork with pen in hand, scrutinizing the forms in front of him. I tapped softly on the open door. His dark gaze darted to mine and I took a step back at the intensity on his face. It quickly softened as he saw me. “Miss Smith, my thoughts were deep in these contracts. Please, do come in.” He stood and directed me to the chair across from him. “Did you wish to discuss the terms of the contract?” He returned to his chair and tented his hands in front of him as he waited. “First, may I say that you are a breath of spring this morning. Your accommodations suit you then?” “Indeed, milord, they are most adequate.” I smiled, summoning my courage to ask the questions burning in my heart. “I have but a couple of questions, if you don’t mind?” I’d already made up my mind to accept the position regardless. I was not put off by the job requirements; they were all known to Lord Thurgood, after all, and I was not a woman embarrassed by her own pleasure and desires. But I did have concerns. “Ask me anything.” He sat back in his chair, more relaxed in his demeanor. His charm now fully addressed. “I understand that I am contracted to serve as companion to one member a month for your club and to comply with that member’s wishes for the evening. I would like clarification as to what extent I am contractually bound to comply with their requests?” He glanced at his boot, taking his time before he responded. “That, Miss Smith, I leave to your discretion. The club members come from varied backgrounds, some from different cultures. They are men with eclectic tastes to be sure. I cannot say what they may ask of you, though you will be expected to comply to the best of your ability to their wishes. Of course, we have provisions built-in to our club rules, an unspoken understanding if you will, with regard to your well-being and safekeeping.” “To put it plainly then, I am to be a communal mistress, of sorts?” His expression did not change. “You are to be a mistress to the club, exclusively, and to perform your duties with grace and style. You are a woman who understands passion, are you not?” “You of all people should know the answer to that, milord.” I responded, holding his sensual gaze. “And that leads me to my next question.” “Yes, Miss Smith?” “And how am I to serve you?” I swallowed against the dryness in my throat, determined not to let him see my desire.
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His eyes darkened before he averted them from mine. He stood and swiped his hand over his mouth as he looked out the window. He remained there a moment, silent, as he stared out at the street beyond. “Contractually, during your tenure, you must serve me as a domestic servant only. This is a safeguard included as rules of the acting host.” “I see.” I paused a moment, mulling over which of us would cross over that line first. Clearly there was a tension between us that could not be denied. Whether that was lust or something more remained to be seen—and would most assuredly be put to the test. I had no fear in speaking plainly my thoughts, and if my instinct was correct, it would not be out of the realm of possibility that soon enough Lord Thurgood might reciprocate similar feelings. Still I wanted the seeds to burn in his brain, for what I was about to agree to would torment me as much as him—or so I hoped. “I am curious, milord, if my entertaining your friends will bring you satisfaction or torment?” It was an obvious challenge, and were he to accept it, I was prepared to resume what we’d begun the day before. But he merely glanced over his shoulder and remained silent—stubborn and a man of his word, both admirable qualities in a man. “Very well. Just so we are agreed on this point.” I stood and leaned over his desk, purposely catching his eye on my cleavage as I poised to sign. “With your permission, I’ll sign these and get out of this gown. My uniforms are in the wardrobe, correct?” I did not have to look up to know he was staring at me. I could feel the heat of his gaze.
Chapter Seven As the first Wednesday of the month approached, I spent much time in the company of the cook learning how our master preferred his house to run. He was fair and kind, but ruthlessly business-like, so much so that I began to think I had mistaken his attraction to me previously. The plan I’d had to remain aloof from him appeared fruitless in light of his frequent trips and business dealings in his closed study. But in the few times he was home, he was quite pleasant, offering his suggestion of a book I should read on bird watching, or pointing out a new flower that had blossomed in the garden outside of the study window. We had similar tastes in books and art, but just as I sensed we were making a connection, he would retreat to his work in the study. In particular, as the first Wednesday drew near, his agitation and impatience with Cook and me grew to a noticeable level. Late one night as I finished the evening dishes, I found him gathering his coat and hat to leave. I fought the urge to inquire where he might be going at such a late hour, but reminded myself of my place. I was neither his wife nor his mistress, and since the day I’d signed the agreement, I’d served no more than Cook in my duties. The only difference between us was that he encouraged my reading and recognition of the world and politics. I stood in the dark shadows of the kitchen, observing the frustration with which he flung on his coat and grabbed his hat from the hall tree. As he opened the door, I took a step and he hesitated, not looking back, only speaking over his shoulder. “Lock up after me, Miss Smith; I shan’t be back until morning.”
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I wanted desperately to ask where he was off to at such an hour, but my pride—wounded by his disregard of me these past weeks—bid me to answer simply, ”Yes, milord.”
*** “Miss Smith, may I introduce Lord Crenshaw. He is one of our founding members.” I curtsied and took the arm Lord Crenshaw extended to mine. “It’s delightful to meet you, Lord Crenshaw. Lord Thurgood has spoken highly of you, and I must say I am impressed with your work on county railways.” I had found a handwritten note under my door this morning highlighting information regarding Lord Crenshaw. He owned half the rail companies in England. His ragged gray brows rose in surprise and he glanced back at Lord Thurgood as we made our way toward the stairs. I’d chosen a red velvet gown, one that hugged my curves but had a modest v-shaped neckline. I also wore white gloves that buttoned from wrist to elbow—the paper had also indicated Lord Crenshaw enjoyed elegance. “You are quite the handsome woman, Miss Smith,” he smiled as his eyes traveled to my cleavage. “You flatter me, milord.” I smiled in return as we headed up the steps. Whatever happened in the privacy of my chambers was to remain between the club member and myself. I wondered what possible request this aging gentleman had in mind for me. I led the way into my room and waited until he was well inside before I shut and locked the door behind us. “What is your pleasure this evening, milord?” I went about the room, turning the lamps low to create a more seductive mood. More for me than him. “I confess it has been some time since I was in the company of a beautiful woman.” He eyed the room, his gaze settling on me. “I am humbled by your kindness, milord. And I confess I am a bit nervous to be in the company of one so much more experienced than I am.” He chuckled. “Do you have any brandy, by chance?” I had taken the liberty of borrowing Lord Thurgood’s decanter from his library cabinet when I found out Lord Crenshaw liked his nightcap. I handed Lord Crenshaw a glass and he settled back into a tufted chair and sighed. “Do you know what I would like, Miss Smith?” His aging blue eyes twinkled. “I am here to serve you, milord.” I slowly unbuttoned one glove, offering hooded glances with a smile now and again. “It is as if you know my mind, young woman.” “Why not tell me, milord? So our pleasure is mutual?” He took another sip of his drink. “Very well, I would like it if you would remove your clothes, very slowly and carefully. I miss watching my wife undress, may she rest in peace.” He took another drink. My heart twisted for his loss. “It would be a pleasure, milord. But would you mind helping to unfasten the hooks of my gown?” I turned my back to him and felt his trembling hands manage the task as I removed my other glove. In a moment, my gown loosened and slid, pooling at my feet. I turned toward him. Beneath I wore only a corset and my pantaloons. He eased back in the chair and reached for his glass. His blue gaze alive with appreciation, he took a long swallow of his drink.
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“With your permission, I would like to draw you a bath,” he spoke with quiet reverence, his eyes fixed on my breasts about to tumble from their confines. “That sounds lovely, Lord Crenshaw. Will you be joining me?” I turned so he could begin to untie my corset. He chuckled. “No, my dear, it will be more than my heart can stand to watch you.” He glanced over his shoulder as he set to filling the tub. “I used to do this for my wife at night. She loved to lie in a bath and let the night breeze blow on her skin. She said it aroused her.” He looked up at me with a boyish grin and I could see what a dashing lad he had been. “I confess it did the same for me.” He was sweet, and I was more than happy to comply. I could only hope the rest of the members were as tame. He pulled his chair to where he could see me as I eased into the tub. “Like this, milord?” I held the sponge over my breasts, letting the water trickle over them. The night wind blowing through the open window did indeed ease my inhibitions. “You are lovely, my dear. Could you do that, with the water, once more?” Taken to him, I did as he bid, embellishing for him with sighs and touching my breasts to show my pleasure. “You are thinking of someone special as you touch yourself, aren’t you?” “I am milord.” I glanced at his smiling face. “Perhaps it is you.” He took a sip of his drink. “Flattery is kind, but I am a smart man. No, those sighs are real, as if you have experienced his touch and are remembering it.” “You are most astute, Lord Crenshaw. I hope you do not feel neglected.” “On the contrary, my dear. Please continue as if it is he sitting here watching you. My pleasure will be doubled, I assure you.” Heeding his words, I stepped from the tub, dried off, and slipped into my boudoir robe. Purposely leaving it undone as his wife might have, I sat down at my vanity and picked up the scented talc and soft, cotton powder-puff. Lord Crenshaw stood behind me, his eyes glistening as I administered the talc to various parts of my body. I held his gaze as I spread my knees and dusted from my knee to the inner juncture of my thighs. “You are exquisite, Miss Smith,” he whispered. “May I?” He reached for my hairbrush. I nodded. His hands lifted my hair, slowly drawing the brush through my tresses, each stroke languid and easy. He had a masterful ease conveying his patience and appreciation. I stared at my reflection: the way the robe slipped off one shoulder and Lord Crenshaw brushing through my hair from behind, both of us looked utterly content. What would the boys think of his choice? I had to admit my surprise that his genteel attentions had aroused me. “What is your pleasure now, milord?” He handed me the brush and placed his hands on my shoulders. “I would like you to lie down.” I complied, arranging myself, expecting to find him undressed. Instead, he drew an object I’d never seen before from his pocket. It looked to be a piece of art perhaps, smooth, like glass, oblong, yet appearing similar to a man’s cock.
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“I want to watch you use this and think of your lover.” He handed me the object and upon closer inspection, I found its size respectable, admirably so. “Is it safe?” I queried, eyeing it carefully. My fingers could do the task he wished me to perform just as well. “I think you will find it satisfactory, my dear. I’ll just sit over here and finish my drink.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, summoning the image of Lord Thurgood’s wicked smile as he hovered over me, his rod urgent and ready betwixt my legs. Yearning with need, I would offer him my dewy peach and he would gently accept my silent invitation, filling me thoroughly, removing himself only to repeat the delicious gesture over and over until I begged for release. My fist knotting the sheets, fever broke out over my flesh as I imagined his firm, muscled stomach brushing against my flesh. Deeper he’d press, his sighs meeting mine with each thrust. My body reached its crest, followed by a delicious roll of thunderous waves, and my eyes opened, expecting to see Lord Thurgood’s stormy gray eyes. But he wasn’t there. I stared at the ceiling, my hand grasping the object as my hips rolled with pleasurable aftershocks. Lord Crenshaw’s face appeared at my bedside, looking down at me with immense pleasure. “Thank you, my dear. Keep my gift as a token of my sincere appreciation.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead. Soon after, I heard the door click behind him. That night I dreamt of Lord Thurgood.
Chapter Eight My performance for Lord Crenshaw served only to make my desire for my employer worse. I was aware of him before he entered a room, and his voice alone could cause my breasts to pucker with arousal. In complete contrast to my torture, he seemed completely at ease around me. “Good day, Miss Smith,” he said as he carried his morning paper and coffee into his study. “Please see to it I’m not disturbed this morning. I have a presentation to get out by week’s end.” I offered a shallow curtsy. I wanted him to ask what birds I’d seen, what flowers Cook and I had planted for fall. “Milord?” The word flew from my mouth before I realized it. “Yes?” he sipped his coffee and glanced at the headlines. Still, he refused to meet my eyes this morning. Why? “Cook and I planted mums today, they’ll be quite a spectacle by fall, don’t you think?” I pretended to be interested in dusting the statuettes on the table between us. If only he would look at me, if only I could see the fiery passion I had experienced the day I arrived, it would give me hope. “Hum, why yes, those would be lovely among the greenery.” He walked over to the window. “Fall already. Time has gone by fast, has it not , Miss Smith?” His gaze met mine finally, and though he stood halfway across the room from me, it was as if I was in his arms. “Yes, milord,” I was barely able to say above a whisper. The words confessing my longing for him teetered on the end of my tongue.
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He licked his lips and glanced back at the garden before making his retreat. “I’ll be in the study, please see that I’m not disturbed.” Lord Thurgood left on business a few days later. On the day he was due to return, Lord Richfield dropped by without announcement and cornered me in the garden. “You are like this rose, Miss Smith.” He oozed charm as he fingered the petals of a rose he’d picked. “Delicate and sweet, your anxious folds yearn to bloom under a master’s touch.” “Lord Richfield, milord would not, I suspect, be pleased with your speaking to me outside the club rules. If you’ve come to see Lord Thurgood, he is due home at any moment.” “I’m not here to see Thurgood, Miss Smith. I came to see you and tell you how I look forward to the next meeting. I have waited months to be with you.” I did not know what to make of him. He was kind, though much more aggressive than my master. Just then, Cook emerged from the backdoor, dumping a pail of dirty water into the hedge. She called out to me. “Miss Smith, I need you at once in the kitchen. Lord Richfield, the master is due in later today if you would like to return tomorrow.” “I could wait,” he called out to the cook, his ice-blue gaze steady on me. “I’m afraid that is not acceptable. Milord likes his private time after a long trip. But I’ll be sure to tell him you came by.” He bowed and gave me a wink. “No need, my good woman, I’m afraid that I must take leave on business tomorrow, but you can tell Lord Thurgood I shall see him at our club meeting.” He left, and when Lord Thurgood returned later that day, I thought it best not to mention my encounter with Lord Richfield. No harm had come from it, and besides, between milord’s travel and my household duties, we barely saw each other. Much to my frustration. *** Dressed in a lovely gown the color of coppery fall leaves, I met Lord Thurgood and a new club member—not Lord Richfield—just outside the closed library doors later the next Wednesday evening. “Miss Smith, I would like to introduce our newest member, Jonathan Albright. It is his good fortune to have been selected to accompany you this evening.” “And what of Lord Richfield, was he unable to attend tonight’s meeting?” I queried politely as if making small talk. The young man staring at me with his eyes about to fall from their sockets was obviously unaware of any underlying message in my words. “Lord Richfield is under the weather, he sends his apologies,” Lord Thurgood stated flatly.
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“What a pity.” I turned my attention without another glance to milord to young Mr. Albright. “Albright, is that from northern England?” I asked. He nodded enthusiastically. “Tell me, what would you like to do this evening? I am all yours.” I glanced over my shoulder and met Lord Thurgood’s steely gaze. Albright was a delightful young man, with a fresh innocence that I found appealing, if not a bit titillating in a wicked way. However, I more enjoyed the flicker of jealousy in milord’s eyes upon my mention of Lord Richfield’s name. “You’re enchanting, Miss Smith, I must say,” Alrbight went on. “Perhaps we could start with a walk in this lovely garden that Thurgood touts so much about?” From behind, Lord Thurgood’s voice squelched the idea entirely with a steady, quiet tone. “A reminder that Miss Smith’s services are limited to her chambers.” “My apologies, Lord Thurgood,” the poor man stammered. “Perhaps I should escort you to Miss Smith’s chambers so you will not get lost.” “That won’t be—“ I began, but Lord Thurgood’s hand touched my lower back and with gentle determination he moved me forward. “It’s no trouble. After all, being new and somewhat younger than the rest of us, Mr. Albright is still not familiar with the club’s protocol. As host it’s only right that I should be of service.” He followed us up the stairs directly to my chamber door. Only after we were inside did he bow and bid us goodnight. I closed the door, holding inside the fury I had for Lord Thurgood’s blatant humiliation. “My apologies sir, milord has been under considerable pressure with his work as of late.” The young man stood by my bed, his wide-eyed gaze confirming my earlier suspicions. “Mr. Albright, I wonder if I might ask something which I don’t wish you to take offense to?” Visibly shy, his round cheeks blushed. “I am quite nervous. I guess that is apparent.” “Forgive me, I had, but there is no need to be nervous. Come sit and let’s chat a bit. Would a glass of brandy ease your tension?” I offered him a small splash in a snifter that I’d taken from the library. The way I saw it, Lord Thurgood still had a number of other sets to choose from. “Have you ever been with a woman, Mr. Albright?” I sat on the edge of the bed across from him. He took a swallow, his eyes still scanning my room and shook his head. “I didn’t want to reveal it to the others. They seem so…well, quite well-versed in that area. I was afraid of the repercussions.” I stood and began to undress calmly as if I was alone. “Do you have a sweetheart, Mr. Albright?” I glanced over my shoulder and saw his gaze dart to mine. “I do, and I confess that…that I fear I shall not…perform to her satisfaction on our wedding night.”
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I found his honesty refreshing, if not endearing. “Perhaps Mr. Albright, we could be of help to each other?” At that, he sat forward, focused on my offer. “Indeed, madam, I am willing if you are.” I hung up my gown and drew on my boudoir robe, tying the sash at my waist. He swallowed as if I was naked before him. “Mr. Albright, how well do you know the members of the boys’ club?” He relaxed, easing back into the chair. “I’ve had business dealings with most of the members for a few years now. I guess I could say I know most of them relatively well, at least from a business standpoint.” “I am curious about one thing, and maybe this is where you could help me to understand the workings of the male mind,” I said, smiling demurely. “It’s Lord Thurgood and Lord Richfield. I understand they have known each other for some time, but can you tell me how the two get on beyond the realm of business?” He furrowed his brow in thought, taking his time to respond. I hoped I hadn’t overstepped the lines of club loyalties. “I have a remarkable admiration for both men. I’ve long known of each man in the business world, and they are both highly regarded and respected.” I nodded. “Without question, I’m quite certain.” Still, I sensed there was more than a stellar business practice between the two. Albright wrinkled his forehead as he frowned in thought. “However, since joining the club, it has become clear to me on a social level—” He darted me a concerned look. “This is my opinion only, and not to be repeated, you understand.” “What is spoken inside these walls remains here, Mr. Albright. I am bound to that by legal contract.” He cleared his throat. “Well then, I confess it’s been my observation that there exists a rather deep and underlying competitive spirit between the two men. I cannot discern if it is an amiable one or not, for both men are expert at masking their emotions. Do you understand my meaning, Miss Smith?” Indeed I did, and I believed that Lord Thurgood’s decision to replace Richfield with Albright this evening was rooted in that jealousy. And that I now felt I had tangible proof that Lord Thurgood might be forming deeper feelings about me. I smiled, standing in front of Albright and letting my robe fall open. “More than you know, Mr. Albright. And may I say that a man of your utter honesty and enthusiasm should have no issues in the bedroom.” He swallowed visibly as I took the glass from his hand.
Chapter Nine
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“I want you to touch me, Mr. Albright.” He blinked and edged forward in the chair, his face even with my breasts. “Are you quite sure, Miss Smith?” I took his hand and placed it over my breast. “I did promise to help you, if you helped me, didn’t I?” He uttered a soft gasp, licking his lips. “You are beautiful beyond anyone I’ve ever known, Miss Smith…with exception of my fiancée, of course.” “Which is why we are here, Mr. Albright, keep that in mind. This is to help you discover what already exists inside you,” I said, confident that all Mr. Albright truly needed was to believe in his masculinity. He glanced up at me, his eyes revealing that he was beginning to understand. With the care and gentleness of a new husband, he caressed my skin and drew me at the waist toward him. My robe spilled effortlessly to the floor, followed by my slip. My arms loose at my sides, I allowed his exploration of my body and was aroused by his gentle thoroughness. I kneeled before him, parting his knees and softly cupped his face. “We trust each other, don’t we, Mr. Albright?” He nodded. I set to the task of freeing his member from his trousers and it sprung forth at the ready. “Most impressive, Mr. Albright. Your new bride is quite the lucky woman.” “Miss Smith, is it proper for a woman to speak so?” I smiled. “I am no ordinary woman, Mr. Albright, as you are about to find out.” I eased my mouth over his velvet tip, teasing with my tongue, caressing his shaft. “Oh…M-Miss…Sm—ohhhh,” he groaned as his hands clasped the arms of the chair. His hips moved gently with my ministrations, and with his climax, I knew I’d gained a confidant within the boys’ club. I rose to cleanse myself and brought him a towel. “This will be our private secret, Mr. Albright. You may tell the members anything you like.” He refastened his trousers. “Oh, good woman, you are a remarkable find.” He reached for me, enveloping me in a fierce hug. We parted at my chamber door and as he prepared to go downstairs, he encountered Lord Thurgood. I caught only snippets of their conversation, though I could see the animated expression of delight on Mr. Albright’s face. I’d no idea what he told Lord Thurgood, but milord glanced over his shoulder at me with an unreadable expression. I held milord’s gaze a moment before shutting the door.
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I could not deny the feelings that I had for Lord Thurgood, though it pained me to think that they were in vain. *** At breakfast, Cook told me that Lord Thurgood had left again late in the evening and had not yet returned home. It was as I cleaned the front hall about an hour later that he returned, looking rather unkempt and out of sorts. Perhaps he’d received some bad news…. But the stench of ale as he stumbled past me revealed he had not returned from a business meeting. “Cook!” he bellowed, giving no regard to my presence. Immediately she emerged from the kitchen. “I want my coffee strong and brought to my chambers. And I don’t wish to be disturbed before at least ten o’clock, understood?” “Yes, milord.” She glanced at me as she scurried away. Giving me no acknowledgement, he continued with great effort up the stairs. *** “It’s for you, Miss Smith.” The cook had answered the messenger at the door, and now handed me an envelope. Over the past few months, I’d received small tokens of affection and appreciation from several club members, many of the floral bouquets I sent on to the children’s ward of the local hospital so milord would not know of them. “What could this be?” I tore the seal and read the card inside. A ball of cold dread formed in my stomach. “What is it, Miss Smith? Bad news?” Cook touched my shoulder. I read the note once again to be sure of its content, then I handed it to Cook. She took the note and read aloud. “I apologize that matters being what they were, we were unable to spend our evening together as I’d hoped. By now, Miss Smith, you must know of the deep affection I have for you. It is my intent upon my return to speak at once to Lord Thurgood on the matter of revoking your contract so you are free to address an issue which, I feel, is of utmost importance to your future. Kind regards, Lord Richfield.” Cook covered her mouth and her wide-eyed gaze met mine. “This sounds like he plans to—“ I could only nod in fascination and wondered how Lord Thurgood would receive the news.
Chapter Ten
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It was only a few days later as I was hanging my private items in the bathroom that I heard the loud voices in the hallway downstairs. I stepped quietly to the first landing and immediately recognized Lord Richfield. He stood toe-to-toe with Lord Thurgood. “You’ve no right to keep Lucille from being happy!” “Who says that she’d be happy with you? Besides, until the contract is up, she’s mine, bought and paid for.” My knees went weak as I realized they were arguing over me like a piece of property, neither one considering what my feelings were in all of this. “I’ll take you to court on this, Thurgood. It wouldn’t do well for your name to be involved in a public scandal.” “Do as you like, Brandon, but my answer is the same. Miss Smith is not negotiable.” I stepped to the top of the stairs, staring down at the both of them. “You are quite right on that point, Lord Thurgood. What right do either of you have to squabble over me like a holiday ham? Is that all I am to you? A prize? A trophy to the best man?” Lord Richfield at least had the decency to look contrite. He met me on the stair, knelt and took my hand. “My dear Lucille, I am sorry you’ve had to hear this. Rest assured that my affection for you grows even as I speak and I will use every means to rescue you and give you the full life you deserve.” He stood then and kissed my cheek, not waiting for my response as he headed toward the front door. He might have had a different gait had he known that I wanted to plant my shoe up his arse. He pointed his hat at Lord Thurgood. “You’ll hear from my lawyer.” The door slammed behind him. My gaze lifted to Lord Thurgood’s iron gaze. He made no move to speak and the roiling in my stomach caused me to turn and bolt up the stairs to my room, soundly locking the door behind me. Sometime later, in the dark of night, I heard a gentle tapping on my door, but I pretended to be asleep. *** By morning, I’d made my choice. Lord Thurgood could take me to court if he had to. I wasn’t about to stay another minute in this house. I packed what I’d come with, dressed in my old clothes and prepared to face Lord Thurgood.
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“Ah, good, Miss Smith, I wanted to speak with you last night, but you must have been asleep.” He emerged from his study with a stack of papers in hand, but stopped abruptly when he saw my attire. “Lord Thurgood.” I swallowed, unsure of how his temper would respond to my news. “I find that my position here is not working as well as planned. Therefore I am giving my two weeks notice, as is customary in most employer agreements.” “What?” His voice rose as his expression clouded with an impending storm. “I warn you, Miss Smith, if you leave I shall be forced to use whatever means to prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law.” My ire rose at his challenge. “Go ahead, sir, and I will confess to exactly what my job entailed.” That sobered his attention. He straightened. “I am sorry, but you are not permitted to leave.” I would give the use of my arms were he to give me a reason to stay, yet it seemed I was but a pawn in a game between two selfish, bull-headed rich men. “I am not asking your permission, Mr. Thurgood.” I opened the door, and in an instant, Lord Thurgood’s arm appeared over my shoulder slamming it shut. I turned with my back to the door, my heart racing at the storm raging in his eyes. “Damn, you are one stubborn woman.” He grabbed my face in his hands and kissed me, hard. As if a prison gate had been thrown open, I was free to respond with all that had been building inside me these many months. I could not breathe for the ferocity of his kisses, capturing my mouth again and again as he drew me further into his study. He paused briefly to lock the door and resumed his passion, backing me to his desk. Papers flew everywhere as he cleared the surface. “I have wanted you from the first day, Miss Smith, and just as I suspect you’d hoped, it has been pure torture to watch you walk away on the arm of another man each month. I never slept; I couldn’t stay in the same house knowing you were with them, their hands, and not mine, all over you.” Fire burned his eyes, just as I’d seen that first day. He deftly unbuttoned my meager blouse, focusing his attention on my breasts. I held his head to my chest and accommodated his wishes when he tugged my skirts over my hips. “I imagined every one of them was you,” I sighed as he freed himself from his trousers. How long I had dreamt of this moment, how many times I had dreamt of seeing his tempest eyes devouring me. “Hurry, I have waited too long.” He lifted me to the desk’s edge and I hugged his neck as he lay me down, pushing my knees apart, entering me swift and sure. Relentless, caught in the powerful emotions etched on his face, he drove into me again and again, his groans matching mine.
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“Look at me, Lucille—you are no longer bound by any paper. I want you to want me by choice.” Flames coursed through my veins, his admission fanning my arousal. “Tell me what you want, Lucille, Lucy…” he spoke my name with a soft intimacy, just as he had that first afternoon. This time I responded without hesitation. “You and you alone, milord.” “I am pleased to hear that, as I feel the same.” Thrice more he pushed into me and we clung to each other as we toppled into oblivion. “Milord,” I breathed against his shoulder, pleased with how he felt resting on top of me. “What about the boys’ club?” “If there is no club, there is no contract,” he remarked, pulling me upright. “Nor do you have a job as housekeeper.” He adjusted his clothing and settled his hands over mine, buttoning my blouse in place. “Excuse me? Are you saying that I am without a position?” “I want to offer you a new position, Miss Smith.” My heart lifted. “However, it will require a woman of adventure, and most assuredly more times such as the one we’ve just had.” “I’m intrigued, sir. What position would you like me to assume?” His grin was wicked. “In that regard, good lady, I have a myriad of positions to share with you. But my offer is of a more permanent nature.” He knelt on one knee before me. I steadied my hand on my heart, preparing to hear my deepest fantasy come true. “I am asking you to be my companion, my lover, my wife.” I grinned as I curled my arms around his neck. “I accept, Lord Thurgood, most happily, on all counts. When shall we get started?”
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The Forgetful Fiancee by Kara Lennox Kevin thought he'd left Tara behind in Chicago. So what's she doing in tiny Hardyville, Colorado, with a three-month-old baby, and no memory of their breakup?
Chapter One "Deputy Rayburn? That woman at the hospital—she's awake and asking for you." Kevin Rayburn's heart quickened. "Me?" he spoke into the radio. "How does she even know me?" "Dunno. But I figured you'd want to know." "I'll be right there." Kevin turned onto the highway and accelerated toward Colby County Hospital. This was the first violent crime he'd had to deal with since moving to Hardyville, Colorado, less than a year ago, and it made his gut twist. He'd thought he'd left beatings and muggings behind in Chicago. Yet early this morning, he'd learned that a young woman had been found unconscious in a fast-food parking lot at the edge of town, her purse missing. One of the other deputies had taken the call, but since it was the biggest news in Hardyville all year, everyone was talking about it. The story had been especially intriguing because the unidentified woman had been clutching an infant, a baby boy who was unharmed in the attack. When he arrived at the hospital, Kevin was directed to the second floor where the mystery woman was being cared for. He hoped she had a clear memory of what had happened. Whoever the jerk was who'd hit her on the head, Kevin intended to catch him and make it clear that violence wasn't tolerated in Hardyville. His hometown, just sixty miles from Colorado Springs, was a throwback, a former gold-rush town that had never gotten caught up in the hustle and bustle of ski resorts. It didn't even have a Starbucks, and Kevin liked it that way. As Kevin approached the door to the woman's room, a feminine voice, sounding distressed, came from inside. "I don't understand this at all. Why am I so bloated? And what happened to my hair?" That voice. It sounded just like…but it couldn't be. Tara Satterfield would never set foot outside Chicago, unless it was to visit New York. She wouldn't be caught dead in "the sticks," as she referred to any place with a population of under a million. And she most definitely wouldn't be traveling with a baby. He'd never met a woman less…maternal. His heart ached, as it always did when he thought of Tara. Ruthlessly he pushed aside the memories that threatened to invade his peace of mind. Those were for later, when he was alone in his bed. "Maybe Deputy Rayburn can shed some light on things," another female voice said soothingly. Kevin knocked on the partially open door. "Someone call?" He stepped into the room—and received the shock of his life. It was Tara. Even with a black eye and a fat lip, and with her blond hair cut short, the woman lying in the hospital bed was unmistakably his exgirlfriend. He hadn't seen her in almost a year, since he'd so abruptly left Chicago. "Oh, Kevin, thank God! What took you so long? Please, tell me what's going on." The nurse, who'd been changing a bandage on Tara's arm, looked at Kevin. "You know her?"
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"Yes, she's my—she's Tara Satterfield." Looking lost and scared, Tara reached for him, and reflexively he bent over the bed and hugged her. The feel of her, the smell of her hair, brought those painful memories screaming back into his head. "Are you okay, sweetheart?" The endearment slipped out without effort. "I think so. But how did I get here? Were we visiting your aunt?" Kevin reluctantly released her. "You don't remember?" "The last thing I remember is us going out to dinner with the Brinkmans. How long ago was that?" Good Lord. Kevin barely remembered that dinner, but it was at least a year ago. "Kevin?" Tara looked up at him with improbably green eyes. "Will you tell me what's going on? And what's with the khaki uniform?" Before he could answer, his Aunt Debra waltzed into the hospital room, a scrunched-up blanket in her arms. Debra had raised Kevin after his parents died, and he loved her fiercely. She was also a volunteer at the hospital and the town busybody. "Well, well, I heard through the grapevine you were awake and kicking," Debra said to Tara, her curly red hair bobbing as she walked. "I'm sure you're anxious to see this young man." She plopped the blanket onto Tara's lap. That was when Kevin realized it wasn't just a blanket. Tara looked at the sleeping baby as if it were an alien invader, making no move to touch it. "Excuse me? You must have the wrong room." The nurse and Debra exchanged worried looks. "Dearheart," the nurse said, "this is definitely your baby. At least, he was with you when you were found." Tara looked to Kevin for help. "Tell them, Kevin. Tell them there's been a mistake." Kevin was as shocked as Tara. He'd known the mystery woman had been found with a baby, but he'd forgotten about that once he'd realized the woman was Tara. The child appeared to be about three months old, which left Kevin with an inescapable conclusion: He was a father. Tara had borne him a child, though she hadn't seen fit to tell him about it. Tara felt like she was in the middle of some weird dream. She could make out every eyelash of the strange child the social worker had put in her lap; she could smell the antibiotic ointment the nurse had just applied to the scrape on her arm. But as hard as she tried, she couldn't remember how she had gotten to this hospital room in Hardyville, Colorado, a bazillion miles from her home in Chicago—and not a place she would go unless a team of mules were dragging her. They told her she'd been mugged. Someone had hit her over the head in a parking lot and stolen her purse, and probably her car, too. The baby stirred and started to fret. Instinctively Tara's arms went around him, and she realized with a bolt of clarity that yes, indeed, this was her child. Though she couldn't remember, this felt right. A recent pregnancy would explain why her body felt softer, not the reed-thin figure she remembered, and why she'd changed her hairstyle to something short and no-fuss. The woman who'd brought the baby looked anxiously at Tara. "Are you saying this isn't your baby? Because if it's not, I'd like to know —"
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"He's mine," Tara said with certainty, silently acknowledging the fact that she'd misplaced a good chunk of her memory. Maybe she didn't consciously remember this baby, but her instincts told her he belonged with her. The woman looked relieved. "I'll take him back whenever you're ready. I'm a volunteer here at the hospital, and I've been caring for him while you're —" Abruptly she looked over at Kevin. "Kevin, what are you doing here? You found the creep who hurt this lovely young woman, I hope." "This isn't just any lovely young woman," Kevin said, his voice curiously thick. "This is Tara." The woman's faded blue eyes bulged in surprise. "Your Tara?" Kevin nodded. Suddenly the woman was all smiles as she looked at Tara anew. "Oh my gosh, Tara! I'd hug you to pieces, but I don't want to hurt you, what with your injuries and all. I'm Kevin's Aunt Debra. It is just such a pleasure to finally, finally meet you." "Likewise," Tara said uncertainly. So this was the woman who'd raised Kevin. "Could…could someone please tell me what day it is?" "Why, Tuesday," Debra replied. "No, I mean, the date." "April first," Kevin said. "And the year?" Debra and the nurse both jerked in surprise at the question, but Kevin didn't. He told her, confirming her suspicions. She had lost an entire year of her life. And what a year it must have been, she thought, looking down at the baby. "I'll just go find your doctor," the nurse said as she briskly left the room. Aunt Debra gently smoothed Tara's hair. "Whatever's wrong, I'm sure living in Hardyville will set you straight. You probably just need to rest. " "I'm not going to live here," Tara objected, a little more strongly than she'd meant. She softened her voice and looked at Kevin. "Am I?" Kevin shrugged. He'd said precious little since coming into the room, making her wonder what was going on in his head. "Well, of course you're going to live here," Debra said. "That's what you were coming here for. To live in Hardyville and marry Kevin."
Chapter Two Kevin started to object. Why would Aunt Debra tell Tara that the two of them were getting married? He and Tara had never broached the subject of marriage, much less agreed to it. In fact, they hadn't even seen each other since they broke up and he quit the Chicago police force to move here.
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Debra gave Kevin a warning look that caused him to hold his tongue. He would find out why she'd told such a whopper before calling her on it. He took his aunt by the arm. "Excuse us a minute, Tara." Then he none-too-gently dragged Debra out of Tara's hospital room into the corridor. "What was that all about?" "Oh, Kevin, don't you see? This is a golden opportunity. You've been mooning over Tara ever since you got here. Whenever I urge you to try and make up with her, to convince her to move to Hardyville and be with you, you say it's impossible. She loves Chicago, hates small towns. Well, now fate is stepping in. She was coming here for some reason. My guess is that she wanted to introduce you to your son…he is your son, isn't he? I mean, you and Tara didn't break up because she was carrying some other man's—" "He's mine," Kevin acknowledged. God, she had to have already been pregnant that night they broke up. Why hadn't she told him? Then again, he was glad she hadn't. After the events at work that day, he'd been perilously close to a mental meltdown. Shocking news like impending fatherhood might have sent him over the edge. Anyway, he'd been behaving like such a psychotic jerk, no wonder she'd said nothing about the baby. "Then who knows?" Debra continued. "Maybe Tara was coming here, hoping you'd make an honest woman out of her." "But we can't just lie to her and pretend that's the case," Kevin said reasonably, although he couldn't deny that the idea of marrying Tara and having her settle down here with him would be all he'd ever wanted. And a baby, a son…that part was pretty overwhelming. No, terrifying. But he would do right by the child. He had to. "We won't lie for long," Debra said. "She's going to have to stay here a while anyway, to recuperate. She's not in any shape to rush back to Chicago and resume work and single motherhood. She needs rest, and Hardyville is the best place for that. Don't you agree?" He couldn't argue with Debra's logic. His hometown, nestled in the foothills of the Rockies, was a healing place, with its friendly people and laid-back pace, picture-postcard vistas in every direction. "You said she hates small towns, but she's never lived in one like Hardyville. Once she gives it a chance, she'll want to stay. And marry you. And then it won't be a lie anymore." "I won't actually marry her under false pretenses," Kevin said. "You won't have to. We'll tell her the truth after a couple of weeks—that we simply didn't know why she was here. Then, if she's not convinced this is the place for her, she can go home." Yeah, she'll go home madder than hell at me for lying, Kevin thought. Tara might never speak to him again. But was that any worse than the way things had been over the past year?
*** Two days later, Tara was released from the hospital, and her memory of the past year still hadn't returned. Her doctor said it might never, but chances were that bits and pieces would start to float into consciousness. She hoped so. She hated to think of never remembering her pregnancy, or giving birth to Andrew. Andrew. She'd had to ask, with some embarrassment, what her own baby's name was. Kevin had told her she'd named the baby after her father, who had died three years ago. That had sounded right, she'd thought, gradually coming to terms with the fact that she was a mother. Debra had been bringing Andrew to the hospital for long visits. Tara had amazed herself by knowing how to diaper and feed and burp Andrew without any instruction, but she had no idea how she knew.
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As Kevin drove her home from the hospital, she peppered him with questions. "I became pregnant by accident, right?" "Yes." "Why didn't we get married sooner?" "We didn't want to rush into anything." That seemed odd. She recalled the night they'd had dinner with their married friends. That was the first time it hit had her that she wanted to marry Kevin, and she'd been wondering how to broach the subject. She must have discovered her pregnancy soon after. So Kevin must have been the one who was marriage shy. She had a hard time imagining Kevin, always so responsible and duty-bound, hesitating to take responsibility for his child. "We also disagreed about where to live," Kevin continued. "I was sick of Chicago and all the violent crime. I wanted to raise our child somewhere more wholesome. You were dead set against leaving Chicago." "I changed my mind, though?" She supposed she must have. "Hardyville is a fine place to raise children," Kevin said. It didn't escape her attention that he hadn't actually answered her question. Had he coerced her into moving here? She couldn't imagine that, either. "I moved here first and got settled. You were finishing up some big contracts and arranging for Cindy to take over your clients." Cindy was Tara's partner in an interior design firm. "Did I sell my condo?" Tara asked with a wave of sadness. She loved her condo, having furnished it with loving attention to every detail from the hardwood floors to the switch plates. Kevin hesitated. "It hasn't sold yet." She felt relief when she knew she shouldn't have. She'd made a commitment, and there was no turning back. "Do we have a wedding date?" "Uh, yeah. June first." "Is that a Saturday?" "Well, we haven't actually picked an exact day," he qualified. "But some Saturday around June first." "Oh. So I haven't actually made any plans?" "You thought it might be easier to wait until you were actually here." "Two months isn't very long." Oh well, she'd never wanted an elaborate wedding. She studied Kevin in profile, acknowledging the changes in him. His wavy hair was longer than he'd worn it on the Chicago police force. His face was more tanned, as if he'd spent more time outdoors. He was also a bit leaner, harder, filling out his khaki uniform in intriguing ways.
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But the real change was his eyes. Still dark brown, still deep enough to drown in. But they carried a wariness that seemed alien to Tara, like he'd shuttered a part of himself off from the world—from her. Uneasy, she looked out the window at…nothing. Oh, there were fields and trees and mountains and blue sky, all very pretty. So pretty, in fact, that it didn't seem real. Where were the people? They'd hardly passed another car on the dinky road into town, much less passed a pedestrian. Already she was homesick. She loved Chicago, with its hustle and bustle, the noise, the traffic, the skyscrapers. She loved the nightlife, and the fact that she could get Chinese food at two in the morning, if she wanted. She loved being able to hop on the subway and go anywhere she wanted, or waste a whole Sunday afternoon in a museum. "Does Hardyville have any museums?" she asked impulsively. Kevin laughed. "Not unless you count the collection of elk antlers on the wall at the Hole-In-Your-Shoe Saloon." "You're making that up. There's no such place." "I'll take you there tonight." Oh, God. How was she going to survive?
Chapter Three Tara glanced over her shoulder at Andrew, sleeping peacefully in the back seat of the police cruiser as Kevin drove them home from the hospital. For him, she thought. She would cope with her life's changing circumstances for Andrew's sake. Urban Chicago was a great place for an adult, but not a child. A child needed green grass under his feet and places he could roam without fear of being hit by a bus. A child needed fresh air, at least. And a child needed a father. Kevin looked over at her and immediately sobered. He must have caught the dismal expression on her face. "C'mon, Tara, it's not that bad. We're an hour from Colorado Springs, which most definitely has museums." "Kevin? Where's my stuff?" "What stuff?" "You know, all the things from my apartment. My furniture, my clothes, my dishes…" "In storage. Well, some things you brought with you, I'm sure, but they were stolen with your car." That seemed strange. If she was moving here for good, she would have brought her furniture with her. She shuddered to think about the interior of Kevin's house, her future home. He was color-blind. She could only hope his Aunt Debra helped him decorate. "Maybe I was driving a U-Haul truck," she thought aloud, but that only made her more depressed. Her beautiful designer furniture could be in Mexico with her mugger by now. "You flew to Colorado Springs and rented a car—that much we've figured out. Don't worry, sweetheart, we'll catch the guy."
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For no reason at all, tears sprang to Tara's eyes. She hadn't cried since waking up in the hospital to discover her life was upside down, but all at once it got to her. She wanted her old life back. She wanted her cell phone and her Rolodex, her big-screen TV with the satellite connection and two hundred channels. She wanted her Daytimer packed with appointments. She wanted…oh, she didn't know what she wanted. Kevin noticed a strange noise coming from the other side of the car. "Are you crying?" "Yes, and just let me, okay?" "No, it's not okay." He couldn't remember ever seeing Tara cry. He pulled the cruiser over to the side of the road, cut the engine, unfastened his seat belt and scooted next to her on the bench seat. He put his arms around her and held her close, murmuring gentle, soothing phrases as she cried on his shirt. "I know it's hard, I know, baby," he soothed. "We'll work everything out." "I want to remember," she sobbed. "I want to know how I got from there to here. God knows I love you, Kevin, but…but…" "You can't imagine why you wanted to move here," he said, completing her thought. "It's just so different." "You haven't even given it a chance. Try it for a while." "I will. I never meant to imply I would go back on my word. Obviously I made a promise to you, and I intend to keep it. You'll just have to endure my little…fits of adjustment." A spear of guilt stabbed Kevin straight through the heart. He never should have let Debra talk him into this lie. But if he told Tara the truth now, she would turn tail for Chicago faster than a spooked rabbit. At least he could have a couple of weeks with her first, some memories to draw on during the long Colorado winter nights to come. She stopped crying after a few more minutes, much to his relief. But he still held her. With her new, softer curves, she felt better than ever in his arms. His groin tightened at the memory of their lovemaking. Her mind must have been traveling along similar corridors, because she asked, "Kevin, how long has it been since we made love?" "Way too long." That much, at least, was the sincerest truth. "How fast can we remedy that situation?" His breathing came faster. "Darling, as fast as I can haul this car home." Tara might have forgotten a lot of things, but one thing she did remember was how good she and Kevin were together. They'd dated for three years—two of which she could remember—and during that time their ardent desire for each other had never dulled with time and familiarity. As Kevin pulled his car into the driveway of a natural wood house on the outskirts of town, Tara's anticipation grew. Surely, once she was in his arms, things would become clear again. She'd always found such comfort in Kevin's lovemaking, as well as excitement.
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She gave the modern house, nestled in a grove of birch, a cursory inspection as Kevin unfastened the baby's car seat restraints. It suited him, she decided, and it was far more appealing to her than she would have hoped. She'd always loved contemporary design. In fact, she was known for her daring, almost futuristic concepts when it came to her own design work. But this house had a warmth about it, too, something very inviting. Kevin handed Andrew to Tara, and she took him with a naturalness she wouldn't have dreamed of before. "What do you think?" Kevin asked. "Nice, very nice," she said with a smile. "But I'm more interested in the interior. Of the bedroom." Kevin almost broke his neck getting to the front porch and unlocking the door. Tara paid little attention to the inside of the house. Her body was primed, and all she could think about was shucking her clothes—and his—and slaking her desire. She was always like this when it came to Kevin and sex. She had tunnel vision. That was probably how she'd ended up pregnant, she reflected. She'd forgotten birth control one too many times. Kevin led her to a nursery. Tara absorbed the impression of ducks—lots of cute ducks—as she laid Andrew in the crib. Someone, probably Debra, had prepared for Andrew's arrival. Deprived of his mother's arms, he fretted a bit. "What's wrong with him?" Kevin asked, sounding unnaturally alarmed. "Nothing, as far as I know." Tara rubbed Andrew's stomach and murmured soothingly to him. Almost instantly he quieted, closed his eyes, and slept again. Then she turned and hooked her arms around Kevin's trim waist. "C'mon, let's get this show on the road," she said, nibbling his neck the way she knew drove him crazy. "I can't guarantee how long Andrew will sleep." Kevin scooped her up in his arms. "You don't have to ask twice." In the master bedroom, Kevin wasted no time in removing Tara's clothes, kissing every part of her body as he bared it. She felt a moment of embarrassment as she wondered how he felt about her new, fuller figure. Kevin, sensing her self-doubt, pulled her to him and enveloped her in a full-body hug. "You look beautiful. Motherhood has softened your sharp corners." "I had sharp corners?" Kevin rubbed her back, letting one hand slip down to cup her bottom. "You know what I mean. You could gain or lose a hundred pounds and I'd still love your body." That was the closest Kevin had ever come to saying "I love you" since she'd awakened in the hospital. He used to say it all the time. Now he seemed sort of reluctant to show his feelings. What had changed—besides her body—in the past year?
Chapter Four Kevin's hand ventured between Tara's legs, and she forgot her worries as a surge of white-hot longing shot through her body. He'd always been able to do this—make her mindless with passion even with the most casual of touches. "Mmm, my legs won't hold up much longer." She was amazed at how breathless her voice sounded.
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"I'll hold you." His breath tickled her as he probed and caressed. "I'm weak," she pleaded. "I'm debilitated. You're torturing me." "Okay, I'll stop." "No!" He chuckled as he continued his sensual assault. It must have been a very long time since they'd made love, she deduced. Why else would she be so…so… She amazed herself, and maybe him, by reaching a climax. "Oh, that wasn't fair. That was too fast." He laughed softly again, the sound giving her pleasurable goose bumps. "Then we'll just have to do it all again, won't we?" He swung her up and onto the bed, then took his time removing his own clothes. "You've got more muscles," she observed as he bared his chest and a six-pack of abs. "I chop a lot of wood." He didn't tell her that chopping wood was his method of choice for clearing his mind—of her. He'd produced enough logs for ten years' worth of winter nights. He let her stare at him for a few moments. The approval in her green eyes made him even more excited than he already was. She wasn't the only one who might reach peak performance before it was desirable. She held out her hand to him. "Lie with me, Kevin. I—I need you." He joined her in bed, wondering if she'd been about to say she loved him. If only she did. If only she hadn't had to force herself to come to Hardyville. He gently kissed her face, the hollow of her throat, the inside of her arm, and between her breasts—all the places guaranteed to drive her wild. And when she'd heated up again, he kissed her mouth with an almost savage intensity before entering her. He moved inside her, his own desires building to an almost unbearable peak until they overflowed. A raging bonfire exploded inside him. Moments later, as he lay spent and damp against her, she put her hands on either side of his face and kissed him, the kiss as gentle and loving as his had been rough and demanding. Surely she still loved him. She must. She'd been really angry the night they'd broken up, and rightfully so, but he couldn't believe that one argument would negate the foundation of trust and love they'd built before then. As they lay together in a cocoon of intimacy, Tara sighed deeply. This was good, really good. But sex by itself wasn't enough to make a marriage work—she'd heard that from countless sources. She would have to carve a place for herself, cultivate a life of purpose apart from wife and mother. But what could she possibly find to do here in the wilderness that would fulfill her? Start a mail-order homemade soap business? Raise rabbits? Get a job selling paint at the hardware store? The possibilities made her shiver with distaste. "Cold?" Kevin asked, drawing the covers over her bare torso. She was about to answer when a baby's cry startled her. It came from a small speaker on the nightstand—a baby monitor, she realized, a thoughtful touch. Debra's, or Kevin's? Tara groaned. "I don't suppose you'd like to check on your son, find out what the trouble is?"
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Kevin grew tense beside her. "I wouldn't know what to do. You and I have hardly seen each other in the past few months. I—I haven't really spent any time with Andrew alone since he was born." "Well, you'd better start learning, Daddy-boy," she said playfully, although tension bloomed inside her chest. Surely Kevin wasn't going to turn out to be one of those macho fathers who thought taking care of children was women's work. Tara all but dragged Kevin with her to check on Andrew. Now that her mind was clearer, she took a good look at the nursery. Fussy, fussy, fussy, with yellow ducks and blue elephants everywhere. But it was well equipped, with everything she would need to care for an infant, and for that she was grateful. Aunt Debra's work, no doubt. "Ah, just as I suspected," she said after a quick diaper check. "He needs a change. You do know how to change a diaper, right?" "I'm not very good at it. I'll watch you do this one. Then the next one's mine." "That seems fair." He watched dutifully as Tara went through the now routine task, wiping, powdering, and taping on the new diaper. "Seems easy enough. Will he go back to sleep now?" "I doubt it. Getting close to feeding time." "Okay. I need to make a phone call." And just like that, Kevin disappeared upstairs. Tara sighed. What was wrong with Kevin? She'd never known him to be tentative or wishy-washy about anything. Did he just plain not like kids? Or was he resentful of being trapped into marriage by an unplanned pregnancy? If that was the case, she couldn't go through with the wedding. She could not bind herself to a man whose resentment for his wife and child might well turn to something worse. She had been telling herself she loved him, but could she truly love a man who didn't put his own offspring first?
*** It took Kevin a couple of minutes after he reached his home office before he stopped trembling. It was a baby, just a baby. But nothing had ever scared him like his own son. Get a grip, he ordered himself. There was no reason to believe he could not learn to competently, responsibly care for his own child. But then he started thinking of the hundreds of things that could go wrong. He hadn't anticipated such a visceral response to the baby, and such a confusion of feelings. He couldn't help but love Andrew, a tiny human being that he and Tara had created together. But he was also terrified. The fear was a result of the events in Chicago—he was smart enough to figure that out. His last day on the force had forever changed him. Before then, he'd liked children, had even participated in some programs to help underprivileged kids. Afterward, though, the sheer miracle of a child's life…and the tragedy of her death…had hit Kevin with the force of a wrecking ball. He hadn't told Tara about that day's tragedy. She might have heard about it on the news, but she wouldn't have known he was involved. He'd been too close to it, too wrapped up in his sins to confide in
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anyone, even her. His lack of honesty had cost him the relationship, he realized now. They'd broken up that same day. He would just have to find the strength to bury his fears, he realized. And meanwhile, he needed to find out what Tara's actual plans had been when she'd come to Hardyville. He didn't want any harm to come to her business in Chicago as a result of this little game he was playing. He found her partner's phone number and called her, relieved to get her right away. "Cindy? It's Kevin Rayburn, Tara's…friend." "Thank God! I've been trying to get Tara on her cell phone. Has something happened?" "Her car was stolen," Kevin said. "She also…she's okay, don't worry, but she can't exactly remember how she got to Hardyville." "You mean she has amnesia? What about Andrew?" After calming Cindy down and explaining everything, he asked her to rearrange Tara's appointments and make sure her bills were paid on time. Tara was going to be furious with him as it was. No need for him to wreck her business or her credit rating while he was lying to her. "I'll give you a week to come clean with her," Cindy finally said. "But only because I think what you guys had is worth salvaging. And because Andrew needs a father. But you do right by Tara, or you'll answer to me."
Chapter Five Tara's strength came back more quickly than she would have thought possible, and she fell into a comfortable routine. She got up early with Kevin, they made breakfast together, and he left for work. Then she fed the baby, bathed him, dressed him, all tasks she had once imagined to be drudgery. But everything was fun with Andrew. She delighted in each smile, each wiggle, each time she caught him looking at something with a baby's awe. While the baby napped, which he did a lot, she tackled the decor of her new home, eradicating Kevin's ugly bachelor theme. Kevin had told her she could do whatever she wanted, so she went hog-wild. "What's this?" Kevin asked one evening when he got home from work. "Berber carpet." Tara realized she should have at least warned him. "Stain-resistant—very important when you have kids." "What happened to my sofa?" "It's in your office." She bit her lip, wondering if she'd gone too far buying the sage-green sofa and matching chair, and the sage-and-clay striped love seat. Were the colors too girly? They would play in Chicago, but how about Hardyville? Kevin sat in the chair. He bounced experimentally, then leaned back and nodded with satisfaction. "Okay. What's for dinner?" She breathed a sigh of relief. "I started a pot of chili." Most evenings, she and Kevin cooked dinner together. He'd turned into a good cook over the past year, probably out of necessity. No human being could endure the greasy food at the Hole-In-Your-Shoe Saloon seven nights a week.
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"I'll make some corn bread to go with it." She smiled, then waited, as she did every evening, for him to ask about his son. If she was away from Andrew for even a few minutes, he was the first thing she asked about when she returned. But Kevin didn't, and it bothered her. A lot. There was something not quite normal about Kevin's attitude toward Andrew, but she couldn't figure out what it was. He seemed interested in the baby whenever they were in the same room, sometimes watching him like a hawk. But he wouldn't touch Andrew unless it was forced on him. While Kevin changed out of his uniform, Andrew woke from his nap. Tara fed him then put him in a Snugli while she worked on the stock for the chili. Kevin, freshly showered and smelling like soap and clean clothes, entered the kitchen and started on corn bread batter. "Debra thinks we should have the wedding reception at the VFW Hall," Tara said. "I thought we should have it here at the house. The weather will be nice, so we can spill out onto the deck. And of course, Cindy should play the music." Kevin froze. "Cindy and her violin?" "And maybe a couple of her chamber music friends. Not a good idea?" "First off, the whole town will come to the wedding, whether we invite them or not, and the house isn't big enough. Second, they'll expect beer and barbecue and some real lively foot-stompin' music." "Then they'll just have to be crowded and disappointed." But a second later she asked, "Is that how everybody does weddings here?" "Yup." She sighed. "Oh, all right. I don't want everyone to think I'm putting on airs." She grabbed the jar of chili powder from the spice rack and realized it was empty. "Shoot, we're out of chili powder. I'm going to run down to Debra's and borrow some." She put Andrew in his playpen then grabbed her jacket from the hook by the garage door. A look of alarm crossed Kevin's face. "You're taking Andrew with you, right?" She looked at Kevin like he was crazy. "I'll be gone ten minutes. It would take me longer than that just to get him ready." "Then I'll go," Kevin said. "I haven't been out of the house all day," she said, picking up his car keys from where he'd left them on the counter. "I could use the fresh air." "In that case, why don't all three of us go. In fact, let's bag the chili. I'll take us out to Wild Bill's for pizza." She nailed him with a penetrating stare. "I'll be ten minutes." Then she turned and headed for the garage door. "Wait!" She stopped, turned. "What is it?" Before he could answer, she realized the problem. Kevin did not want to stay with Andrew. "Do you find your own son so repugnant?"
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"God, Tara, it's not that." "It is that. You won't even touch him. I've been trying to deny it, but any fool can see the truth. You despise being a father. You're trying to do your duty, but you wish I'd never gotten pregnant." "No, you've got it wrong." But she'd worked herself up into a state, and she wasn't backing down. "Well, I won't have it. I won't be a burden to any man, not even you, Kevin. I guess I should have taken you at your word when you said you never wanted children." They both stood there for a few moments, shocked at the words Tara had just spoken. And Tara realized that something from the previous year had broken through the barrier in her memory. The night she'd gone to tell Kevin she was pregnant. He'd passionately vowed that he would never bring a child into the world. And she'd left his apartment without telling him of her condition. Other memories rushed through the crack in the dam created by the first. Then it all fell into place. Kevin knew just by the look in Tara's eyes that she remembered. Watching the emotions that played across her face was like reading her thoughts—and boy, was he in trouble. "I can explain," he said quickly. "Like hell you can. You lied to me. You and your aunt and, for all I know, the whole godforsaken town." "I had a good reason." "It couldn't possibly be good enough. I trusted you. Now you've destroyed that trust, and nothing can bring it back." Kevin couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You want to talk about trust? And honesty? Oh, yeah, there's a good one. You were pregnant with my child, and you didn't even tell me about it." That took away some of her steam. "You didn't want children, a fact you made abundantly clear the night we broke up. I made the decision to have the baby alone for your sake, not mine." "Then why did you change your mind?" "I didn't, exactly. But Andrew was so precious, such a miracle…and he looks so much like you, sometimes. I thought I owed it to you to at least let you know the child existed. But I wasn't coming here to make up with you. Certainly not to marry you. And live here? In Hooterville? I don't think so." She brushed past him and headed for the nursery. Kevin started to follow her, then thought better of it. Maybe he ought to give her time to cool off. Oh, who was he kidding? All the cooling-off time in the world wasn't going to fix this. If he could make her understand why he'd said those things about not wanting children…but he realized that to do so would require opening a box in his memory that had been locked up tight since he left Chicago. That was somewhere he just couldn't go, not if he wanted to maintain his sanity.
Chapter Six
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After fleeing from her confrontation with Kevin, Tara took comfort in the refuge of her son's warm, cuddly body nestled in her arms. This was love, as pure as it came. Grown-up love, though, that was a lot more complicated. She loved Kevin. She couldn't stop loving him, no matter what he'd done. She realized that, in his mind, Kevin could somehow justify the deceit he'd perpetrated. He sure hadn't pretended they were engaged out of a desire to be with his son. Maybe Debra had pressured him into "doing the right thing." Or perhaps he'd lied to her from some misguided notion that he knew what was best for Tara. And maybe he did know, she thought glumly as she settled into a rocking chair with her sleeping child. These past couple of weeks had been some of the happiest of her life. As she'd settled into the rhythm of country living, she'd hardly given a thought to her business. Things at her design firm were probably in a shambles. And what about her bills, her bank accounts, all the pieces of her life she'd walked out on? She'd intended to be back home a week ago. Had Kevin even thought about that? She heard the phone ring, then stop. Kevin had answered. She hoped it wasn't for her. She wasn't up to talking to anyone. A few moments later, Kevin tapped on the nursery door. "What?" she snapped. He stuck his head through the door. "I have to go. The guy who mugged you was caught in the next county, trying to sell your rental car. We'll talk when I get back." She refused to even look at him. With a sigh, he closed the door. Tara knew what she had to do. She had to go home. If she gave Kevin the chance, he might convince her to stay—not because it was the right thing to do, but because, despite everything, she still wanted to be with him. But she had to think about Andrew. No child of hers would grow up under the same roof as a reluctant, bitter father. She made flight reservations from the airport at Colorado Springs for later that evening. It didn't take her long to pack up her things. She'd only bought a few items of clothing to replace what was stolen. Andrew took longer—she couldn't believe all the paraphernalia babies required. While she packed, she thought about her mugger. She'd never even seen his face, as he'd attacked her from behind. She was glad they'd caught the guy, but she hoped she wouldn't be required to testify in court. She didn't want to come back here for any reason. She never should have come in the first place. When she was ready she called a cab. The fare to Colorado Springs would be exorbitant but she still had a credit card, which had been tucked into her pocket and overlooked by the mugger. As the cab driver put her things in the trunk, she took one last look at the house. Kevin's house, nestled among the trees. She'd come to love it in so short a time. She purposely summoned thoughts of Chicago, where she'd lived for years, and which she'd missed so desperately the first few days in Colorado. Now, all she could remember was how noisy it was, how cramped her condo was, and how stressed out her hectic job made her feel. "We'll get used to it again," she said aloud to Andrew. Fighting tears, she climbed into the cab, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder. Kevin would be surprised when he got home to find her gone. She hadn't even left a note. She figured that after what he'd done, he didn't deserve an explanation. Anyway, he would probably be relieved.
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*** It was after ten o'clock by the time Kevin returned home. The paperwork had been hell, but he'd managed to convince the sheriff in the neighboring county that the suspect should be prosecuted in Colby County, where the more serious crime had been committed. The house was dark. Tara was probably already asleep. Before she'd become a mother, she was a real night owl, hanging out with friends at late-night coffee houses or going to midnight movies at the local art-house theatre. Now sleep was a precious commodity. He wouldn't wake her up, he decided. Tomorrow would be soon enough for them to talk. He moved as quietly as possible through the house. His stomach rumbled at the chili he'd missed out on. Were there leftovers, he wondered? To his dismay, the half cooked pot of chili still sat on the stove, stone cold. Tara hadn't finished it. He hoped she hadn't gone to bed hungry. He helped himself to a couple of cookies from the jar, then went to the nursery to check on Andrew. The baby wasn't in his crib. Uneasiness crept up on Kevin. Surely the baby was just with Tara in the big bed. She had, on occasion, taken him to bed with her when he was fretful. Kevin had been worried he would roll over in the night and squash the child, so he'd made Tara keep Andrew on the other side of the bed. She'd probably thought that was another indication that he resented his son, he thought ruefully. A lot of his actions could be misinterpreted that way. When he found the master bedroom empty and Tara's clothes gone, he was forced to admit he'd been abandoned. He sank onto the bed, his gut churning, his head spinning. He'd known that lying to Tara was wrong. He'd have told her the truth in a few more days. His plan had been working—Tara had gradually been discovering the joys of country living. She might have been convinced to stay on her own and go through with the marriage. But her memory had returned too soon, and she'd made her decision. And taken away his son. Sure, he could petition the courts for visitation rights. But if Tara was against his having contact with Andrew, he couldn't see himself fighting with her over his parental rights. A child didn't need to grow up with his parents arguing over him. Besides, what had he done to indicate he ought to be given any rights where Andrew was concerned? He'd been a disgraceful father. Something caught his eye—a pad of paper with some writing on it next to the phone. He immediately recognized the numbers and letters as flight information. Below the flight was a local phone number, one he didn't recognize. Seized with an idea, he dialed the number. "Speedy Cab Service." "Sorry, wrong number." He hung up. So, Tara had taken a cab to the airport in Colorado Springs. And her flight didn't leave for another two hours. She might not be that far ahead of him. A plan began to form. Not a very good plan, he admitted, but at least he would be taking some sort of action, rather than letting the woman and child he loved vanish from his life forever. He headed for the door, grabbing his jacket on the way. Thank God he was still driving his police cruiser. He jumped in, cranked up the engine, and headed for the highway that led to Colorado Springs. Once on the open road, he pushed the speedometer to eighty, knowing no one would stop him. He spotted a Speedy Cab ahead of him, about ten miles from the airport. Could be anybody in that taxi, he thought. Then he noticed the cab had a broken taillight. Good enough. He turned on the flashing lights.
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Chapter Seven Tara spotted the flashing lights behind them at the same time as her driver. The driver cursed under his breath and slowed. "I knew I should have gotten that taillight fixed," he muttered. Tara knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, who was driving that Colby County cruiser, and writing up a ticket for a broken taillight wasn't his top priority. "It's just my boyfriend," Tara said to the driver. "Exboyfriend. Keep driving." "Are you crazy? I'm not gonna get involved in some crazy chase. Cabbies who do that, they end up on America's Most Dangerous Car Chases." He pulled over to the shoulder and dug around in the glove box for his papers. Tara slouched down in the seat, knowing she'd brought this on herself. She'd left her flight information right where Kevin would find it. Had she subconsciously done it on purpose? Had she wanted him to chase her down, to prove his love? Kevin, looking ominous in his khaki uniform, leaned down to speak with the driver. "Evening." "I know, I got a busted taillight," the driver said as he handed Kevin papers he hadn't asked for. "It's on back order at Jimmy's Auto Supply." "I believe you, Mr., um, Slater. And I won't write you a ticket. But I can't allow you to continue driving with a malfunctioning light." "One little taillight?" the driver objected. "Look, I gotta get this lady to the airport." "It just so happens I'm headed that way. I'll take the lady—" "You will do no such thing," Tara erupted, unable to keep silent any longer. "Then you'll sit here on the side of the road until another cab can come get you. If you come with me, you'll make your flight." "Then what's the point?" "There's a price to pay. You have to listen to what I have to say. Then, if you still want to return to Chicago, I won't stop you." Tara sighed. It was as fair an offer as she was likely to get. "Fine," she ground out as she worked at the seat belt that held Andrew's car seat. "But I'm not changing my mind." A few minutes later they were headed for the airport in Kevin's cruiser. She had paid the cabby, and Kevin had told him he could go, having capriciously decided the bad taillight was no longer a mortal danger to the drivers of Colorado. Now they sat in silence as the lights of Colorado Springs grew closer. "You'd better start talking," Tara said. "We haven't got much time." "This is harder than I thought it would be." "Start with something easy. How did you know Andrew's name?" In the hospital, when she'd realized she didn't even remember her own child's name, Kevin had come up with it. During her cab ride, she'd wondered if he'd had some prior knowledge of the baby.
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"It was a logical guess," Kevin answered. "So you really did name him after your father?" "Yes." Tara was amazed at the accuracy of Kevin's guess. He knew her pretty well. "Let's move on to something harder. Why would you coerce me into marrying you when you don't like children?" "I never said I didn't like children. I love Andrew." "Couldn't prove it by the way you treat him." "I love Andrew," he repeated. "But the fact is…he scares me." Kevin felt his throat tighten at the mere mention of his phobia. He'd never admitted it to anyone—not his family or friends, not the shrink who saw him after the shooting, and certainly not Tara. But it was time to admit that the events in Chicago had left him changed. "What do you mean he scares you?" Tara asked, sounding bewildered. "What possible harm could a little baby do to you?" The cruiser sped past the Colorado Springs city limits sign. Kevin realized he didn't have that much time. He had to screw up his courage and tell her what had happened that day. "It's not the harm he could do to me," Kevin said. "It's what I could do to him." Tara shifted uneasily. "You'd better explain." "That night in Chicago when we broke up… You were coming over to tell me you were pregnant—is that right?" "Yes. I tried to ease my way into the subject. But at the mere mention of children, you went ballistic. You said you never wanted children, that the very idea made you nauseous. Do you blame me for not telling you that you were going to be a father?" "No, I guess not. But I wasn't in my right mind that day. Something had happened on my shift, something… Tara, I killed a kid." "What?" For the first time since he'd caught up with her, she didn't sound quite so mad. "A little girl named Marvella White." Kevin waited to see if the name rang a bell with Tara. The story had made the evening news, but in a city that had become numb to killing, the headlines about Marvella had quickly given way to some new tragedy. "Marvella White was that little girl killed by her father," Tara said. "Right? What does that have to do with you?" Kevin gripped the steering wheel harder. "I could have saved her. Instead I let her drugged-up old man blow her away." Tara gasped. She couldn't help it. "You were there?" "I was the first officer on the scene. A neighbor had called, said it was a domestic disturbance. I didn't know till I got there that some crazy S.O.B. was waving a gun, his wife screaming, pleading with him to put it down, two little kids cowering under a table.
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"I called for back-up, but meanwhile I had to do something. So I tried talking to the guy. He said he was going to kill his wife. So I told him to think about his children—did he want them to grow up without a mother? "The guy said, 'Why do I care? They're not my kids.' Then he turned his gun on little Marvella and shot her in the chest, just like that." "Oh my God." Tara had had no idea. Why hadn't he told her what had happened? If she'd known, she would have made some allowances. Instead she'd been focused on her problems. "I subdued the guy, and then I tried to stop Marvella's bleeding." He stopped, swallowed thickly. "She died in my arms." "And you think this was somehow your fault?" "It was my fault, damn it. I didn't know a damn thing about hostage negotiations. I had no business trying to reason with a guy who was high on PCP. All I did was provoke him." "You did what you thought was right at the time. No one can say what he might have done if you hadn't talked to him. He might have killed them all, and you, too." "That was what the board of inquiry said. But tell that to Marvella's mother, and her brother. All I know is when I lost her, I felt responsible. And I never wanted to feel that way again. I never wanted anyone to trust me with a child's life, in any capacity. The responsibility is just too huge."
Chapter Eight Tara did her best to digest what Kevin had told her, to put herself in his place. How horrible, what a nightmare to believe you'd caused the death of a child. No wonder he'd freaked out. "I wish I'd known," she finally said. "Maybe I could have helped." "It's not too late." The words hung in the air, almost tangible, as headlights from the opposite lane of traffic rushed by, illuminating Kevin's face like a strobe. "Kevin," she said, "pull over. I need your undivided attention." He did as she asked. When they were safely out of traffic, she felt she could say what needed to be said. And if she was lucky, Kevin would hear what he needed to hear. "Parenthood is all about fear, and doubt, and sometimes sheer terror. While I was pregnant I agonized over every bite of food I put in my body, frightened I might unwittingly harm the baby inside me. During labor and delivery I was positive something would go wrong. The first time I held Andrew, I was sure I would crush him, or breathe some germ onto him and give him a fatal disease. When my doctor told me we could both go home from the hospital, it was a whole new level of terror. The baby and me, alone? I almost refused to go." "You must have gotten over it, then," Kevin said. "You're as comfortable and natural with that baby as any mother I've ever seen. Once you got over the shock of seeing him in your lap, that is."
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"That's where you're wrong. I'm still scared all the time. Is he going to fall? Catch a cold? Will I feed him something he's allergic to? Will he get stung by a bee? Is he developing normally? Is there some hidden genetic problem? I might fake it better than you, but I'm still scared." "So when does it end? When do you get over being scared?" "From what I hear, you never do." "How do you…how do we live like that?" She didn't miss the change of pronoun. Did she dare hope that he could embrace his responsibility for Andrew? He'd come all this way to stop her from leaving him. That must mean something. "I can live with the fear," she said, "because every time I hold Andrew, or feed him, or bathe him, or see him smile, I know he's worth any discomfort I have to go through. It was kind of like when I was in labor. I thought I was going to die, honestly. I was sure no woman had been through such pain in all of history." Kevin reached out and caressed her cheek. "I wish I'd been there for you." "But as soon as I saw him, all red and wrinkled and screaming his head off, I didn't care about the pain anymore. He's a miracle, and he's worth any trial, any sacrifice." She glanced over her shoulder. Andrew, good baby that he was, slept peacefully in his car seat. "You both are," Kevin said. "Let me try again. I'll do better. I'll come back to Chicago with you. I'll join the force again. And I'll be a better father. I'm teachable." Lord, how could she turn down that earnest face? She'd never seen such raw need in anyone. "I'll have to think about it. For now, could you just take us to the airport? I need to get home." He didn't argue with her. He drove her to the airport. He helped her with her bag. He stood in line at the ticket counter with her, all the while looking like he wanted to burst with an objection. She was afraid to admit to him that she was a bundle of indecision. Whatever she did in the next ten minutes would radically influence the rest of her life. "This line is taking forever," she grumbled. "Will you hold down the fort while I run to the washroom?" He glanced nervously at Andrew, who still dozed in his car seat. She could have sworn he gritted his teeth in determination. "Okay." In the ladies' room, Tara splashed her face with water. Her heart was so full of confusing feelings, she thought it might whirl its way right out of her chest. She loved Kevin. That much was certain. She could forgive his deception, since he'd only done it because he wanted a chance to win her over. But could they really make a life together? As she returned to the line at the ticket counter, she saw something that made her choice incredibly easy. Andrew's car seat was empty. The baby was now in Kevin's arms, snuggled up against one shoulder. Kevin rocked back and forth with him, jiggling slightly, as if he'd been born to fatherhood. He was also talking to the baby, though she couldn't hear what he was saying. He looked a little sheepish when he saw her approaching. "He started to cry. I'm not sure what he wanted, but…"
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"He wanted exactly what you gave him," Tara said with a smile. They'd reached the front of the line, and she went to the next available agent. "I have a reservation, Tara Satterfield," she said. "But I'd also like to make another reservation for next week, Chicago to Colorado Springs. One way." She sneaked a glance at Kevin, who appeared shocked. "You're coming back?" "I'm going to Chicago long enough to pack up my things and tie up a few loose ends. Then I'm coming back here to finish, um, planning my wedding." She wasn't about to drag Kevin to Chicago and make him live there, not now that she'd seen what life in Hardyville was like. It wouldn't be any big sacrifice for her to live there. Shoot, she wanted to. She'd never felt as relaxed and happy as she had over the past two weeks. Kevin's mouth slowly spread into a grin. He rubbed Andrew's back absently as he looked at the ticket agent. "Got any more seats on that flight to Chicago?" He turned back to Tara. "I'm finally getting to know this little guy. I don't want to say goodbye to him now, even for a week." Her heart swelling, she leaned into him and they kissed. A couple of other passengers who had heard the exchange applauded. "Look at you," Tara said when the ticket agent cleared her throat, forcing them to end the kiss. "You've been holding that baby for at least five minutes, and you haven't dropped him even once." Kevin smiled down at Andrew and switched him to the other shoulder. "Yeah, how about that." "It will get easier, Kev, I promise." "It already is." With their tickets in hand, they walked toward security, a real family for the first time.
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Lightning Strikes by Tracy Wolff Willow Rainwater is convinced she will know The One the moment she sees him. They’ll fall instantly in love and he will sweep her off her feet into the sunset—just like the storybook romance her parents had. She knows Mr. Perfect is out there. Not right beside her. Certainly not James McDermott, her best friend for seven years. She’s never felt that way about him. Until one night—one whisper—changes everything.
Chapter One “Go, go, go!” Willow Rainwater screamed as she watched Straight Shot barrel down the final stretch of the Preakness horse race, a whole length ahead of the competition. “Come on, baby! Come on!” Willow was shouting herself hoarse, but she didn’t care. Surrounded by family and friends that were doing the same thing, she was hardly conspicuous. Not that she would have cared if she was. Growing up the daughter of horse-racing royalty pretty much guaranteed her more attention than she could ever want. Besides, Shot could really take this thing. If the mare just kept her head, she could— “Yes!” Willow yelled as the Triple H’s fastest three-year-old crossed the finish line first. “I knew she could do it!” Her older brother swept her into his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around as if she weighed no more than a rag doll. And perhaps to Rio—who was used to controlling angry and hurt horses with nothing more than his calming voice and brute strength—she did. Rio set her down and she was passed from family member to family member, getting a hug from each of them. She ended up in her father’s arms, and couldn’t help grinning up at him. “I told you, Dad! I told you she was the one.” He smiled indulgently as he kissed her soundly on the head. “That you did, baby girl! That you did!” “Just one more to go,” crowed her mother, Desiree. “And then the Triple Crown will finally be ours.” Finally. Willow felt her stomach clench at her mother’s words, despite the happiness all around her. It was stupid, this uneasiness she felt—particularly since Straight Shot had blown by the competition in both the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness without any trouble at all. The Belmont Stakes should be just another walk in the park. And then her family could finally go back to normal once her mother achieved the one professional award that had eluded her and the Triple H ranch for far too long—the Triple Crown. But what if it didn’t happen? a little voice whispered inside of her. What if something happened to Straight Shot the way it had to Crown’s Magic last year? What if the Belmont Stakes wasn’t theirs? What would that do to her parents’ already strained relationship? What would it do— “Now what’s that frown for?” Willow broke out of her thoughts to find her best friend, James McDermott, staring at her with a grimace of his own. “I figure I’m the only one in this box allowed to wear that expression,” he teased as he yanked one of her errant black curls. “Seeing as how I just lost two hundred bucks.”
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Shoving the disturbing state of her parents’ marriage to the back of her mind, Willow smiled up at him. “I kept telling you not to bet against Straight Shot. I told you she was a sure thing.” He shrugged good-naturedly. “I couldn’t very well bet against my uncle’s horse. The family might have disowned me. Besides, I helped train Baby’s Breath.” Willow inclined her head in acknowledgment of just how much truth his words held. She was amazed that they were such good friends since he’d been raised on the second-best Thoroughbred ranch in the country—her family’s being the best. The rivalry between the two ranches was almost legendary. “Then don’t complain,” she continued to tease. “After all, don’t do the crime if—“ “You can’t do the time.” He finished off the ancient cliché with a laugh and a shake of his head. “So, what do you say? Should we go somewhere fabulous to celebrate Straight Shot’s fortuitous win?”
Chapter Two James cursed himself as he realized he was holding his breath while he waited for Willow’s answer—an activity that was made even more stupid by the fact that he already knew what her answer was going to be. No. No, because she had to go out with her family. No, because she didn’t realize what he was asking her. No, because she didn’t feel the same way about him that he had felt about her for far too long. When was he going to learn? he wondered. When was his out-of-control libido going to figure out that Willow only thought of him as a friend, despite the fact that he’d been crazy about her since that very first conversation seven years before? But even though he already knew her answer, it didn’t stop him from hoping. Any more than it got him breathing again. God, he really was pathetic. “I can’t,” she said, voicing the rejection he’d known was coming. “I’ve got to celebrate with the family.” She watched as her parents headed down to the winner’s circle, arms linked and laughter dancing on the air around them. “But you’re welcome to come—if you don’t think your parents would disown you.” His heart jumped at the casual invitation, even as he called himself every name in the book. He was worse than hopeless when it came to Willow. With her dancing black eyes and gorgeous smile she’d been turning him inside out for more years than he cared to admit. He opened his mouth to refuse the invitation, but she must have read his answer in his eyes, because her smile dimmed and the hand on his arm suddenly gripped much more tightly. “Don’t say no, James. Please.” Her voice was whisper-soft, her eyes pleading. “I want you to come.” Her lower lip actually quivered. “I need you to come.” He sighed, exasperated, as he felt the bonds that tied him to her grow even tighter. Sometimes his feelings were pure self-torture—especially when they set what she wanted above what was best for him. He had to stop it, had to either make a move or forget about her once and for all. Staying here in this middle ground, friend but not lover, pal but not soul mate, was killing him. Especially when he wanted so much more. “Sure, I’ll come,” he agreed. “Where and when?” “I don’t know yet.” She grabbed his hand and began pulling him along. “Let’s go down and congratulate Shot. We can ask Mom then.”
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James followed without a protest, even as he promised himself that this was the last time he was going to trail meekly along behind her. Because tonight was going to be different than all the others. Tonight he was going to lay things on the line and find out where he and Willow stood. Tonight he was either going to gain a lover or lose his best friend. His stomach clenched at the thought, even as his heart beat a little faster in anticipation.
Chapter Three Willow glanced nervously around the table as the waiter cleared the dinner dishes away, and wasn’t the least bit surprised when she caught her brother Dakota doing the same thing. Despite Straight Shot’s incredible finish that afternoon, the tension between her parents was suddenly thicker than ever. Though they sat next to each other, neither had so much as looked at the other one all night. It was such a far cry from the way they used to be together that it broke her heart. In the old days, they could barely keep their eyes—or hands—off each other, and they had so much to talk about it was hard to get a word in edgewise. Now…now she was scared. If two people as in love as her parents had been couldn’t make their relationship work, then what hope did she have? Not that there were so many opportunities beating her door down these days. It had been… She thought back and nearly gasped in shocked—it had been nearly ten months since her last date! How could she not have noticed? she wondered. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Shouldn’t she have at least thought about dating at some point in the last few months? But her time was so taken up with the ranch and her family and James that she’d honestly never missed the social interaction. As for sex, well, she couldn’t miss what she hadn’t had. Maybe it was stupid—God knows her friends had ribbed her mercilessly all through college—but she was waiting for the right guy. Her mother had known at fourteen that her father was the one for her, and though they hadn’t got together until Desiree was twentytwo, she’d waited for him. Willow refused to do any less. “What’s wrong?” James’s voice was low and warm as he murmured softly in her ear. “You look like someone killed your cat.” She jumped as shivers unexpectedly skated down her spine. Shock held her transfixed for a moment— James had made her quiver? Glancing at him wide-eyed, she found him looking at her with the same puzzled look that she’d seen only a moment before. Feeling foolish, and more than a little odd, she scooted her chair a little farther away from him. It must have been the vibrations from his breath in her ear that had made her shake. James was her best friend and had been for years. There was no way there was any kind of chemistry between them. She would have felt it years before. Besides, friendship wasn’t what she was looking for. Her father had swept her mother off her feet the moment she’d laid eyes on him. There was no way Willow was settling for anything short of a lightning bolt.
Chapter Four Willow hadn’t answered his question. She had, in fact, scooted her chair away from him as if he had the plague and stared at him like he was an alien who had just revealed his third eye.
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Frustrated—and more nervous than he cared to admit—James leaned forward until his face was only a few inches from hers. “What’s wrong? You look totally freaked out.” “I’m fine.” Her voice was sharper than usual, her eyes more panicked than he’d seen them in a long time. She didn’t look fine. She looked…frightened. “You sure?” He laid a calming hand between her shoulder blades and rubbed at the sudden tension there. But she jerked beneath his hand, her body trembling softly. His eyes narrowed—if he didn’t know better, he would have sworn the fast breathing, darkening eyes and quivering body signaled arousal. But he did know better. He’d spent the better part of seven years looking for just such a reaction from her and never finding it. “Yeah, absolutely.” She ran her hands up and down her arms as if to ward off a chill. “Here.” He shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it around her bare shoulders. “The air-conditioning’s a little high in here.” If possible, she grew even more nervous. But she clutched the jacket around her like a lifeline. “Thanks.” Unsure of what to make of the stranger sitting where his best friend had been only moments before, he shrugged. “No problem.” All around them people were gathering their things and standing up. “Are you ready to go?” Willow asked, her voice still sounding more than a little funny. “Absolutely.” He stood, too, pulling back her chair for her. “So are you heading back with your parents or would you like to get a drink somewhere? Maybe do a little celebratory dancing?” Silence stretched between them, so long that he was suddenly afraid she wasn’t going to answer him. But finally she said, “Sure, I’d love to go dancing.” “Great.” Though he wanted her for himself, he leaned behind her to tap her brother Rio on the shoulder. “Hey, man, you guys up for a little clubbing?” “Sorry, man. We’re exhausted.” He gestured to his wife, Brooke. “I think we’re just going to go back and get some sleep.” “Me, too,” Dakota added. “But you guys have some fun. Do a tequila shot or two for me.” The table emptied out quickly, and before he was ready for it James found himself staring at Willow, who was gazing back with a bemused smile on her lips. “That was fast,” she said. “It was indeed.” He took her arm, escorting her out of the restaurant as he tried to ignore the pounding in his blood. Maybe this had been a bad idea—how the hell was he supposed to spend the next few hours alone with her, dancing with her, and not rip her clothes off? Already he could feel the smooth satin of her skin beneath his palm, taste the cherry sweetness of her lips against his. “So where do you want to go?” he asked as they began to stroll along the Baltimore waterfront. She shrugged. “I don’t know. You choose.”
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“I know a jazz club a few blocks from here. Unless you’re in the mood for something a little crazier.” He glanced down at her. Willow chose that moment to look up at him and she looked so heartbreakingly beautiful that for a second his heart literally stopped. Clenching his teeth against the need to kiss her, he pulled away and thrust his hands into his pockets in a last-ditch attempt to keep from grabbing her and yanking her against his suddenly very hot, very aroused body. Knowing Willow, she’d probably slap him—and one more rejection from her might be more than he could take. With a grimace, he started walking toward the club, each step a reminder of just how much he stood to gain tonight…or lose.
Chapter Five The club was nothing like she would have expected—and everything she would normally have loved. Small and darkly lit, the slow whine of the saxophone filled the place even as it encouraged patrons to sit down, put their feet up and simply unwind. She wished she could do just that—wished she could simply blank her mind and body of the riot of sensations coursing through her and go back an hour or two when life had seemed so simple. When her relationship with James had made perfect sense and she was completely at ease with him. But she couldn’t. James had felt her tension and was doing whatever he could to put her at ease, but tonight relaxing seemed more impossible than winning the Triple Crown. She wasn’t sure what had come over her, but her body was still aroused—her nerves pinging like the counter on an old-time pinball machine. And it was all because of James. She still couldn’t fathom it. How could one whisper in her ear, one warm breath against her cheek, get her to this state? How could it change everything? And nothing? She didn’t know, but she resented the hell out of it nonetheless. This was James, for crying out loud. Her best friend. The guy who had seen her through one crisis in her love life after another. The guy who had held her hair all those years ago when she’d had too much to drink and had been utterly sick. How could her body possibly be thrumming with sexual desire for him? “I see a table through there.” James put his hand on her lower back and she felt the tension in him. Great, her discomfort was rubbing off and making him uncomfortable when all he’d ever tried to do was be her friend. She crossed the room stiffly, sinking into the chair James held out for her with relief. The music was great, but no matter how hard she concentrated on it, she just couldn’t focus. “So, how excited is your mom?” James’s voice broke into her thoughts and she realized he had settled behind her and was looking at her expectantly. “Straight Shot is poised on the brink of taking it all. It must be quite a thrill.” Willow shrugged, her shoulders tightening even more as she remembered the tension between her parents earlier in the night. “There’s no guarantee. We’ve been here before.” She regretted how abrupt her voice
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sounded, but she’d been down this path—they all had—too many times to count on anything until the horse was actually inside the winner’s circle. James reached out, covering her hand with his own. “Last year was a fluke, you know that, right? And lightning never strikes the same spot twice.” “Different horse, different spot.” She cleared her throat and wished the waiter would bring the drinks James had ordered for them. “We’ve just learned to be prepared, that’s all. You know how my mom gets.” He nodded thoughtfully and she could almost see him replaying footage of last year’s debacle in his mind: Desiree’s Fancy falling in the final leg of the race, her mother’s fury that the Triple H had lost the Crown yet again, her father’s concern that the race horse would have to be put down, the heated words and sharp arguments that had rocked the ranch for weeks afterward. How could he expect her to be anything but wary as her worries about the ranch battled with her feelings for him? If he touched her one more time tonight, she just might careen off the edge she was so precariously balanced on.
Chapter Six Willow was shaking. He didn’t know what he’d said to put her so on edge, but he was determined to make up for his misstep. First, because he hated to see her upset and, second, because there was no way he could have the discussion with her when she was so tightly wound up that he feared she would spring at the slightest provocation. Frustrated but determined, James shoved away from the table, extending a hand to her. “Dance with me.” It wasn’t a request, and they both knew it. Their eyes locked and her ebony ones were filled with such confusion that he almost backed down. But this had gone on too long—seven years too long—and he had had enough. So instead of capitulating, instead of making things easy for her, he held her gaze. Ignored the confusion. Stayed the course. And waited for her to choose, even as he prayed that she would choose him, even if it was just for this one dance. Slowly—so slowly that his heart ached—her eyes cleared and the lazy, dreamy smile he’d always loved chased away her frown. “Just don’t step on my feet,” Willow murmured as she placed her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “I wouldn’t dare.” He led her onto the postage-stamp dance floor and into his arms. Her body touched his and he closed his eyes in relief, forgetting for one infinitely long moment where they were and what they were supposed to be doing. But then instinct kicked in and he began moving them, swaying her in the same hypnotic rhythm as the blues currently pumping out from the stage. His heart was beating too fast and his breathing was too shallow, but he couldn’t see his way clear to do anything about it. Like a kid in the throes of his first crush, James was totally wrapped up in the woman in his arms, his very being calling out to her.
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The song ended and he didn’t let her go. Another one started—more jazz than blues this time—and he swung her farther out onto the dance floor, watching in delight as Willow threw her head back and laughed, even as her feet kept pace with his. Again and again they danced, through slow songs, fast songs and in-between songs, until his feet hurt and his arousal ached. But he never suggested sitting down, never imagined calling a halt to the sweet torture of holding Willow in his arms after all this time. “This was a great idea!” Willow said as another slow song started and he held her against his body yet again, trying hard to keep her from feeling his body’s uncontrolled response to her nearness. “Thanks for suggesting it.” James nodded, smiling down at her. He didn’t trust himself to speak as desire raked his nerve endings with white-hot claws. “It’s been so long since we danced together that I’d forgotten what a great partner you are.” She reached up and pushed his hair back from his forehead. “You make a girl feel lighter than air.” Later he wouldn’t be able to say what possessed him, wouldn’t have a clue what made him do what he did. He only knew that the touch of her hand on his face, the feel of her fingers combing through his hair, broke down the last of his restraint. Reaching up, he let his hands rest on her cheeks, cupping her delicate pixie face between his large palms. And then, unable to hold back for one second longer, he lowered his head. And kissed her.
Chapter Seven For one long second, Willow was too shocked to move. Then instinct took over, the rush in her blood urging her to kiss James back. Even as her brain screamed out a red alert, even as the words This is James! James! went through her head like a mantra, she couldn’t stop herself. He was so handsome and he tasted so good and he was such a good kisser, she couldn’t help but respond. Respond—hell, it was all she could do to keep from throwing him to the floor and climbing on top of him. It had been a long time since she’d responded like this to a man. Maybe even forever. He tasted like licorice, smelled like the ocean and felt like heaven against her. It took all her control to keep her knees from knocking together, and as the room began to spin she tried to hang on to her sanity. Tried to remember where she was and who she was with. But it was no use. She was drowning in sensation. This is James, her mind screamed at her again, but her body was refusing to pay attention to the warning signals her brain was issuing. Instead she was melting against him, pressing herself against his hard chest and harder thighs until she couldn’t tell where he ended and she began. His lips were tantalizing. Sweeter than candy, sexier than hell. And she wanted more. With a low moan, she moved her arms up until they were wrapped around James’s neck, molding herself more firmly into him. His lips moved slowly, seductively over hers—not demanding that she yield to him, but rather coercing. And when he sucked her lower lip between his teeth and bit gently, she gave in completely as stars exploded behind her closed eyelids.
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She parted her lips with a small exhale, then sighed again as his tongue slipped oh-so-softly inside. As if he was waiting for her to protest. But protesting was the furthest thing from her mind, as her heart pumped in double time and her brain screamed more, more, more. He gave it to her without her having to ask, his tongue sweeping into the recesses of her mouth, tangling with her own before moving deeper to explore. For long moments they stayed like that, arms wrapped around each other, bodies and tongues twisted together in the first moments of sexual awakening. But in the back of her head Willow could still hear that voice, the one warning her that she was skating on very thin ice—and it was about to break. This was James, her best friend. Was she really willing to risk everything they’d meant to each other for what could only be a one-night stand they would both regret in the morning? Her body tried to ignore the S.O.S. her brain was sending, tried to stay wrapped in the arousal and need and oh-so-good feelings swamping every nerve ending she had. But the voice refused to go away; instead it grew louder and louder until it was all she could hear. Until it overrode even the white-hot desire exploding between them. Wrenching her mouth from James’s, Willow stared at him in alarm. What had they done? she wondered as her brain cells finally came back online. What had she done? “I’m sorry,” she said. It was hopelessly inadequate and barely scratched the surface of what she was feeling, but she could think of nothing else to say. It was just too much—the worries about her parents, the fear of losing the Triple Crown, this sudden shift in a relationship she’d thought she could count on forever. Backing away from James as panic surged, she rushed out of the shadows and back to the table they had shared. Grabbing her purse on the fly, she headed for the door of the small club at a dead run. She heard James calling after her, felt him closing in. Spinning, she held out a hand in appeal. “Please, don’t. I need some time to think. I need—” Her voice broke and she didn’t even try to speak again. She simply turned—and fled.
Chapter Eight He’d blown it. James sank down into the cushy desk chair Willow had bought him a few years ago and dropped his head into his hands. He’d known things were moving too fast, had known that he needed to approach his feelings for her logically, carefully. But she’d felt so good in his arms that he had stopped thinking altogether—or at least he’d stopped thinking of all the reasons why kissing her was a bad idea. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret the kiss. Even though she’d run from him and was now refusing to answer or return his phone calls, it was worth it. Because at least now Willow couldn’t hide from how he felt about her any longer. At least she now knew the truth. Oh, who was he kidding? He banged his head on the desk. He’d gone from having Willow as a best friend but dreaming of more, to not having her at all. How could that be better? “Hey, James,” his brother, Craig, called to him from the office door. “Uncle Mike has a horse he wants you to look at.” “Good or bad?” he asked as he filed his worries about Willow into a small space at the back of his brain and tried to focus on the job he loved.
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Craig shrugged. “Good, I think. But Willow’s father passed on him, so there must be something Uncle Mike and I aren’t seeing.” “Maybe.” He headed through the big barn that housed most of the offices for his uncle’s personnel, Craig right on his heels. “But Jesse Rainwater is notoriously picky. Too picky sometimes.” Craig snorted. “Yeah, but he’s the one with all the winners.” The comment made him think back to the conversation he’d had with Willow after the Preakness. He’d said the Triple Crown was a sure thing for Straight Shot and her parents, but her doubts had been almost palpable. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” The look his brother shot him was incredulous. “Who are you kidding? The Triple H just locked up the Derby and the Preakness without breaking a sweat. You know the Belmont Stakes are next.” He shrugged. “Don’t count your chickens…” The fact that his brother merely shook his head and walked away annoyed James all over again. If Willow had been here she would have finished the stupid cliché for him. Then she would have laughed and tossed another, even more stupid, back at him. He shook his head as he stepped through the barn door, squinting against the violently bright Kentucky sunlight. Giving his eyes a minute to adjust, he slowly approached the horse trailer stationed a few hundred feet away. Next to it stood his uncle Mike, owner of the Whistling Winds Thoroughbred ranch and the only boss he’d ever had. “Hey,” he called to his uncle as he approached. “What do you want me to look at?” Mike nodded to the trailer. “This horse. Your girl Willow called me and told me her daddy was wrong to pass on him. She thought we should take a look. And since that girl knows her horseflesh, that’s exactly what I’m doing.” James stiffened in shock as anger began to wind through him. She had time to call his uncle, but not him. Had time to talk about horses, but not their relationship. Willow couldn’t have made her feelings more abundantly clear.
Chapter Nine Willow glanced nervously around her as she drove her car down the long, tree-lined road leading up to Whistling Winds. She didn’t know why she was here exactly, knew only that she needed to see James and put things right. She was the one who had freaked out, after all. The one who had run away from him like he was some crazed murderer. The one who had continually ignored his calls for nearly a week. It had to end. These awkward feelings she had around James had to disappear. He was her best friend and she wanted him back. Just not in that way. Liar, the little voice inside of her said as she brought the car to a stop. You’ve never felt anything like what you felt when he kissed you the other night. How could you possibly want those glorious feelings to go away?
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But he wasn’t The One, she reminded herself firmly. Reaching for her purse, she let her hand coast over the bright blue journal inside, the one that had been her mother’s since she’d been twenty-two years old. She clasped her fingers tightly around the binding and waited for the sense of calm—the sense of rightness— that holding it always brought her. It didn’t come. Panic raced through her and she squeezed more tightly. Tried desperately to focus. This was her mother’s love story, the love story Willow had always thought she would have one day. Desiree had known from the moment she’d laid eyes on Jesse that he was the one for her, and despite the problems of the last few years, no one had ever doubted they belonged together. Willow wanted a love like that, one where she was instantly swept off her feet. One where she knew—body and soul—that this was the right man for her. James wasn’t that man. Couldn’t be that man. They’d been friends for almost a decade and not once had she felt a spark between them. Liar, the little voice said again as she unsteadily approached the work barn where James had an office. You felt a spark with him last week. Hell, when he’d kissed her she could have lit up the entire club with the electricity pumping between the two of them. But that had been seven years too late. Things couldn’t change now—they just couldn’t. Getting involved with James would just complicate things, screw up their friendship and their feelings. And when the man she was actually destined to be with showed up, it would be messy. Really messy. And she couldn’t stand that. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes for a moment and prayed for the strength to set things right between them. But as she started down the hallway, she crashed into a huge male chest. Sparks sizzled down her spine, her nerve endings tingled and heat arced through her body so fast that the breath she’d taken fizzled in her chest. What was going on? she wondered breathlessly as she opened her eyes. Had she finally found the man she’d been looking for? But as she tilted her head up, she realized she was staring into James’s astonished—and astonishing—blue eyes. Her stomach dropped to her toes. Things were so much worse than she’d thought.
Chapter Ten Willow was here! He couldn’t believe it—he’d been on his way to pack a bag so that he could go see her and tell her how ridiculous she was being. But he hadn’t had to do that. She had come to him. “Willow!” he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her and giving her the big hug he always did when he first saw her. She didn’t pull away, but her body was stiff against his, and again he cursed whatever impulse had made him kiss her before he’d had a chance to explain his feelings for her. To gauge her feelings for him. “What are you doing here?” he asked as he reluctantly let her go.
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She shrugged and looked away, as if she couldn’t bear to face him. “I don’t know. I just thought I’d come—” Her voice broke and he wanted nothing more than to pull her back into his arms. But one look at her face told him that wasn’t the right way to handle things. He’d have to tread delicately through the sudden minefield between them, though what he really wanted to do was run over it, blast through it, annihilate it with whatever weapon he needed to make things go back to the way they had been. But that wasn’t precisely true, he realized, as he ushered Willow out of the building. Yes, things were awkward now, but he’d been waiting for seven years to get to this point. Maybe it was time to get things out in the open. She seemed to relax a little when they got outside and were surrounded by all the accoutrements it took to run a Thoroughbred ranch—the stables, the exercise circles, the racing track. “Thanks for sending that horse our way,” he said to fill the silence that stretched between them. “Oh, isn’t he fabulous?” she asked, excitement sparking in those black eyes. “Did you buy him?” “Sure did—and I think he’s going to do this ranch proud in another eighteen months.” “That’s what I tried to tell Dad, but he wouldn’t listen. I swear he still thinks I’m a little girl who doesn’t understand the difference between a racehorse and a child’s pony.” He tugged at the ponytail she had her hair swept into—her usual style. “Maybe because you still don’t look more than twelve.” She eyed him archly. “What exactly does that say about you, then? Since you kissed someone you say looks like a preteen?”
Chapter Eleven As soon as the words escaped, Willow wanted them back. Would have done anything to get them back. But it was too late—James’s eyes darkened, the hand still wrapped around her ponytail tightening ever so slightly. She willed him to ignore her words, to make a joke of them, to laugh them off—to do anything and everything but stare at her with that serious, intent look on his face. The one that meant she wasn’t going to be able to wheedle out of this conversation, no matter how hard she tried. “About that,” he said, slowly uncurling his fingers from her hair. “I—” “I’m sorry I overreacted,” she blurted out. “It was stupid, running away like that. I know it was just a congratulatory kiss—” His raised eyebrows stopped her little rehearsed speech cold. “Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?”
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“Well, what else could it be?” “Basic, old-fashioned lust, perhaps? A strong and overwhelming desire to have you naked beneath me?” James’s words froze everything inside her and had her gasping for oxygen like a guppy in the middle of the Sahara. “You don’t mean that,” she said when she could finally speak. “The hell I don’t.” And then he was pushing her back against the corral fence, his strong, hard body touching her from chest to thighs. She felt her heartbeat speed up and her knees quiver, and tried desperately to hang on to rational thought. “What are you doing?” she demanded, as she pressed her hands against his heavily muscled chest. Her voice wasn’t as strong as she would have liked, but at least it came out and didn’t squeak. Much. James grinned at her wickedly and she knew he’d heard the squeak. That was just one of the problems that came with suddenly being overwhelmingly attracted to her best friend; he knew her inside out, knew exactly what it meant when her voice squeaked and she couldn’t maintain eye contact. “I thought that would be self-explanatory.” He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand, applying just enough pressure so that she couldn’t help but lift her head until their eyes met. “This is a bad idea.” She wanted to sound firm, but was way too breathless to get away with it. “I beg to differ. I think it’s the best idea we’ve had in a long time.” “James!” She braced her hands on his chest and tried to shove, but he was having none of it. And as his lips descended slowly—so slowly that she thought she might actually go insane— she couldn’t fight the crazy heat flooding her body, any more than she could deny that she wanted this at least as much as James did. It might be a supremely bad idea for any number of reasons, but as their lips finally touched, Willow realized that she just didn’t give a damn.
Chapter Twelve She tasted like sunshine. And milk chocolate. And the honeysuckle flowers he used to gobble down by the bucketful as a child. Only sweeter and more delicious. Infinitely more delicious. Tilting her head back, James slipped his tongue along her bottom lip, savoring the utter rightness of having Willow in his arms again. He traced it over her upper lip, stopping to play with the little indention in the middle—the one that had given him more than a few sleepless nights through the years. She moaned softly, the sound he’d been waiting for. He drew her more tightly into him—so tightly that he could feel her pebbled nipples against his chest despite the layers of cloth separating them. He dived in and would have sworn that he’d found heaven.
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Her tongue met his instantly, teasing and tangling and testing. Meeting him stroke for stroke until it was all he could do to keep from taking her where they stood. But this was Willow, he reminded himself as his fingers trailed down her throat, feeling the pulse that pounded there like a million drumbeats. He had to take it slow, make it sweet. She deserved that, and so did he after waiting so long to finally have her. As he delved deeper, his tongue stroking over her soft palette, he felt the ground shift beneath him, as if all that was steady and understandable in the world had suddenly been readjusted. His body flamed to life, a bone-jarring need raking through him with quicksilver claws. He wanted to devour her, to hold her so close to him that she could never get away. To sink so deeply inside of her that she could never get him out. To become a part of her body, her mind, her soul—the way she already was for him. Need slammed through him at the thought and his hands fisted in her hair, pulling her even closer. Gentle persuasion changed to domination in a second. He was too strung out to coax her, too hungry for her to take things slowly. He wanted Willow. Needed her with a desperation that bordered on addiction. And he would have her. Here. Now. This minute. He took the kiss deeper, his tongue a wild invasion that couldn’t be denied. A claiming that couldn’t be mistaken. Willow responded, her body soft and pliant and desperately needy against his. Her hands clutched at his chest, her fingers tangling in the brushed cotton of his shirt as she whimpered low in her throat. It was the sound that did it. That low, out-of-control-and-frightened-of-it moan that made him put the brakes on when only moments before he would have sworn it was impossible. Pulling back, he kept Willow fully entrenched in his arms as he drew a few deep, shuddering breaths into his lungs and tried to regain some semblance of control. “Why’d you stop?” she demanded, her hands curling so hard on his chest that he swore she drew blood. The eyes staring up at him were black as sin and just as tempting. He felt his good intentions going down the drain, but was determined to give her a chance to stop things—even if it killed him. Watching her with intent eyes, determined not to miss a flicker of expression, he murmured softly, “Do you want to go upstairs?” Long seconds ticked by as they watched each other. Her lower lip trembled and he started to pull away, to call a halt. But Willow clenched her hands, holding him in place. And she whispered, “Yes.” “Are you sure?” He held his breath as he waited again for her answer. This time he didn’t have long to wait. “Yes,” she whispered again, leaning forward to lick a fiery trail down his neck. It was all he needed to hear.
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Chapter Thirteen Nerves assaulted Willow as James ushered her into his apartment over the breeding stables. Though she wanted him more than she’d ever wanted anything, she was suddenly uncertain. This would change everything. “Maybe this is a bad idea,” she gasped as his hands ran over her body like he owned it. Her libido screamed at her to shut up, to take whatever James was offering and worry about the consequences later. But her mind wouldn’t relax, wouldn’t let it go. “James—“ She pressed a hand to his chest and tried to ignore the feel of his lips racing over her cheek and down her neck. Shivers of excitement and fear and—yes, all-consuming lust—surged through her, but she tried desperately to think around them anyway. “Maybe we should think about this,” she said, turning her head in a last-ditch effort to act rationally. “I don’t need to think about it,” James answered, his hands skimming lightly down her body and leaving a trail of heat wherever they touched. “I’ve been thinking about it for seven years.” His mouth lingered at the hollow of her throat and her eyes nearly crossed as her desire ramped up about seven notches. “Well, I haven’t!” Trying to regain some semblance of control, she clapped a hand over his dangerous, dangerous mouth and shoved him away. Of course, that left her staring directly into his wicked blue eyes, eyes that shone with his need—and concern—for her. Her resistance started to melt, but she tried to stand firm, to get control of what was happening between them before it was too late. She’d held on to her virginity, hoping to give it to the only man she would ever love. Was she really just going to throw it all away now because she wanted James with a need that bordered on madness? “Don’t tell me this is wrong, Willow.” His voice was low, commanding. “I’ve waited too long to touch you like this, to taste you and feel you and hold you.” “James—“ She couldn’t stop herself from pleading with him, from begging for things to go back to the way they were. Not because she didn’t like where they were heading—but because she liked it too much. “Let me make you feel good, Willow. Just that.” His hands swept down her spine, finding erogenous zone after erogenous zone that she’d had no idea existed. “It doesn’t have to go any further than that.” At least not yet. She heard the unspoken words as clearly as if he’d shouted them. But the pleasure he was giving her was insidious, her need to feel his mouth on her naked skin growing with each second that passed. With a sigh, she yielded completely. His hands became gentler, less demanding, as they swept down her back, up her stomach, over her breasts. Calming her nerves even as he stoked the heat of her desire. “James…” It wasn’t a protest this time, but a plea. A demand for more. For everything.
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“I’ve got you, love.” He murmured the words against her throat as his hands deftly undid the buttons of her blouse. “I’ll take care of you.” As his lips skimmed tenderly down her neck to her aching breasts, Willow gave herself up to the whirlwind of desire James called so effortlessly from her.
Chapter Fourteen James made sure his hands were tender as he slipped Willow’s clothes from her body. Made sure his movements were slow and sweet. But what he really wanted to do was to pillage. To plunder. To sink inside of her so deeply she would never get him out. But this was her first time. He knew that as he knew so many other things about her. Like her favorite color and what bands she listened to—even what brand of underwear she wore wasn’t a secret from him. Seven years of friendship had given him a direct line to Willow’s soul and he would not make a misstep now, not when everything he’d ever wanted was on the line. Grazing his hands over her peaches-and-cream skin, he paused for a moment at her breasts before lowering his head and taking her nipple in his mouth. He kept everything languid and easy, even as desire slammed through him. This was Willow, he reminded himself for the millionth time, and he would rather die than hurt her. “James.” Her voice was low and breathless, her hands uncertain as they tangled in his hair. “It’s okay, love,” he murmured in between each small, tender scrape of his teeth over her soft skin. “I’m right here.” Moving downward, so slowly that each breath brought him to the edge of his control, he explored her body, leaving no part untouched, no patch of skin, however small, unkissed. Willow cried out as James glided his lips over her rib cage and belly. His tongue stroked and caressed, teased and tantalized until she could think of nothing and no one but him. Until this moment was more important to her than breathing. He continued his sweet assault over and over until she couldn’t take it for one more second. “James!” It was a whimper, a plea, but she didn’t care. All she cared about was getting this man—this wicked, wonderful man—inside of her as quickly as possible. And then he was there, sliding into her so gently, so smoothly that it was like they’d done this a million times before. Even as new sensations barraged her, even as the feeling of being stretched beyond her limits swept through her and she felt the fragile barrier break, she wanted more. Wanted everything. He gave it to her, his body moving over hers in long, silky strokes that sent pleasure coursing through every nerve ending she had. Tension spiraled higher and higher within her, a tightening of her body that would have frightened her if James hadn’t been there, holding her, soothing her, taking her even higher. She shattered with a scream, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Using him as an anchor to keep her pulsing body from spinning off into space.
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Chapter Fifteen Willow was beautiful when she slept. Her curly black hair was fanned out on the pillow around her and her cherry-red lips—swollen from his kisses—glistened invitingly. Though he told himself that he’d worn her out, that she needed her rest, James couldn’t stop himself from running a hand down her smooth, creamy-white shoulder. She sighed, then turned toward him, her body moving restlessly as if even in sleep she wanted to be connected to him. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, the first dim rays of sunlight leaking in through his bedroom window. Normally he was up by now checking on the horses, but today he was content to simply lie here and watch this woman he cared so deeply for. She stirred again, mumbled something unintelligible. And his heart kicked into high gear. What was he going to say to her? What could he say? He’d rushed things, had done the exact opposite of his plan. He’d wanted to talk to her first, to let her know how he felt. Instead he’d hurried her into bed without giving her a clue as to what he was thinking. Half of him wanted to wake Willow up now, to make love to her again and again until he had bound her to him so completely that she wouldn’t even think about leaving him. The other half wished that she would sleep longer, that the peace he felt as he lay next to her would go on forever. But the decision was taken out of his hands when Willow’s eyes blinked sleepily open, their onyx depths more than a little disoriented. Her lips quirked into a smile so small he might have imagined it as she reached up and rubbed at the tense lines between his eyebrows. “Why so serious?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep and sex. Her casual tone set his instincts on red alert, even as his body responded to the sleepy interest in her eyes. “I was afraid you’d think we’d made a mistake.” She did smile then, a crooked arch of her lips that had him sliding even more deeply in love with her. “It was the most fabulous night of my life. How could I possibly think it was a mistake?” He felt the tension leak out of every muscle in his body in relief and joy. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear that.” He gathered her into him, nuzzling her neck in an effort to soak in more of her honeyed sweetness. “I was afraid there’d be a big scene this morning, that you wouldn’t understand what had happened.” Willow stiffened slightly against him, so slightly that he might not have noticed if he hadn’t been tuned in to her every movement.
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“Do I look like the type to make a scene?” she demanded, pulling away from him. Her eyes were alight with laughter, and her smile had turned into a full-fledged grin, but he was still worried. “You look exactly like that type,” he answered as he tugged on one of her many curls. “You forget I’ve known you for a long, long time.” “Yeah, well, they say you never really know someone until you wake up with them in the morning.” She sat up and stretched, the sheet falling away from her breasts as she did so. Arousal pumped through him, and he reached for her, suddenly desperate to be inside of her again. But she only laughed and leaped out of bed, grabbing the comforter as she went. “Oh, no, I’m not going there again. At least not right now.” He studied her nude body before she hid it with the blanket, and wondered just what it would take to get her back into bed. As if she’d read his mind, Willow threw back her head and laughed. “You need to feed me,” she said. “I’m starving.”
Chapter Sixteen He was afraid she’d create a scene? That she wouldn’t understand this was just for one night? Willow sat on one of James’s kitchen chairs, his comforter still around her, and silently fumed, though she kept a playful smile on her lips. Did he actually think he was that good? So good that she’d forget pride and friendship and act like a clingy little girl? Ignoring the small voice in her head that reminded her just how good he really was, Willow sipped her coffee and concentrated on keeping her mad up. It wasn’t hard when she remembered how soft and dreamy she’d been when she’d awoken, how close she’d come to creating that scene James had been afraid of. He’d been looking so serious, with his grim mouth and those crazy frown lines between his eyes, that she’d wanted to pull him into her arms and kiss all his concerns away. She’d started to do just that when he’d blindsided her with his little speech about making scenes. Refusing to be placated, she smiled sweetly at him as he slid a plate of scrambled eggs and toast onto the table in front of her. She continued to smile as she took her first bite and contemplated the best way to murder him. “I wanted to talk about what happened last night,” he began. “You were great. I mean, really great,” she said as she lifted her coffee cup to her mouth yet again. His eyebrows lowered, his sapphire eyes turning stormy. “I’m sorry?” “Oh, there’s nothing to apologize for. It was fabulous.” “What exactly does that mean?”
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“It means I had a really good time.” She could almost hear his teeth grind together, and the frown lines came back with a vengeance. “What’s going on here, Willow?” She swallowed the quick lump in her throat, forced herself to meet his eyes despite the hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “You’re acting very strangely.” He studied her with suspicious eyes. “No, I’m not.” She pushed away from the table, leaving most of the food on her plate uneaten. “I’m going to go take a shower.” She arched a brow and pursed her lips. Did everything in her power to look unconcerned. “Would you care to join me?” “I thought we were going to talk.” He followed her down the narrow hall to his bedroom. “Last night—“ “We can talk later.” It took every ounce of willpower she had to drop the comforter onto the floor and stride, naked, into the bathroom. “Are you coming?” she called, even as she prayed that he would decline. She couldn’t keep this up much longer, couldn’t pretend that what had happened between them hadn’t mattered to her. She’d given him everything—her hopes, her dreams, her virginity—only to have them tossed back in her face. But she would rather die than create that scene James was so afraid of. He’d stripped her of all her control last night, over and over again. She’d be damned if she handed him her pride, too. The phone rang before he could answer her invitation, but he didn’t move from his place in the bathroom doorway. “Are you going to get that?” “No.” He stripped off the T-shirt he’d pulled on that morning, stalking toward her as he did so. “It could be important.” “Not as important as this.” He unbuttoned his worn jeans and her heartbeat doubled. Her plan had backfired and she didn’t know how to handle this new turn of events. Could she keep up the amused distance if he actually climbed in the shower with her? If he wanted to make love again? The phone stopped as suddenly as it had started and the unexpected silence was deafening. Then his cell phone began to ring from its spot on the dresser. James cursed and stalked back toward the bedroom. “Don’t go anywhere,” he shot over his shoulder. Where exactly did he think she was going to go stark naked?
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Chapter Seventeen In the end it was James who had had to leave. One of the ranch’s prized two-year-olds was sick and his uncle had left on a buying trip, leaving James in charge of handling any problems on the ranch. Trevor, the head trainer, had already called for the vet, but James had felt honor-bound to stay with Flight of Fancy until they found out what was wrong with the horse. Of course, by the time he’d got back to the apartment Willow was gone. That had been three days ago and he was still so angry he could barely speak. He sure as hell didn’t trust himself to call her up and have an intelligent conversation with her. Not when all he could think of was how empty he had felt when he’d found her missing. “Hey, son, what’s that long face for?” His uncle Mike’s voice broke into his reverie, and he tried to bring his rampaging thoughts under control. He had work to do and sitting here brooding about Willow wasn’t going to get any of it done. “I’m cool,” he said as he tried unsuccessfully to focus on the paperwork in front of him. His uncle snorted. “James, there are a lot of words for how you look right now. Cool isn’t one of them.” After sitting across the desk from him, Mike said, “You got woman trouble?” James stiffened in spite of himself, knowing doing so had told his uncle everything he wanted to know. “I don’t know.” “Women and whiskey are the only two things I know that can make a man with a job look that miserable. And I know you haven’t been drinking, so what’s up? You and Willow have a fight or something?” “How’d you know about Willow?” he asked, so astonished that he blurted the question out before he could think better of it. “You’ve been mooning over that girl for years. And I saw how she looked at you when she was here the other day.” “How was that?” “Like she was an alcoholic and you were a shot of hundred-dollar bourbon.” “So why’d she leave, then?” he asked, giving up the pretense. His uncle shook his head. “Son, women are fearsome and mysterious creatures. The man who figures out why one does something is the man who’ll hold the key to the universe.” James considered his uncle’s words for a few moments then asked the question that had been in his head for three long days. “So what should I do?”
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Mike grinned. “It’s more than obvious you won’t be happy without her. So go get the girl!”
Chapter Eighteen Willow stared morosely at her reflection as she tried to work up the energy to care about something. Anything. Since she’d snuck out of James’s apartment five days before, all she’d been able to do was think about him. It was embarrassing, really. Especially considering she’d never even thought of sleeping with him before last week. With a sigh, she pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe she could go riding; her horse, Penelope, always cheered her up. Reaching into her purse for a piece of gum, her hand struck something hard and she pulled it out curiously. She winced when she saw what it was. Her mother’s journal. The one she’d pored over for nearly a decade, hoping, praying to fall in love at first sight just as her parents had done. The one that had inspired her to save herself for The One. She snorted. What a joke that was. Not only had she not fallen in love with a handsome stranger, she was sitting around moping over her best friend and their one-night stand. How far from romantic could she get? Suddenly unable to bear the sight of the journal—and all the shattered hopes it represented— she headed down the hall to her parents’ room. Her mom was out on the ranch, as usual, and her dad was in the middle of preparing for the Belmont Stakes. No one would be around to witness her folly as she replaced the book. Or so she thought. As she was sliding the book onto its spot on the shelf, her mother’s voice sounded from behind her. “Hey, sweetie. Do you need something?” Jumping guiltily, she turned to see her mother coming from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel. “You’re getting a late start,” she said to her mother. Desiree sighed. “Your dad and I were up all night—Straight Shot is sick. She seems better this morning, but they don’t think she’ll be well enough for the Belmont.” “Oh, no!” “There’ll be other chances.” Her mom crossed the room and laid a hand on Willow’s cheek. “What I’m really worried about is you—you’re not looking so good. Care to tell me about it?” Willow debated for a second, wondering just how much she wanted to tell her mother. But in the end she didn’t have to say a word, as Desiree asked, “What happened with James?” “How did you—“ Desiree’s smile was sad. “That man has been crazy about you for the better part of a decade. At first I thought you were stringing him along, and then I realized you really didn’t have a clue.”
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“That’s not true. He’s my friend.” “He is, yes. But he wants to be a lot more than that. Besides, there’s a lot to be said for a relationship based on friendship.” “It wasn’t like that for you and Daddy. I always thought I’d be like you—“ “Of course it was like that for your father and me. I may have known the second I saw him that he was for me, but we spent six years as friends before anything ever happened between us.” “Yeah, but…“ Her voice trailed off. “But what?” “I don’t even know if I’m in love with James!” she wailed. Desiree laughed again, even as she pulled Willow into her arms. “From what I’ve seen, you can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do anything but mope around and think about whatever it is that went wrong between the two of you. I think that’s a pretty good clue that what you’re feeling is more than friendship.” Her mother was right, Willow realized. But the thought did nothing to reassure her. What was she going to do now?
Chapter Nineteen James stood on the doorstep staring at Willow’s father and for the first time in seven years he had trouble meeting the man’s eyes. All he could think about was what he’d been doing with the man’s daughter less than a week before—and how she’d walked away from him before he could make things right. The small jewelry box in his left front pocket was practically burning a hole right through him, and he couldn’t help feeling like his intentions were written all over his face. From the amusement on Jesse’s face, some small sign of his discomfort must have been obvious. “Willow’s down at the lake,” Jesse volunteered after they’d exchanged pleasantries. “You’re welcome to come in and wait for her.” Everything inside of him sank. He’d been working himself up to this moment for three days and the idea of putting it off was completely repugnant to him. Not to mention the fact that he was just uncertain enough of her reaction that he might change his mind before Willow got back. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to head out there. I know the way.” Jesse’s eyebrows lifted, but he didn’t comment. Instead he asked, “You want to borrow a horse?” “Absolutely.”
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Thirty minutes later, he pulled the huge brown stallion Jesse had lent him to a stop in front of the lake he and Willow had swam in more times than he could count. She was in the water, swimming as if the demons of hell were on her heels. He watched her for long moments, admiring how her sleek body cut through the water even as the sight of her made him ache. He wanted to join her, to pull her into his arms and hold on until she couldn’t say no. Until she felt even half of the intense, riotous emotions bouncing around inside of him. But he didn’t move. He told himself it was because he didn’t want to startle her, but deep inside he knew the truth. He was scared—scared of her not believing him, scared of her rejection. Scared of her not wanting him the way he needed her. It was the fear that pissed him off. He strode into the water in his jeans and boots, grabbing Willow as she swam by. “James!” she gasped as he wrenched her to her feet. “What are you doing here?” She was sexy as hell standing there in her black bikini, water running in rivulets over every inch of her glorious, half-naked body. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, to make love to her, to demand that she never leave him again. “You left.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. He cursed himself for his weakness, but held his breath anyway as he waited for her answer. “I thought that’s what you wanted. You said you didn’t want a scene.” The words were so absurd, so far removed from what he’d braced himself to hear, that he snarled. Willow’s eyes widened in shock. Good, it was about time she finally realized who she was dealing with.
Chapter Twenty Willow’s heartbeat raced as she stared at James, willing him to take her in his arms. To tell her how much he had missed her. When he did neither of those things and instead snarled at her like a rabid animal, she felt anger ripping through her. It chased away her caution, her fear of getting hurt, even the pride she’d been so determined to hang on to. And left behind a fury so all-consuming that it was all she could do to keep from going for his eyes. “Don’t you snarl at me like some kind of animal! You’re the one who slept with me and then all but kicked me out the next morning.” “Kicked you out?” he demanded incredulously. “I wanted to talk about things. You’re the one who started spouting crap at me. ‘You were fabulous, James. Thanks so much!’ I wanted to strangle you.” “What did you want me to say? ‘Oh, James, I love you so much’? Give me a break!”
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He stiffened, the hands still grasping her upper arms falling away as he stumbled back a step. He looked like she’d slapped him. “That’s what I was trying to say to you,” he said through bloodless lips. “But you didn’t want to hear it. At least now I know why.” He turned away, wading back to shore and it was her turn to stare at him, dumbfounded. And then she took off after him, running awkwardly through the water as she struggled to catch up. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked as she finally got close enough to grab his hand. He tried to shrug her off, but she refused to let go. “Don’t worry about it.” “James, look at me.” She held her breath, willed him to turn around. When he did, she was shocked by the hurt he didn’t even try to hide. “What are you saying?” “How can you be so blind?” he raged. “I’ve been in love with you for seven years, but nothing I’ve done has made any difference. I’ve tried to be your friend, to take it slow. To give you a chance to get used to the idea. And when you finally notice me, when something finally happens between us, you sneak off like you’re ashamed of having let me touch you.” She was horrified by the pain in his voice, by the truth she heard in it. “I thought you didn’t want me.” “How could you possibly imagine, even for a second, that I didn’t want you? The whole damn world knows how I feel about you. I tried to tell you—to show you—what I felt when we made love. How could you not feel it?” “I—I don’t know.” She crushed herself against him, prayed that he wouldn’t reject what she wanted so desperately to give him. Hope moved through her, carrying with it an aching vulnerability as she laid herself open to him. “I was stupid.” Though he stiffened, his arms came around her waist and held her to him. “Yes, you were.” She smiled as she felt him rest his chin on the top of her head, all the doubts and concerns and nerves slowly leaving her. “I love you, too, you know.” He pulled away, stared deeply into her eyes. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” “Oh, I mean it, all right. For a while, I was just too myopic to see it.” He studied her for long moments, his eyes searching her face for reassurance. It made her realize, for the first time, just how insecure she’d made him with her blindness and disappearing acts. “It’s true.” She reached up and trailed kisses down his throat. “I love you more than I ever thought possible.” “Thank God.” He shuddered as he tilted her chin up so that he could kiss her. Long moments passed as his lips moved tenderly over hers and she whimpered when he pulled away.
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“Don’t stop…” She clutched at his shoulders, tried to bring his mouth back to hers. “You’re going to marry me.” His voice was firm as he reached into his front pocket. Willow felt tears bloom in her eyes, happy tears that came with the knowledge that all her dreams were about to come true. But still, it had sounded too much like an order for her to let him get away with it. “I believe it’s customary to ask,” she said in her haughtiest voice. He snorted. “With a reasonable woman, maybe. With you, we’ll do it my way.” She lifted an inquiring brow. “And how is that?” He grabbed her hand, taking the ring out of the box and sliding a sparkling diamond down her ring finger without so much as glancing at her for permission. “Like this.” As his lips once again met hers, Willow gave up the fight. It was hard to argue with a man who knew her—and what she wanted—better than she knew herself. A man who could recognize what it felt like when lightning strikes.
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The Ledoux Curse by Debra Cowan In 1688, a jealous French nobleman cursed the Ledoux family—if a Ledoux woman fell in love with a man, he would die, damning her to a life of loneliness and guilt. Despite her mother and grandmother’s warnings, Aubrey never believed in the curse. Until she fell in love with Jeff Wyrick. Until Hallowe'en night five years ago. After that horrible night, Aubrey pushed Jeff away, vowing never to see him again or admit her feelings, even to herself. Even when he appears on her doorstep with those chiseled features and eyes that melt her resistance. But Jeff didn’t come back for a meaningless night with Aubrey—he came back for a lifetime. And he’s willing to risk everything, including his life, to be with her. But first they must break The Ledoux Curse.
Chapter One Aubrey Ledoux stared down at the blunt-boned masculine face that had appeared on her sketch paper— again—and threw the pad across the sunroom. It was two days before Hallowe’en. Every year at this time, she was jumpy, like she was plugged into an electrical socket. The air was thicker, alive, as though some dormant force inside the earth had been stirred up and unleashed. But this year had been worse. So far every day in October, no matter what her subject, his face appeared in each drawing or painting she’d done. A face that brought back all the guilt, the pain, the aching resignation. They would never be together—and she was the reason why. Or rather, the curse was. In 1688, her ancestor, Genevieve Ledoux, had refused to marry a cruel French nobleman. Because of her rejection, the man used his dark skills as a magician to curse her and every woman in her family for eternity. If Charles Villeroy couldn’t have the woman he loved, then no Ledoux woman would ever have the man she loved. The Ledoux line had continued through the centuries because the women had spent their lives with men they didn’t love. Aubrey’s grandmother had married her grandfather after knowing him only two days. It wasn’t until after Aubrey’s mother was born that Grandmama had fallen for Granddad. Within twenty-four hours of her confessing her feelings, he was dead. Aubrey’s mother and father had married because she became pregnant. On Aubrey’s second birthday, her mother admitted to her husband that she was in love with him. He died the same night. Growing up, Aubrey hadn’t believed her father and grandfather had died as a result of cursed love, as she’d been told her whole life. Instead, she believed that they had walked away from their families, abandoned them, because they couldn’t handle her eccentric mother and grandmother, and that had been too humiliating for Mama and Grandmama to acknowledge. She knew better now. Five years ago, she had thumbed her nose at the ridiculous notion of a curse—and the man she loved had nearly paid with his life for her defiance. She had learned the horrid truth. The Ledoux Curse was real, and it was deadly. She hadn’t been in love since and she never would be again.
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She swallowed back the regret, the longing for what would never be. It was done. Nothing could change that. She could only be thankful that she’d recognized the truth in time to save him. Usually, she managed not to think about him. She was especially careful the week of Hallowe’en. So why was his face showing up in every piece of art she created? It made her hurt. It made her wish for things that could never be. Hallowe’en was a bitter reminder of what they’d lost, but Jeff had come out of it alive. That was the only thing that mattered. She decided to put away her paints for awhile and figure the taxes for one of her accounting clients. Working with numbers wouldn’t take an emotional bite out of her soul, and it would help get her mind off the past, off of him. Half an hour later, she had sat down at her kitchen table with a shoebox of receipts when her doorbell rang. She went to answer it, welcoming any distraction. She opened the door and her jaw dropped as she stared at all six-foot, four inches of her past. Jeff Wyrick. That hot blue gaze did a slow hike down her body. “Hi, Aubrey Lynn.” “Jeff,” she breathed, curling her fingers around the door frame, partly to keep from falling and partly so she wouldn’t reach for him. He looked so good. A big man with a big heart, he had wide shoulders and a brawny chest covered with hair a shade shy of black, just like that on his head. His blue eyes could melt stone and his mouth was…deliciously wicked. Her heart started pounding so hard she couldn’t get a full breath. For two seconds, she let herself feel the joy at seeing him, the want. It had been a long time. Five years had put new lines around his eyes and a shadow of stubble emphasized a jaw that was hard-edged now. She went soft inside. Get real, she ordered herself. “You shouldn’t be here.” “I needed to see you.” The words were raspy, as if he was a lifelong smoker. But he’d never smoked a day in his life. His husky voice was caused by damaged vocal cords, thanks to her and the curse. “That isn’t a good idea.” “I’m not leaving.” “Didn't you learn anything the last time we were together?” she pleaded, though she recognized the unyielding hardness in his blue eyes. “Wasn’t that enough for you?” “I didn’t get enough of you. I plan to change that.” “No. Not after what happened.” Memories of them by the lake that night, of Jeff being strangled, flashed through her mind. She would never be able to erase the image of those handprints around his throat, invisible hands squeezing the life out of him. The bruises were gone now, but that night had left behind plenty of wounds. “Aubrey, I need to talk to you.” “Go away, Jeff.” Please go away. She tried to shut the door and he jammed his boot inside to keep it open. “Invite me in or don’t. Either way, I’m not leaving.”
***
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He drank her in. The silken waterfall of inky black hair, the high cheekbones and dark coloring of her partNative American heritage, her sapphire blue eyes, now wild with panic. He’d touched and tasted every inch of her sleek curves and he hadn’t forgotten a single thing. He knew she was afraid but he wasn’t going to let her run him off this time. “Are you going to let me come in?” “It’s not a good idea,” she repeated. “It’s important, Aubrey.” He understood the uncertainty darkening her eyes, the flicker of apprehension there. It twisted something deep inside him. “Please.” Plainly reluctant, she stepped back and he moved inside. But getting in wasn’t the hard part. He’d seen how devastated she’d been the night she’d witnessed his attempted murder and had sworn to send him away. She wouldn’t be receptive to what he had to say now. She closed the door and he followed her into the living area, his gaze skimming over her nipped-in waist, her fine backside. Beyond the living room, still done in the same peach-and-cream tones, was a sunroom. Canvases were stacked in the corner. Judging by the paints and brushes placed neatly on a small table next to an easel, she still worked there. The only thing out of place was a sketchpad on the floor. She turned to him. “Well?” Inhaling her spring-fresh scent, his eyes rested on her soft lips, drawn tight with irritation, then moved to the small hands that had raced over him that night, so careful of his bruised throat. Five years worth of hunger slammed into him. “You look good.” “So do you.” She moved stiffly across the room and stood behind an oversized dark-leather chair. His chest squeezed tight at the distance she put between them. “I got an apartment in Oklahoma City. I’m home to stay.” “That’s good. It probably made your parents and brother very happy.” “It did.” Since he and Aubrey had broken up five years ago, his search for answers had only allowed him to come back for holidays and family birthdays. There were times when he had thought he would never find out how to break the curse. But now he had, and he was digging in his heels until he got what he wanted. Her. “What about you? Does it make you happy?” She wouldn’t look at him. “I’m happy for you.” “That’s not what I meant and you know it.” “That’s all I can give you.” She curled her hands over the chair back. He noticed the whites of her knuckles were showing. “You’re nervous.” “Of course, I’m nervous! The last time we were together, you were nearly killed!” “That’s why I’m here.” He wanted to hold her, but knew that was moving too fast. “To talk about that.” “I don’t want to talk about it. All I want is to forget.” Her gaze darted around as though she thought they were being watched.
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He knew she expected Charles Villeroy to somehow make his presence known the way he had five years ago. “Aubrey, listen to me.” “I think you should go.” Fear darkened her blue eyes as she strode past him to the door. “Now.“ “I’m not leaving.” He knew how stubborn she was. And how afraid, but this was their only chance. He closed the distance between them and didn’t stop until he was right on top of her. Jeff looked down into those blue eyes that had cost him countless nights of sleep. “I know how to break the curse.”
Chapter Two Sheer panic streaked across her face. “Jeff—” “I know Ben told you where I’ve been and what I’ve been doing.” She still did the taxes of his brother and parents, so he’d been able to keep tabs on her during the last five years. He knew she’d done the same with him. “This can’t be a complete surprise.” “He mentioned you had gone to several places.” “I went to those places for us.” He reached over her head and firmly shut the door. “The time we’ve been apart, I’ve been tracking down leads on the curse. France first, since that was where it began. Then Salem, New Orleans, Jamaica. At each location, I learned something different and that led me to the next place.” “If there was really a way to break the curse, don’t you think my mother or grandmother would’ve tried it?” Aubrey moved away from him, back into the living room. “They spent their lives trying to figure out how to break it.” “They didn’t have all the information.” Stopping next to the sofa, she folded her arms and gave him a look. “And you do?” “Yes.” He sounded so sure. For an instant, Aubrey let herself consider the possibility. His job as a private investigator could have helped him locate clues her family had missed. Everything inside her wanted to believe he’d found a way for them to be together, but she just didn’t. She couldn’t. She shook her head. “You don’t think the curse can be broken,” he said. “That’s right.” “Your grandmother knew there was a way. She believed in it enough to protect one of the things that we’ll need.” “Need?” She should insist again that he go, but she couldn’t make herself do it. He looked so good. It had been so long. “For what?” “We have to perform a ritual and there are certain items we must have.” She let out a shaky breath. “What kind of items?” A cautious hope lit his eyes. “A dream catcher, the ashes of your ancestors, a flower called the Heart of the Moon and blood from you and me.”
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She searched his eyes. Whether it was true or not, whether it would work or not, Jeff believed it. “Ashes, blood, moon flowers. Do you hear yourself?” He shoved a hand through his hair. “I know it sounds like hocus-pocus. It is, but I also know it’s the answer.” He was so convinced. Aubrey wasn’t. “I’ll give you my blood and you can try it.” “It doesn’t work that way.” He moved closer, until she could feel the warmth of his hard, solid body, filling her lungs with his clean, male scent. “The curse has to be broken by a Ledoux woman and the man she loves.” Aubrey’s heart sank. She didn’t know if the ritual would break the curse, but she did know if she agreed to participate, she would have to admit that she still loved Jeff. If she did that, Villeroy would finish what he’d started five years ago. He would kill Jeff and she couldn’t bear that. “It can’t be me, Jeff. I’m not in love with you anymore.”
*** “Liar,” he said softly. Jeff wanted to haul her to him and kiss her until she admitted what they both knew. Instead, he made do with lightly grazing his thumb along her lower lip. Touching her sent a jolt of need through his body. The heat that flared in her eyes told him she felt the same rush in her blood. “At least give it a chance.” “No.” Her flat refusal irritated him. “We could be together.” “I think you should accept we can’t.” He wouldn’t accept it. “If you won’t do it for us, then think about Villeroy. He needs to be stopped.” “We stopped him five years ago.” “That wasn’t stopping! That was hitting the ‘pause’ button.” They didn’t have time for this. Fighting back his anger that she wouldn’t even try, Jeff cut to the one thing he knew would get her. “You owe me.” She frowned. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he would do whatever it took. “It was your curse that nearly killed me. The least you can do is help me try and break it.” Her eyes widened in outrage. “You’re trying to guilt me into it!” “What if doing this would reverse the damage to my throat?” “Will it?” “I don’t know, but it sure won’t if you don’t help me.” Even though what had happened was no more her fault than his, he wasn’t above shaming her into participating. “Well?” That’s…emotional blackmail.” “And?” He wasn’t giving an inch. Her jaw angled mutinously, but she finally muttered, “All right. So what do we do?”
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“The first thing we need to do is get the dream catcher your grandmother had.” “What dream catcher? She didn’t have—” Awareness swept across her face. “How did you know about that? It hasn’t hung in the house since I was a little girl. I didn’t even remember myself until you mentioned it.” “It’s part of the information I found. Where is it?” “With the rest of her things in the cellar.” “Do you still keep it padlocked?” “Yes.” She gave him a flat stare. “I suppose you want the key.” “And you. I want you to go with me.” “I don’t like it down there.” “Understandable, but we have to hunt down the items together or the curse can’t be broken. That’s why I didn’t go on my own to find any of this stuff.” A look of strained patience tightened her features. “Fine.” After getting a small key from a narrow drawer next to the sink, she led him outside and to the back of the house. The cellar door was set into the ground at a slope. Bending slightly, she unlocked the padlock and Jeff opened the metal door. A dank, wet smell rose up. After her mother’s and grandmother’s deaths, Aubrey had stored all of their things in the cellar, closed it up tight and never gone down there again. The sunlight slanting into the underground room showed the way down the concrete steps. At the bottom, Aubrey pulled the single string hanging from the ceiling and light from a lone bulb spread weakly through the darkness. She moved to a weathered wooden crate against the wall. Jeff reached her in two steps and helped her remove the age-smoothed lid. The musty smell of mothballs surged out of the box. On top of a plastic garment bag lay a fiddle and bow. “My grandfather’s,” Aubrey explained as she carefully picked up the instrument and placed it to the side. Beneath two layers of clothes, they found a carton of bullets and an old revolver. It took them a couple of hours of looking through a smaller crate and several more boxes before finding the dream catcher in a large weathered trunk. The piece was no more than three inches in diameter, with delicate webbing in the center and its wheel wrapped in soft tan leather. Beads and white feathers hung from a strip of leather in the center. Aubrey carried it up the steps and after shutting the cellar door, Jeff joined her in the living room. “Do you know how these work?” “The good dreams make their way through the center of the web and the beads trap the bad dreams.” She ran a finger down one feather. “Why the dream catcher? What significance does it hold?” “The ritual requires items that symbolize your direct bloodline, so we need it because your father and grandfather were Native American.” He tucked a strand of silky raven hair behind her ear then twined it around his finger. “Why don’t you want to believe we can break the curse?”
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She gently tugged her hair from his hold and stepped back. “Do you have any proof it can be broken?” “I found a journal.” Now that he finally believed it, he wanted her to believe it, too. “It belonged to Charles Villeroy. There are pages of notes about his love for Genevieve and her rejection of him. At the end, he encoded the way to break the curse and I’m sure I’ve figured it out.” “I’m sorry, Jeff. I just can’t buy into it.” “Or you won’t,” he said softly. “Does it matter?” No. He wanted to take her in his arms, soothe away the shadows on her face. “I missed you. I want us to be together.” “Don’t.” She turned away, but not before he caught sight of a tear. Frustration burned through him. He knew this was hard on her. It was hard on him too. As his damaged vocal cords proved, death was a real danger. He dealt in facts, not curses and ashes and dream catchers. But he was willing to try anything, mystical or not, if it meant he and Aubrey could be together. She had changed his life even before that night. They would be together, no matter what he had to do.
Chapter Three I missed you. Aubrey couldn’t get Jeff’s words out of her head. She’d missed him, too, but being with him was too risky. Not only because it felt as though they were taunting Villeroy, but also because she wasn’t sure how long she could resist the gorgeous man who had walked back into her life. Feeling his eyes slide hotly over her, she tried to ignore the way her nerves sizzled. Tried to ignore the hitch in her pulse at the sight of him in worn jeans and a long-sleeved denim shirt that molded his broad shoulders. She stepped behind the sofa, keeping some space between them. “Now what?” “We find the ashes of your ancestors. According to the journal, they’re supposed to all be together.” She nodded. “When a Ledoux woman dies, she’s cremated and a small amount of her remains are added to the urn that contains the ashes of those who died before. Grandmama left the urn with an old friend, Father Brian. He lives in Guthrie, but—” “I’ll drive.” “He died of a heart attack a few days ago and his funeral was yesterday. The ashes are in his office, but a lady from the church said I can’t get them until after Hallowe’en.” “We can’t wait that long.” Jeff turned and started for the door. “We’ll go to his house and have a look around.” “But that lady said—” “Aubrey, we don’t have time for manners. We don’t know how long it will take to find the ashes. What if they aren’t in his office? He could’ve put them in storage or hidden them somewhere.”
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“Can’t you get whatever is next on the list?” “No, we can’t,” he emphasized, pointedly reminding her they were in this together. “We have to find these things in a certain order.” “Is that what the journal says?” “Yes.” “How do we know the order really matters? No one else has managed to break the curse with them.” “Maybe because they didn’t obtain the things in order,” he said evenly. There was no putting him off, she realized soberly. “All right.” Thirty minutes later, they had left Oklahoma City and were driving north on I-35 toward Guthrie with the midafternoon sun glaring off the hood of Jeff’s Mercedes. Inside the sedan, Aubrey could feel the warmth from his body, smell his soap and citrus scent. Want thrummed in her veins, burning like a fever in her blood, but she tried to ignore it. Jeff slid her a look. ”Have you dated since I left?” Why did he have to bring this up? “A few times.” He tensed. “How seriously?” “Never more than a couple of dates with anyone.” “I haven’t dated at all.” “In five years!” Her gaze flew to his. “Why not?” “I don’t want anyone else.” The raspy words curled around her. She didn’t want anyone else either, but their lives had stopped being about what they wanted a long time ago. “Five years is a long time to be without someone.” “To be without you.” The heavy-lidded look he gave her caused a shiver. Oh, boy. He had to stop saying things like that. She didn’t have much willpower when it came to him. “You shouldn’t wait around on something that probably won’t happen.” “It will happen. We’ll break this curse and then we can be together.” With one hand on the wheel, he took the other and nudged one knuckle under her chin, turning her face to his. “Just so we’re clear, I don’t want any other man to put his hands on you.” The possessiveness in his smoky voice shot electricity down to her toes and she fought back the urge to agree. “We’ll both move on someday.” “You’re afraid Villeroy will somehow sense it if you admit you still love me. I get it, but don’t try to tell me you don’t want me. I saw it in your eyes back at your house, Aubrey.” He was right about why she wouldn’t say the words. It was also why she wouldn’t let herself feel them. The wall she’d erected between her and Jeff was starting to weaken. She’d considered giving in to the feelings she wouldn’t voice or even admit, but the stark, horrifying image of Jeff unconscious by the lake, his strong
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neck ringed with bruises, renewed her determination to resist him. She must keep a distance between them, and not only because she feared Villeroy might learn of it, but also because she didn’t know if she was strong enough to let Jeff go a second time. And if she couldn’t, that would be like signing his death warrant.
*** The thought still bothered Aubrey when they arrived at Father Brian’s home on the edge of church property. The modest-sized stone house on the picturesque lawn was quiet and there was no sign of movement. Not so strange if the occupant had just died. She followed Jeff up a neatly tended sidewalk then waited as he knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he peered through the front windows. They walked around the entire house, trying to get a look inside. “There’s no one here,” he said. “Maybe someone at the church can let us in.” They walked the short distance to the church, but a sign there announced the building was closed for the rest of the day. As they returned to the car, Aubrey was glad she hadn’t gotten her hopes up. She started to slide back into the sedan, pausing when she saw Jeff open the trunk. He took something out and jogged back to the porch. “What are you doing?” She moved around the car for a better view. “No one’s home.” “We can still get inside.” “How? Break in?” she scoffed. “As a matter of fact.” Jeff slid two small tools into the lock. “Are you kidding me!” She glanced around, hurrying to him and grabbing his arm. “You can’t break into a priest’s home. You shouldn’t be breaking into anyone’s home.” Click. Straightening with a satisfied smile, Jeff opened the door. “After you.” When she hesitated, he curled an arm around her waist and swept her inside, then shut the door. She pulled away, still feeling the heat of his touch. “How did you learn to pick locks?” “Trick of the trade.” Placing a hand in the small of her back, he steered her across the foyer. “I thought private investigators were law-abiding citizens.” “We are. Mostly.” He glanced around the house. “Where should we start?” Sunlight streamed through the windows flanking the front door and spread into the living area beyond. Down the hall to their left was a bathroom and what Aubrey assumed were bedrooms. She peered into the room right off the entry way. “Here’s his office.“ Jeff followed her into the priest’s study. The space was open and roomy with a fireplace. Half-drawn blinds allowed bars of daylight to fan across the wood floor to the rough stone hearth. Floor-to-ceiling shelves, filled with books, lined one wall and part of another behind a heavy walnut desk. In front of the desk were two leather-padded chairs on either side of a lamp table which held a thick book with a frayed green cover and binding. “What are we looking for?” Jeff asked.
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“Some sort of urn.” Aubrey carefully checked a small blue-and-white urn displayed on one of the bottom book shelves and moved on. Jeff picked up an ivory urn on a small desk to the right of the fireplace, then a carved pink-marbled cremation box. “There’s a name on the bottom of this one—but it’s not Ledoux.” Aubrey spied a brass urn on the credenza behind the priest’s desk. After checking it, she said shakily, “Here it is. My grandmother’s name is on the front. Lily Ledoux.” Jeff reached her as she removed the lid. “It’s empty.” She was surprised to feel let down. “There are no ashes in here. Just a note.” He fished out a crumpled slip of paper and read, “The flames will restore the heart. Revelation 23. I have no idea what that means.” “I recognize Father Brian’s handwriting from letters he sent to my grandmother.” Aubrey met his gaze, which was just as puzzled as hers. “It sounds like a Bible verse.” In seconds, he had located a Bible on the priest’s desk and handed it to Aubrey. She flipped through the pages once, then again. She sank down in the chair behind her. His big hand settled on her shoulder. “What is it?” “There is no chapter twenty-three.”
Chapter Four Jeff could swear it had been disappointment he’d heard in Aubrey’s voice when she realized the chapter they sought didn’t exist. The look on her face had been part empathy, part frustration. She could talk all day about how she didn’t still have feelings for him, but she did. She peered at the slip of paper then frowned. “What does this note mean?” He read the cryptic message again, dragging a hand across his nape. “The Book of Revelation ends with chapter twenty-two, so what is he trying to tell us? The note says, ‘The flames will restore the heart.’ Look for something to do with flames.” Getting to her feet, Aubrey paged through the entire book of Revelation. “There are a lot of references in here to fire.” “So, if there’s no chapter twenty-three, maybe the clue we’re looking for isn’t in the Bible. Perhaps it’s about the word ‘Revelation’. Reveal?” “Maybe he’s trying to show us something?” Jeff nodded, easing down into the priest’s chair behind his desk. “What are you doing?” “Looking at the room from his perspective. It can’t hurt.” “Oh, that’s good. I guess that’s why you make the big P.I. bucks.”
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She gave him the first real smile he’d seen since showing up at her house. His gaze lingered on her mouth and his body literally hurt from wanting to taste her. “Jeff.” The sharpness of her voice snapped his attention to her gorgeous face. “What?” “Stop looking at me like that.” “I can’t help it. I want—” “I can guess what you want,” she said dryly, “and that isn’t why we’re here.” At least she hadn’t said no. “Maybe later,” he teased. A flush tinted her skin and she looked away. “Is there something else in this room that might hold ashes?” Jeff stood, scanning the space. “Not that I see. I keep going back to the ‘flames’ in the note…. Fire. Fireplace!” Aubrey looked at the stone hearth. “There’s no fire.” “Maybe we don’t need one. Maybe what we need is in the fireplace.” He lay on his back and scooted close so he could look up the flue. After checking both walls of the passage and feeling only brick and bugs, he eased out then got to his feet, dusting off his hands and clothes. “There’s nothing hidden in there.” “No chapter twenty-three. Nothing in the fireplace. Maybe this note isn’t for us.” “It has to be related to the curse,” Jeff argued. “Otherwise, why put it in your grandmother’s urn?” “Good point. What does he want us to know?” Jeff shook his head, settling back into the swivel chair and turning in a slow circle. He considered everything at eye level, then above. Nothing. He shifted his gaze lower. A few feet away, Aubrey did the same. “Maybe the ashes aren’t in this room.” “Maybe not. I just don’t want to give up until we’ve looked everywhere we can think of.” Her gaze ran over the wood floor that butted up to the hearth. The buff-colored stones were roughly cut, textured with ridges and dips. Aubrey stared for a long minute then pointed. “Is something written on that stone?” Following the direction of her gaze, Jeff stood and stepped over to it. His shadow fell across the floor and he knelt for a closer look. “Roman numerals. X-X-i-i-i.” “Twenty-three!” she exclaimed. He jiggled the rock. “This feels loose.” “Do you think that means anything besides that it needs to be repaired?” “We’re going to find out.” Jeff worked at the stone until he was able to lift it out.
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Aubrey stood at his shoulder, examining the opening in the floor. “That hole is at least ten inches deep…. Something’s in it.” She reached in and brought out a weighted chamois bag. Opening the drawstrings, she slid down the covering to reveal an antique-looking hourglass. She guessed it to be about eight inches tall with a three or four inch circumference. Disappointment filled her. “It’s just sand.” “Wait.” Jeff took it and she leaned toward him as he turned the piece upside down. Grinning, he lifted it into the sunlight. “Look at the texture.” Examining it closely, she was able to see it was much more fine-grained than sand. “It’s the ashes! Very clever of you to see them there.” “Very clever of Father Brian to hide them and leave us a clue.” A strand of raven hair draped across her cheek, drawing his eyes to her smooth copper skin, the curve of her jaw. She was driving Jeff crazy. On the trip up here, her nearness, the smell of her perfume, had tantalized him, and now his nerve endings were plugged in to her every move. He reached up to tuck the hair behind her ear and stroked a finger down the elegant line of her neck. She froze. For a heartbeat, her eyes were unguarded and he saw a flash of naked desire—then it disappeared. Jeff’s chest squeezed hard as she drew into herself again. Damn, he wanted to kiss her. He knew she was pulling away so she wouldn’t be hurt again. So he wouldn’t be. But he hated it. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep his hands off her.
*** Next on their list was the Heart of the Moon flower that bloomed only two nights a year around Hallowe’en. Aubrey agreed to let Jeff use her computer to confirm that the plant grew in southeastern Oklahoma, though she remembered it from the time they’d spent there five years ago. As he checked the Internet, they ate sandwiches. She was right. The flower grew on the grounds of what was now known as Wheelock Academy, originally run as a missionary school for Choctaw children, then as a boarding school exclusively for Choctaw girls. Located northwest of Idabel, Oklahoma, the school had been closed more than fifty years ago and was said by some in the area to be haunted. A fitting place for the rarely-blossoming flower that would supposedly help break the curse, Aubrey mused. She cleaned the plates as Jeff called the National Park Service, which oversaw the grounds now that the academy was on the historical register, and asked if the flower had bloomed yet. After learning it hadn’t, he told Aubrey they should drive down tomorrow. Finished with the computer, he roamed around her living area and into the sunroom. The way he’d looked at her back at Father Brian’s had put butterflies in her stomach. She had thought he was going to kiss her—and she’d wanted him to. She wanted him to do more than that. Bad idea. “Are you spending more time on your art than your accounting these days? Looks like you have quite a few pieces here.” “The painting is becoming profitable.” Remembering that Jeff’s face was now in every scene she’d done this month, she moved out of the kitchen and toward the sunroom. She saw his attention skip over the backs of the canvases stacked against the wall and land on the sketchpad she’d thrown down before his arrival.
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She started forward, but before she could get to him, he bent to pick it up. The last thing she needed was him seeing who she’d drawn. “I’ll get that!” He smoothed down the pages and held the drawing pad out to her, then pulled it back with an arrested stare on his face. His blue eyes burned into hers. “This is me.” She held out her hand for the tablet and he gave it to her. “You still think about me,” he said. “Not on purpose.” He raised a brow. “At the first of the month, your face began appearing in my art. Looking back on it, I think I kept drawing your face because it was sort of a premonition you were coming.” Walking over, she placed the sketchpad on the table with her paints. “Not because I’m still hung up on you.” “Right,” he said with a grin that had fire curling low in her belly. “Let’s just concentrate on getting the things on the list.” She turned, coming right up against his chest. She hadn’t known he was so close. “Jeff—” Before she could take a step, he curled a hand around her nape and kissed her. He backed her into the wall, greedily taking everything he could because he knew she would pull away. Mouth ravaging hers, he pressed himself hard against her. His senses swam with the dark-honey taste of her, the sleek hotness of her tongue against his. For a few suspended seconds, she melted into him. Her hands sank into his hair for one heartbeat, maybe two, then she flattened both palms on his chest and pushed him away. Arms tightening around her, he lifted his head. She was breathing as hard as he was. “That better have been on the list.” “Nope,” he said huskily. “That was all for me.”
Chapter Five One more kiss like that and Aubrey was afraid the tight leash she was keeping on her emotions would snap. Even hours later, that kiss was still making her nervous. It made her want more than just a kiss. Lying in bed, she tried to steer her thoughts away from Jeff and the memory of what he’d done. Well, what they’d both done, she admitted. She had kissed him back, after all. Tomorrow they would drive down to Wheelock and wait for the flower to bloom. The thought sent a flicker of dread through her, though she wasn’t sure why. Was it because they would be near Pine Creek Lake where she and Jeff had made love that one and only time? The place where she had confessed her feelings and nearly gotten him killed? The memory of Villeroy’s invisible hands around Jeff’s throat made her nauseous, draping a dark sense of dread over her that their attempt to break the curse might rouse the French bastard. Earlier today, she had actually become caught up in the excitement of finding the ashes of her ancestors, but she couldn’t let herself believe they could break the curse. It was one thing to help Jeff. Another to let
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her guard down. As long as she kept her emotions in check, she could keep Villeroy unaware of what was going on. Feeling reassured, she had no trouble falling asleep. “You can’t hide. Look what you’ve done. Look.” She couldn’t tell where she was, but through the darkness, she could see Jeff. First his blue eyes, then his ghostly-pale face and finally his strong muscular body. A pair of hands were choking him. They squeezed harder, harder and he toppled to the ground. Crying out, Aubrey sat straight up in bed. Cold sweat slicked down her spine and she shoved her hair out of her face with unsteady hands. Trembling, she buried her head in her hands, taking deep breaths. “Aubrey.” Her head jerked up. A careful look around her moonlit room revealed no one was there. That nightmare must have really spooked her. “Aubrey.” Goosebumps broke out on her arms. “Who is it?” she demanded. There was no answer. Fear flashing through her, she slid out of bed and opened her door to peer down the darkened hallway. The voice wasn’t Jeff’s; he had left a couple of hours ago. Caution had her grabbing her cell phone and a flashlight before stepping out of her room. She passed her guest bedroom and a small bathroom before reaching the living room. There was no one in there. The kitchen, too, was empty. The entire house was quiet, shrouded with a heaviness that pressed in on her. Moonlight flowed through the large windows of the sunroom, gilding her paint tubes and the canvases. She started to turn, dismissing the voice as some part of her nightmare when a column of mist appeared in front of her eyes. Frozen to the spot, her heart hammered so loudly it echoed in her ears. Through the haze, Aubrey could see a face forming. The features were masculine, arrogant, and the man had a shock of silver hair. Dimly, she heard a loud thud and realized she had dropped the flashlight. The image in front of her wasn’t physical, yet she could feel energy pulsing from it. “It will never work, my dear. One way or another, your man is dead. You will suffer as I did when the woman I loved refused me.” Her breath lodged painfully in her chest. This hazy entity was Villeroy, just as she remembered from that night five years ago. His words looped through her brain, frightening her enough to charge to the wall and flip on the lights. The mist disappeared and she was alone again. After a long moment of internal debate, she picked up the flashlight and walked on shaky legs to the sunroom. Nothing had been disturbed. Had the whole thing been a dream? No. She was wide awake and had been since coming out of her bedroom. Gazing at the family photos on the mantel, sadness welled up at how alone the women in her family had been. A greasy knot formed in her stomach. She had admitted nothing to herself regarding her feelings for Jeff, but obviously Villeroy had picked up on something. If she continued spending time with Jeff, Villeroy would sense even more. She had to end it. Permanently.
***
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“What do you mean you’re not going?” Jeff demanded the next morning when he arrived to pick her up for their trip to find the flower. He should’ve stayed the night like he’d wanted to, but after that kiss, he hadn’t pressed his luck. “You damn sure are.” “I told you about that dream and what happened afterward with Villeroy.” “Don’t you think that could’ve been nerves?” “It felt real. He was real.” Scrubbing a hand down his face, Jeff held on to his temper. “But he didn’t threaten you?” “No, just warned me about what would happen.” “You’re skittish and you don’t believe we can break the curse anyway,” he rasped. “That’s why you’re trying to back out.” “I’m backing out because you could die!” He weighed his words. “We’re close, Aubrey. Closer than we’ve ever been. I know this will work. Can’t you trust me?” “It has nothing to do with trusting you. It has everything to do with what he did to you last time and what he’ll finish this time.” He understood she was frightened, but resentment he’d buried for years bubbled up. “So, you’re going to let Villeroy scare you off like before. Why am I not surprised?” Her eyes narrowed. “You blame me for walking away? It saved your life!” “I think you turned your back on us—on me—when you shouldn’t have. For a long time, I did blame you.” “You still do. It’s all over your face.” She was visibly shaking, her eyes flashing with anger and fear. “I had no idea you felt like this. I didn’t do it to hurt you.” “You gave up on us at the first sign of trouble.” “Trouble?” Her voice rose. “He almost killed you!” “I know that and it scared the hell out of me, but what I felt for you was strong enough to overcome that. He didn’t kill me and I saw that as a chance to beat him, to find a way out. You saw it as a chance to hide.” She paled, saying quietly, “That’s not fair.” The hurt that darkened her eyes made him feel like a total jackass. He walked over to her, reaching out. She sidestepped him and moved behind the couch. His gut twisted as it did every time he thought about spending his life without her. It took effort for him to gentle his voice. “I wanted to find a way for us to be together, but you were happy to walk away.” “Happy had nothing to do with it.” She wrapped her arms around her waist. “You think I gave up because I didn’t…care for you? Maybe you don’t remember how close you came to being murdered, but I do.” “Of course I remember.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “But you never even spoke to me after that. Never tried to find any answers.”
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Like he had been doing for five damn long years. “Maybe I should’ve accepted that night as the end, but I couldn’t. And I don’t now. You’re it for me, Aubrey.” He didn’t want to do things this way, but she was coming with him one way or another. “It doesn’t matter if you cooperate or not. As long as I have you with me, it will work.” “So, what are you going to do?” she scoffed. “Kidnap me?” “If I have to.” Her jaw dropped. “Give me a break.” “Your choice.” He walked up to her, towering over her. Those blue eyes shot fire at him. She ducked past him and went to the kitchen. “No.” “I’ll carry you out of here if I have to.” He followed her into the kitchen, planting himself at her back and trapping her between his rock-hard body and the counter. She stiffened. He was so close to her, he could smell her shampoo, and it had him gripping the counter’s edge so he wouldn’t put his hands on her. “I nearly died for you. The least you can do is help me try to help us. You owe it to both of us, Aubrey Lynn.” She bowed her head, saying after a long moment, “This could go so wrong.” “And it could go so right.” He closed his arms around her and pulled her against him, saying into her hair, “Even if you don’t believe it, can’t you trust me on this?” “All right, but I think this is a mistake.” She turned in his arms, tears glistening in her eyes. “My head is saying ‘walk away,’ but my heart won’t let me.” Holding her close, he took note of the fact that she didn’t say that their feelings were a mistake. “This will work. It will.” She stood stiffly against him, frustration scoring her words. “I wish I could believe that, even a little bit.”
Chapter Six If she thought too far ahead, she wouldn’t be able to do this. Minute by minute. That’s how she had to approach this. Aubrey couldn’t let go of what Jeff had said. He was right. She had allowed fear to stand in their way before. But he refused to let her do that this time. Rather than going directly to I-40 East as she expected, he drove to a familiar neighborhood. He parked in the driveway of a modest-sized, gray brick home. She looked over at him. “Why are we at your brother’s?” “Ben’s agreed to let us use his SUV. That way, we’ll be somewhat comfortable when we spend the night waiting on that flower.” Jeff picked up both his and Aubrey’s overnight bags and transferred them from his sedan to the other vehicle.
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Ben Wyrick walked out of the house with a smile. Like his brother, he was all hard muscle and sinew. The big man hugged her. “How’s my favorite accountant?” “Fine.” She hugged him in return. “Did he tell you about our ‘flower stakeout’?” He nodded. “And everything else. I’m a little surprised you’re going along with it.” “So am I,” she said wryly. “I’m not sure how this stuff works, but Jeff is so certain it will that he’s managed to make me a believer, too.” She followed Jeff’s movements as he returned to his car for his cell phone and sunglasses. Smiling up at his brother, she said, “Jeff told me you’d met someone.” “Yeah.” Ben grinned, blue eyes twinkling. “Too bad Cass isn’t here right now. You’d like her. She’s a firefighter.” “How did you meet her?” “I was investigating a suspicious blaze and she was one of the firefighters I interviewed. She’s gorgeous and smart and really good at her job.” “Wow.” The man looked absolutely besotted. Aubrey couldn’t help giving a delighted laugh. “I’ve never seen you like this before.” “I don’t think I’ve ever been like this.” He chuckled. Jeff walked over and tossed his sedan keys to his brother. Ben clapped him on the shoulder and gave Aubrey another hug. “Good luck and be careful. If I don’t hear from y’all, I’ll assume there’s a problem and I’ll come down.” “Thanks.” Jeff held open the passenger door and helped Aubrey inside. Several minutes later, they were headed for the interstate, but her mind was still on her earlier conversation with Jeff and the look on Ben’s face when he had mentioned breaking the curse. Here was a man who investigated fires for a living, who demanded proof for everything, and he had no problem believing Jeff. She shouldn’t either. She had let Jeff down—and herself—because of fear. They’d both survived that horrible night five years ago, but what had their lives been like? Separate, empty. And hadn’t she regretted more than once pushing him out of her life? It had been necessary. She still believed that. But maybe Jeff was right. Maybe this was a second chance for them. The last five years, she had been afraid to even think about him. She didn’t want to keep living like that. *** They checked into a cabin near Pine Creek Lake, about fifteen miles from Wheelock Academy’s campus in the lush and heavily timbered area of southeastern Oklahoma. Jeff had
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insisted that they share a cabin, and he claimed the sleeper sofa. Aubrey dropped her overnight bag in the bedroom. While he made some phone calls, she walked out onto a small back porch. Through the trees, now singed with the vibrant reds and oranges and yellows of fall, she could see the lake, sunlight glinting off the water. This wasn’t the same cabin where they had stayed before, but that didn’t stop the memories from rushing in. That night, they had taken a walk by the lake. Jeff had come prepared with a blanket and a bottle of wine so they could sit by the water. They’d started kissing and before Aubrey realized it, they were making love. That was when Jeff had told her he was in love with her. And she had said it right back. Seconds later, he began to choke and Aubrey saw the horrifying impression of hands around his throat. The man who had cursed her family materialized. Tall and rawboned, with a shock of silver hair and cold empty eyes, Villeroy had squeezed Jeff’s neck so hard his vocal cords had been permanently damaged. Villeroy hadn’t stopped until she had sworn she would send Jeff away and never contact him. He had warned that if she tried to be with Jeff again, Villeroy would feel their energy and he would kill Jeff. Aubrey’s chest tightened and dread snaked up her spine. Here they were, about to go back to that place. At least this time, they were aware Villeroy could show up. She hoped with everything in her that Jeff was right about breaking the curse. She felt him come up behind her, big warm hands closing over her shoulders as he bent to her. “Remembering?” “Yes.” Her throat was tight with it. “Me, too.” He pulled her back into him and she didn’t resist. “It will work,” he whispered against her hair. She didn’t say anything, just tightened her hold on his arms when he nuzzled her cheek. They had a few hours before dark, so they spent it at the lake finding the exact spot. They weren’t sure if they needed to be in the same place, but they wanted to be because it was special to them. An hour before sunset, they carefully placed the urn of ashes and the dream catcher into the SUV and drove to the Wheelock Academy grounds. Seven buildings remained, one a quaint white house named Leflore Hall that was now a museum. A nearby church and cemetery were also part of the compound. The Heart of the Moon grew at a spot between the church and cemetery, protected by a small fence and identified by a standing brass plaque. By nightfall, Jeff and Aubrey had the place to themselves. Jeff backed the SUV close to the edge of the cemetery. After laying down the middle seat, he and Aubrey climbed into the back. He leaned against the wheel well, his long legs easily stretching the distance to touch hers. They kept two of the windows slightly opened so they wouldn’t steam up from their body heat. There was a fall nip in the air and Aubrey shivered.
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“C’mere.” Jeff tugged her across the floor and into the vee of his legs, wrapping his arms around her. “You ever been out here on Hallowe’en?” “No.” His body was like a furnace and she burrowed into him. “Are you okay with spending the night?” “Yes.There’s no choice anyway, is there? We need to be here in case the flower blooms.” He rested his chin on her shoulder, his breath tickling her ear. “What was that story you told me when we were in the area before? That if you come to this cemetery during a full moon, blood will ooze from one of the headstones?” “It’s something I heard growing up from my cousins down here. On Hallowe’en, some people love to bring unsuspecting victims out here and tell them it’s haunted.” “You afraid of the ghosts?” Only the ones from our past. “I’m more afraid the flower won’t bloom in time.” If that didn’t happen before midnight tomorrow, they would have to wait another year. As time ticked by, they talked quietly. Warm now and more calm about doing what they were doing than she would’ve imagined, Aubrey shifted in Jeff’s arms. “I want to apologize.” “For what?” “What happened five years ago.” He stiffened. “Not this again.” “It’s not what you think. I’m not trying to back out again. It’s just that until today, I didn’t realize how much I hurt you. I thought I was protecting you.” He hugged her tight, his body hard and hot against her back, his heady male scent surrounding her. Reassuring her. “I really believed I was doing the right thing.” “I guess it was, back then. But not now.” “I know.” She turned her head and placed a kiss on his bicep. As unnerving as this was to her, it also felt right. Which made no sense, but neither did the rest of it. Here they were, waiting through the long hours of the night to see if a flower bloomed, but Aubrey wasn’t quitting this time. She repeated that to herself when dawn broke and the Heart of the Moon remained closed.
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Chapter Seven When they returned to the cabin after dawn, Jeff was antsy. One, because the flower hadn’t bloomed. Two, holding Aubrey all night without putting his hands on her the way he wanted had been hell. Hot, hard desire thrummed in his veins. He actually had to take a cold shower and he thought it had helped—until she took her turn in the bathroom. He paced the living room, his body heating up again as he imagined water flowing over her dewy honeyed skin, the full breasts he wanted against him, those leanly muscled legs wrapped around him. If he didn’t get out of here, he was going to join her in the shower. Dragging a hand across his nape, he stalked out to the back porch. He wanted her, didn’t think she would turn him away, but right now she had to be the one who decided if they went further than the kiss they’d shared at her house. But come midnight, all bets were off. After tomorrow they would spend the rest of their lives together and he was going to have her. When he heard the bedroom door close, he knew he should try to get some sleep and stop torturing himself with thoughts of them together. He stayed on the porch, hoping the chill in the air would cool his blood. “Jeff.” He turned, his body tightening at the sight of her in a pair of red pajamas with low-riding pants. Inky hair swirled around her shoulders. Her fresh scent drifted to him, tinged now with a light musky smell from the soap in the cabin’s bathroom. He crossed the porch, stepping back inside the cabin with her and locking the door. “Not sleepy?” She shook her head. “Me neither.” He thought about taking her hand and pulling her over to the couch, but he didn’t trust himself to stop there. “Are you hungry? I can get us some food.” “No, thanks.” “Want to watch TV or something?” “Or something,” she murmured, closing the distance between them. Surprised by her action, every cell in his body buzzed. “Aubrey?” Nerves shimmered in her eyes, but she didn’t look away. “The only thing in my head is you. Being with you.” Hell, yes. “Same for me.” She amazed him again by stepping close and sliding her arms around his neck. “I can’t stop thinking about how much time we’ve lost. Tonight might be it for us.”
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“After tonight, we’ll have forever.” Settling one hand at her waist, he threaded the fingers of his other hand through her hair. “We will break this thing.” “All we really have is right now and I don’t want to waste it.” Neither did he. He curled a hand around the back of her neck and pulled her to him, covering her mouth with his. After a long moment, he lifted his head and she took his hand in hers, leading him to the bedroom. They stopped next to a queen-sized bed covered in a homemade quilt. Jeff tugged her around to face him. “You sure about this?” “Absolutely.” Whatever happened tonight, she was going to have what her heart had denied wanting for so long. Him. Them. Kissing him again, her hands slid under his long-sleeved T-shirt to warm supple skin then traced around his waistband. She raked her nails lightly across his belly as he unbuttoned the front of her pajama top and curved his big hands around her breasts. She pushed his shirt up and he reached back, yanking it over his head. He lifted her, his mouth closing over her plump, perfect flesh. She folded her arms around his head, arching toward him as tears stung her eyes. Emotion built in her chest until she thought she might burst. Rasping her name, he skimmed his strong callused hands lightly down her body then back up. He was going so slow Aubrey wanted to scream with impatience. At the same time, she wanted to savor the rough velvet of his touch, the fiery glide of his mouth. This might be all they ever had. She wanted it to last. And judging by the slow reverent way he was touching every inch of her, he felt the same. He laid her on the bed and came over her. She kissed his chest, his shoulder, his neck, branding on her memory the feel of his skin, the smell of him, the leashed power in his body. He put his hands on her, in her, taking her to the edge twice before he pushed himself inside her. Blue eyes blazing down at her, he stroked her hair back from her face. “I love you, Aubrey Lynn.” Oh, how she wished she could say it back to him, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Instead, she showed him. *** They stayed in bed most of the day. Jeff half-expected Aubrey to balk again, but she didn’t. That night, they went back to the Wheelock campus. During the trip, she looked nervous, her gaze darting around as though searching for Villeroy. She and Jeff sat in the SUV as they had the night before, Aubrey in the vee of his legs as they watched and waited for the ghost-white flower to bloom. Neither of them said much, both very aware of what was riding on tonight.
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Cool night air swirled around them and she shivered against him. He rubbed her arms, wrapping his body around hers. He wanted to make plans for the future, but he knew she wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. The voices and laughter of trick-or-treaters drifted through the night as people raced past them to and from the cemetery. No one stayed for long, leaving with laughter and sometimes screams, probably caused by the jokers Aubrey had talked about. The minutes ticked by with no sign of the flower opening. “What time is it?” she asked quietly. He glanced at his watch. “About twenty minutes until midnight.” He suspected her nerves were frayed. His were starting to do that very thing. She shifted, laying her head back against his shoulder. “Where did you find the journal with all this information?” “Outside of Bordeaux, France.” “Who had it?” “It was on the grounds of the original Villeroy estate. I did a property search in the country for both ‘Ledoux’ and ‘Villeroy,’ and found the place. One of the outbuildings was being remodeled and the journal was discovered when a wall was torn down.” “It makes sense that the monster would hide it away where it would never be found.” “The people who now own the property wanted to sell the journal to me, but when I told them the story of the curse, they gave it to me instead. Thought it sounded romantic.” “That’s because they didn’t have to live it,” she muttered. Jeff squeezed her tight, nuzzling her cheek. Just as he started to bury his face in her hair, he caught a flash of something and tensed. “Look.” With the night pulsing around them, they watched as the flower began to open. They scrambled out of the SUV and rushed toward the plant. Once the bloom was completely open, they carefully cut the stem and placed the flower on a damp paper towel. Racing to Jeff’s vehicle, they sped to the lake. They gathered the flower, the urn and the dream catcher, and started for their spot, but when the place came into view, Aubrey stopped cold. In the moonlight, her skin looked waxy and Jeff’s chest tightened as he took her hand. “Thinking about what happened last time?” “Yes. The possibility that this might not work scares me to death.” She looked ready to run. He could feel her tremble, but he had no new words to encourage her. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “It’ll work, and I’ll give you a hard time about it until we’re old and gray.” She tried to muster up a smile. “You sound so sure.”
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“I am.” Now that they were here, he had a flash of doubt, but he quickly squelched it. He took the blanket and spread it on the ground. She carefully handed him the dream catcher, which he placed in the center of the blanket. He then opened the hourglass and emptied the ashes on top of the Native American charm. When he finished, Aubrey gently placed the Heart of the Moon bloom on the ashes. All that was left was to add their blood. According to the journal, the ritual was to be performed at midnight. With only seconds to go, Jeff opened a big pocket knife then turned his left palm up. He looked at her, his eyes so tender she felt tears gather in her own. “I love you, Aubrey Lynn.” He ran the blade across his palm. Moonlight and shadow mixed with the blood welling up from the cut. With his gaze on hers, he held his hand over the mound of items and squeezed. Droplets of blood fell on the flower, then the ashes. Aubrey swallowed hard as he passed her the knife. Feeling both hope and apprehension, she laid the blade on her palm. Looking into his eyes, she said the words she’d been afraid to even think for five years. “I love you, Jeff Wyrick.” She looked down, piercing her flesh with the blade. A choking sound had her head jerking up, and she cried out. Big, ghostly hands were clamped around Jeff’s throat, squeezing so hard the knuckles were white as bone. It was Villeroy.
Chapter Eight The silver-haired apparition sneered. “I thought you would’ve learned your lesson last time, Aubrey.” “Don’t kill him!” The knife slipped in her sweat-slicked palm. “Don’t!” “You know how to make me stop.” “Don’t listen, Aubrey,” Jeff choked out, clawing at Villeroy’s hands, twisting his body in an effort to free himself. “Keep your eyes on me, not him. Don’t stop.” The life was draining out of him and she considered dropping the knife. And then what? By confessing her feelings, she had probably already sealed Jeff’s fate. She couldn’t bear the thought. “You know this curse can’t be broken, girl,” Villeroy jeered. “You’re much too smart to believe that.” “If that’s true, then why are you trying to stop me?” Her voice was small, but challenging. He laughed, an ugly sharp sound in the stillness of the night. “Go ahead then.”
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She realized it didn’t matter if she believed any of this. Jeff did, and that was good enough for her. She wanted a life with him. “Aubrey,” Jeff rasped, his hands falling away from his throat. He went limp and Villeroy dropped him to the ground. She cried out. “It doesn’t matter now what you do. You’ve said the words. He’s dead.” “No.” She refused to believe that, though she was nearly paralyzed by the thought that telling Jeff she loved him had finally killed him. He had been willing to risk everything for her. She had to do the same for him. Locking her gaze on Jeff, praying he was still breathing, Aubrey slashed the knife across her palm. Biting back a cry at the stinging pain, she held her hand over the dream catcher and watched her blood mix with Jeff’s. The air thickened, seemed almost to move. She squeezed her hand hard to increase the blood flow. Villeroy screamed her name in fury and lunged toward her, distorting into a swirl of mist like what she’d seen at her house two nights ago. Keeping her gaze on Jeff, she repeated, “I love you,” over and over. Sweat slicked her palm, burning when it mingled with her blood. She couldn’t see through the dense haze. Time dragged, flaying her nerves. Finally, the heavy air lifted. From the corner of her eye, she saw Villeroy move and caught a spark of light. Gripping the knife, ready to kill him if she had to, she wheeled toward him. And stopped breathing. He was gone. Where he had stood was a pile of ashes. She looked down at the blanket. All that remained was the dream catcher and the Heart of the Moon, startlingly devoid of blood and still opened to full bloom. “Jeff, it worked! It worked!” She ran to him and knelt, cold fear burrowing in when he didn’t respond. “Jeff?” Using her uninjured hand, she lightly slapped his face. No response. He was as gray as the night and motionless. Fighting panic, she checked for a pulse at his artery. Getting none, she laid her head on his chest. When she couldn’t hear a heartbeat, she choked back a sob. The man she loved had broken the curse, but he was dead. Her heart felt as though it would burst. Tears blurring her vision, her fingers fluttered across his neck. “I love you. Don’t leave me.” Something brushed her hair. “Aubrey?” She gasped, jerking upright.
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Jeff blinked up at her, rasping, “Did it work? Where’s Villeroy?” “Yes, it worked!” She kissed him, tears of joy streaming down her face. He thumbed them away. She cupped his cheek and turned his head toward the blanket. “There’s Villeroy.” He frowned. “All I see is a pile of…dirt?” “It’s ashes.” Jeff’s gaze shot back to hers. “That’s Villeroy? What happened?” Gently stroking his throat, she told him all that she’d seen. Her heart clenched at the new bruises around his neck as she helped him sit up. “Are you okay?” “A little dizzy.” He pulled her into his lap and kissed her long and slow. “I love you.” “I love you, too.” Tears burned her eyes as she levered herself off his lap and helped him to his feet. “Let’s go home.” While Jeff scooped Villeroy’s ashes into the hourglass, Aubrey picked up the dream catcher and flower. Once in the car, Jeff suggested a stop at Father Brian’s. “For the last part of the ritual?” He squeezed her hand. “No, something I want to do for us.” Four hours later, after a stop at a hardware store, Jeff lifted up the stone marked with the xxiii. Aubrey placed the hourglass full of Villeroy’s ashes in the hole beneath. He worked the stone back into place then mortared it up using the small bag of concrete he’d bought. Jeff slid an arm around her. “He’ll never get out of there.” “Because of you. Everything is because of you.” She stared up at him, her heart clenching at the love in his eyes. “Thank you for not giving up. I’m so sorry I didn’t believe you.” “Sorry enough to make it up to me?” “That depends.” She slid him a look from under her lashes. “What do you want?” “I want you to marry me.” She threw her arms around his neck, saying against his lips, “Yes.” *** A short time later, he insisted on carrying her over the threshold into her house. “We aren’t married yet,” she laughingly protested.
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“Doesn’t hurt to practice.” He carried her inside and to the sofa, sitting down with her in his lap. “Besides, I don’t plan on letting go of you for a long time.” “I love you.” She would never get tired of saying it, of knowing she could say it any time she wanted. He nudged her head back, raking his teeth down her throat as his hands went to the buttons on her shirt. “Tell me again.” “I love—“ Something caught her eye and she popped up. “Oh, my gosh!” Jeff grabbed her waist. “Hey, you’re messing up my rhythm.” “Look, look!” He followed her gaze to the framed photographs of her mother and grandmother on the mantel. “What the—” Aubrey slipped off his lap and grabbed his hand, pulling him with her over to the fireplace. She turned to him with a blinding smile, her eyes glistening with tears. “Do you see?” “Unbelievable.” She reached out and touched the picture of her mother, then the one of her grandmother. They had been alone in those pictures for all of Aubrey’s life. Now they were joined by her father and grandfather. “It worked,” she whispered. “Even better than I could’ve imagined.” Jeff swept her up and carried her to the bedroom. Choking back a sob, she wrapped her arms tight around his neck. Her mother and grandmother were finally reunited with the men they loved. Aubrey wanted to think every Ledoux woman from the past was now with her true love, complete at last. Just like she would be with Jeff. The two of them, together. Forever.
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Husband Material by Melissa McClone Elaine Cooper owes a fortune in back taxes—a fortune she doesn’t have. Though each of her sons will receive a large inheritance on his wedding day according to the terms of her late husband’s will, Elaine would rather lose the family horse ranch than see these confirmed bachelors marry for anything other than true love. So she keeps her secret, even from her firstborn, a widower who’s recently returned to the ranch with his young son in tow. But Joe soon learns the truth, and though he’s already spent his own legacy caring for his dying wife, as the eldest Cooper son, he takes it upon himself to come up with the money—one way or another. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Elaine and Joe, the three younger Cooper boys—Max, Ryan and Sean—each receive a mysterious letter telling them to find wives fast…or risk seeing their mother out on the street! And with that, the race to the altar is on! Workaholic Max has put his personal life on hold while he pursues a career as a financial analyst. But his mother’s troubles have him on the fast-track to matrimony—that is, if he can find a wife! In desperation, he asks his trusted assistant, Kate, to turn him into husband material….
Chapter One "You are the only man I know who prefers a hard desk to a soft bed, Maxwell Cooper." Max didn`t stir. He didn`t raise his head or open his eyes. After racking his brain all night and failing to come up with a solution to his problem, he wasn`t ready to start the day, and he definitely wasn`t ready for an argument with his assistant, Kate Reynolds. But even with his eyes shut, it didn`t take much effort to imagine Kate adjusting her turquoise-rim glasses as she stood on the opposite side of his desk, her auburn hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. After six years of working together, he knew what to expect. Four, three, two, one… "This is the second night in a row you`ve slept in your office," she said. Kate sounded much older than twenty-eight, but everyone at Andersen Willett, an investment bank in downtown Manhattan, knew she was wise beyond her years. "And it`s only Wednesday," she continued. "Do you plan to make it three nights in a row? Or go all the way for five?" Max wouldn`t be able to put off today any longer. He opened his eyes, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his stiff neck. "I happen to like my office." On the sixty-fourth floor with a view of the Statue of Liberty, his office contained almost everything he needed for an overnight stay—toiletries and extra clothing. "The only thing missing is a pillow." He raised a brow. "Do you think you could pick one up for me when you drop off my dry cleaning?" She placed her hands on her hips—accentuating the generous curves usually hidden by her trademark boxy suit jackets. "Your work ethic is admirable, Maxwell, but you really need to get out of this office and get a life." Two of his ex-girlfriends, Julia St. Claire and Madeline Giles, had said something similar last night. Right after each had turned down his marriage proposal claiming he wasn`t husband material. Max had chalked
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Julia`s rejection up to her high-maintenance tendencies, but Madeline`s refusal two hours later had surprised him. She had always said she wanted a family. "I have a life." "You have a job. One you do very, very well." Kate stared at his cluttered desk. "But you spend more time at the office than anywhere else. Even when you`re away, your pager, cell phone and PDA keep you connected." "You make me sound like a workaholic." She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, not answering. Max valued and respected Kate`s opinion. She was a big reason for his success. She might be on the shy side when it came to social situations, but she had keen business insights. He didn`t know what he`d do if he ever lost her. Together they were working toward a goal—mahogany row, several floors above them where high-ranking executives had offices. "You really think I`m a workaholic?" "When you aren`t working, you`re thinking or talking about work." "My job is important to me." Growing up he`d worked to escape the confines of his small hometown in Virginia. Unlike his brothers, he never felt as if he fit in at his family`s Flying C horse ranch. Max had always had dreams of striking it rich and finding success in the city. Once he arrived at Andersen Willett, fresh-faced with his MBA, he knew he`d found where he belonged and set to work. That wasn`t being a workaholic. That was persevering toward a goal. "It takes hard work to succeed." "No one questions the amount of work you do or your success, Maxwell." He stared at his most recent award for being a top-rated financial analyst in the semiconductor industry. "I hear a `but` coming." "But there`s more to life than a job." His gaze met her clear, blue eyes. "You`re here almost as much as I am." "Someone has to look out for you." She looked away before he could respond. "Speaking of which, I`ll be right back." Kate stepped out of his office, returning moments later with a cup of coffee and a maple bar. The same breakfast he ate when he worked at the bank in his hometown during summer breaks. She placed them on his desk. "Breakfast is served." He sipped the hot coffee. Cappuccino. His favorite. Leave it to Kate. "I`m glad I have you to look out for me." She grinned. "How about a raise?" A smile tugged at Max`s lips. "How about half of my maple bar instead?" "I, um, have my own donut." "I thought you might, but I didn`t want to seem like an ungrateful boss," he admitted. Kate enjoyed food— especially chocolate. He liked that she wasn`t one of those women who constantly starved themselves to be rail thin. "Did you get one with sprinkles or nuts?" Pink tinged her cheeks. "Chocolate sprinkles."
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Max`s smile widened. Only Kate could make him feel like smiling when everything else was such a mess. And that gave him an idea. If anyone could solve his current dilemma, Kate could. What he wanted from her went beyond her job description, but her duties had expanded over the years to include personal errands, making dinner reservations for his dates and purchasing his gifts. This wasn`t that different. "Why don`t you close the door?" he suggested. Kate did and sat on the opposite side of his mahogany desk. He drummed his fingertips on his desk. "I need your help." She pulled out a small notebook from her jacket pocket. "What do you need?" "A wife." Her eyes widened. Her full lips parted. "Wait. I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning." Max didn`t want to blow this. The realization that he wasn`t the kind of man women wanted to marry stung, but he couldn`t let his ego get in the way. Not with so much at stake. He removed the mysterious letter from its envelope and handed it to her. "I received this in the mail yesterday. Read it." "Dear, Max…" Kate glanced up. "Max?" Maxwell sounded less country than plain old Max, even if it wasn’t technically his name. He gritted his teeth. "That`s what my family calls me back home." She continued reading. "Your mother doesn`t want to worry you or any of your brothers so please do not tell her about this letter, but I believe you should know the financial difficulties currently facing her. Over the years the Flying C has been assessed at the wrong tax rate. Back taxes of approximately $345,000 are due at the end of the month or the ranch will be sold. There is no way for your mother to come up with the money herself. She needs help. Your help. I urge you to fulfill the terms of your father`s will to receive your inheritance and save the ranch for your mother. Sincerely, a concerned friend." Kate handed him the letter. "Are you sure this isn`t some scam?" "I`m sure. I couldn`t reach any of my brothers, but I confirmed the information with my old boss at the bank. I can`t allow my mother to lose the ranch." “What about your brothers, can’t they help?" "Joe spent his inheritance on his late wife’s medical expenses and is living at the ranch now. Ryan is a cop and Sean is a cowboy on the rodeo circuit. None of them have that kind of money." Even with Max`s highpaying job, he didn’t have that kind of money, either. He tugged on his collar. "But my late father left each of us four-hundred-thousand dollars to be held in trust." Kate leaned forward. "That would cover the back taxes." "Yes, but a particular term needs to be met first, which is where you come in." "What term?" Kate asked. "I have to get married before I can claim my inheritance."
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"M-m-married?" He nodded. "It`s the only way to help my mother." "But you`ve never talked about marriage before." "I never really thought about it before," he admitted. "I`ve always assumed I would get married… someday. I`ll just have to move up my timetable a bit." She straightened and clasped her hands together. "And you want me…?" "I know this is asking a lot and goes beyond your job description, but I really need your help." He gave her an encouraging smile. "What do you say?" Kate took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Yes." Relief washed over him. "I knew I could count on you." "You can depend on me, Maxwell," she said with a curious intensity that warmed him and made him uncomfortable at the same time. "You can always depend on me." That was Kate—the best assistant in the world. Completely devoted to the job. To him. Max grinned. "So, you’ll be able to turn me into husband material and find me a wife in less than a month?"
Chapter Two Maxwell's smile crinkled the corners of his green eyes. "So, you’ll be able to turn me into husband material and find me a wife in less than a month?" For several seconds, Kate sat confused. She stared at him. At his stylishly cut brown hair all tousled and mussed from a night spent sleeping on his desk. At his handsome, smiling face waiting for her response. Realization hit. Hard. He wasn't asking her to be his wife. Maxwell wanted her to find him a wife. Her shoulders started to slump, but she straightened and pressed her lips together instead. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes narrowing with concern. No. She wasn't okay. She'd just had her hopes raised, her dreams dashed and her heart broken, all in the space of a few seconds. But instead of telling him the truth, she hid her feelings the way she always had. Kate blinked back the tears stinging her eyes and nodded. "Allergies. You know how New York is at this time of year." He nodded. "You can do it, right?" The last thing she wanted to do was turn Maxwell Cooper into husband material for another woman. Not when she'd been in love with him herself for…well, years. Meeting men in New York was difficult. She'd tried and failed. But working with Maxwell, she'd found the kind of man any woman would want—dedicated, honorable, appreciative. Not to mention drop-dead gorgeous. He liked her, respected her, depended on her. They'd been together for six years. How many of her friends could make the same claim about their boyfriends or significant others? Sure, he never seemed to notice she was anything more than his assistant, but she got to spend time with him and could dream of a happily-ever-after.
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But no longer. Now she truly would grow old alone. No doubt she would die in a dark, dank apartment with only eightyseven cats for friends and cupboards full of tapioca pudding. Of course she was allergic to cats and hated pudding, even the chocolate kind. "Kate?" His voice jolted her. "I, um, don't know how long it will take." Liar. Maxwell was already husband material. He only worked nonstop because he'd never found the right woman to make him want to forget the office. His heart-whole status had given her hope and fueled her fantasies about him. About them. "I have to be married by the end of the month or my mother will lose the ranch." He didn't want her. He didn't want marriage, not really. He wanted to help his mother. And though Kate respected his sense of responsibility, he was breaking her heart. "I know," she said. "I read the letter." "You will help me, won't you?" Just say no. She had agreed to be his wife, not find him one. Kate started to speak, and then stopped. What could she say? She'd never turned down one of his requests in the six years they'd worked together. "Something's wrong with me." The vulnerability in his voice squeezed her already aching heart. "I'm asking you to do the impossible, aren't I?" Yes, but not for the reasons he thought. Kate had devoted herself to him. Instead of accepting one of the better positions offered to her over the years, including a choice assignment with one of the company founders last week, she had remained Maxwell's faithful assistant. And for what? A few hours a day in his presence? And the chance he would return her love someday? Pathetic. She bit the inside of her mouth. "Not impossible," she said finally. "Unnecessary. Nothing's wrong with you." "Julia and Madeline would disagree," Maxwell said. "I'm the last man either would marry. Not even close to being husband material. At least that's what they said last night after I proposed." Kate gulped. "You proposed to…both of them?" "Not together," he explained. "Julia was available first. After she turned me down, I went over to Madeline's." The idea of Maxwell proposing was one thing, but knowing he'd already done so, twice, shattered Kate. The pain was jagged, raw. If one of his ex-girlfriends had accepted his proposal, would she have even known what was going on before it was too late? Too late for what, she wondered. "If dating Julia and Madeline didn't work out, how could a marriage?" Kate asked. Maxwell shrugged. "I figured they wouldn't mind if I wasn't around much." At least he hadn't mentioned love, but she needed to know even if knowing the answer would hurt. "So is this supposed to be a marriage in name only?” "I hadn't thought that far ahead," he admitted. "I'd rather not get a divorce." She tried to picture the woman he would marry. Surely not his overweight, plain-looking assistant or he would have proposed to her already. "So do you know what you want in a wife?"
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"I'm starting to think about it." He edged forward in his chair. "Do you have plans after work?" "No." Kate had no plans. She rarely did because she never knew if he wanted her to work late or not. "I mean, nothing important." "Then we can get started tonight. Dinner?" He assumed she would help, Kate realized, torn between indignation and despair. But why shouldn't he? She always had. She'd told him he could depend on her. She really couldn't go back on her word without explaining why. "I, um, guess so." "Great. I'm looking forward to seeing what you have to teach me." She hadn't had a date in years. She'd been too busy being there for Maxwell and loving him from afar. How was she supposed to teach him how to be husband material? "It should be interesting." He grinned. "I was an A student." "You were valedictorian." "Dedicated students R us." He winked. "I'm used to applying myself in any learning situation and doing my homework." Kate imagined the homework she wanted him to do. To her! Heat rose in her cheeks. She had to stop thinking about Maxwell like this. "You can make dinner reservations for us." He furrowed his brow. "You always do that." She wanted to hit him over the head—her sweet, yet clueless boss. Making reservations for his date du jour was one thing. No way was she going to do the same for the woman he would eventually marry. If he was serious about finding a wife—and she was horribly certain he was—it was time for Kate to retrain him and herself. No longer would she do anything and everything for him. "Husband material lesson number one— show the woman in your life that she's important enough for you to take the time to make plans yourself." Ever the eager student, he logged onto his computer. "I'll get right on it." "Great." But it wasn't, because all Maxwell needed to learn to be the perfect husband was to loosen up, stop working so hard and enjoy life. She could teach him that. Then he'd find his perfect woman, as thin and glamorous as Julia St. Claire and as eloquent and successful as Madeline Giles. And Kate would need to find another job. No way could she continue working for him and hear about his beautiful bride and happy marriage. She might be foolish because of her love for Maxwell, but she wasn't a masochist. "I'd better get to work. Work, work. Not finding you a—" She choked on the word. A wife. She rose, unsure how she would survive the day. Tonight. The rest of her life… "Kate?" Every instinct told her not to look back. She did, anyway. The gratitude reflected in Max's eyes made it difficult to breathe. No man had the right to affect her this way. Especially not her boss. "Thank you," he said, his appreciation as welcome as a co-worker's comment about her child-bearing hips. "I don't know what I would do without you." Unfortunately, Kate understood exactly how he felt. She didn't know what she was going to do without him in her life.
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Chapter Three Sitting with Maxwell at a candlelit table tucked away in the corner of a small but romantic restaurant, had been darn near perfect so far. It wasn't fair. Tonight’s dinner reaffirmed everything Kate knew in her heart to be true. She and Maxwell belonged together. Whether in the office or out of it, they were a seamless team— a perfect match. If only he saw it, too… His pager sounded. Again. A not-so-subtle reminder this wasn't a date but a lesson. Kate took a bite of her crème brulee. Maxwell glanced at the pager and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. The guy really didn't know how to act on a date. No wonder he could never keep a girlfriend for long. Not that she was his girlfriend or this was really a date, but she was still a woman and having dinner with him. Yet he treated her better at the office. As he started to dial, Kate snatched the phone from his hand. He stared at her. "I need to make a call." "You can wait until after dinner." "But—" "Husband-material lesson number two," she said. "It's rude and not at all husbandly to ignore your wife during dinner and make phone calls." "What if it's important?" "You said calls one through seven were important." His gaze shifted from his cell phone to her. "Do you care if I make another call?" "This isn't about me," Kate said, more for her benefit than his. "You asked me to turn you into husband material and that's what I'm trying to do. If you would rather I not—" "No. Please. Do whatever you need to do. I'm sorry." His sincere gaze made her feel tingly inside. "This is just going to be hard for me." Welcome to the club. "It'll get easier." At least, she hoped it would. "I’m sure it will, now that I have you." But he didn't have her. She sipped her ice water. Not the way she wanted him to have her. And worse, it was looking like he never would. *** Not returning calls during dinner last night had been difficult for Max, but he'd survived his lesson without any far-reaching consequences. This morning, however, was another story. In spite of what Kate said, a walk along a beach, on a Thursday no less, was not going to turn him into husband material. He wouldn't be a good provider if he let business languish, now, would he? But that's exactly what he was doing. Ignoring work. Quarterly earnings were about to be announced by several of the companies he covered. A presentation for institutional investors was due on Friday. Kate, of all people, should understand. But instead, she'd foiled every attempt he'd made to contact the office. "Could I at least have my phone back?"
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"No." She walked through the water, kicking at the waves like a little kid. She carried one shoe in each hand and had rolled up her jeans, but the water still drenched the hems. "I brought you to Long Island so you could get away from work." "I'm away from work." Far, far away. And hating every minute of it. Max stepped around a wave rolling to shore. He could only imagine what disaster needed his attention. He couldn't believe he had allowed Kate to take him away this morning when she'd shown up in tennis shoes, jeans and a T-shirt. "I really need to check my voice mail." She splashed him with her hands and he jumped back, just avoiding getting saltwater on his dry-clean-only pants. "Loosen up a little." "I'm loose. I ditched my tie, my shoes and my socks. See?" He raised them in the air. "I even had a beer at the clam bar. I never have a drink during lunch." "Maybe you should call Julia and Madeline and see if that's enough to change their minds about marrying you." He frowned. "That's not funny." "Come on." Kate splashed him again. "We have a reason for playing hooky. But instead of taking your husband lesson seriously, you're only proving you’re a workaholic. Have you even noticed where we are?" "We're at the beach." "It's not just the beach. Look at the blue sky with the white puffy clouds." She closed her eyes and stretched out her arms. "Smell the salt in the air. Feel the heat of the sand beneath your bare feet." Forget the beach. He wanted to watch her. Kate's well-worn jeans accentuated the curve of her hips. Her yellow T-shirt stretched tight across the front, hinting at the treasure that could be found underneath. But it was the carefree expression on her sun-pink smiling face that mesmerized him. "Forget about having an office on the sixty-fourth floor with a view," she said. "This is what life is about." She looked so relaxed, so free. Such a dichotomy from the woman he knew at the office. And he didn't like it. He didn't like thinking of Kate as anything but his hard-working assistant. Company policy frowned upon romantic relationships within departments and prohibited them between bosses and subordinates. He wasn't about to do anything that would cause him to lose her. Or jeopardize their careers. She opened her eyes. "Can't you at least try to have some fun? For your mother's sake?" He stopped staring at Kate, abruptly reminded of the reason for the excursion. This wasn't about him. This wasn't about Kate, as pretty as she looked with her fresh face and her windblown hair. He was here because of the Flying C ranch and his mother. Time was running out. He had to find a wife. So he tried. For the rest of the day, he didn't ask to call the office or to check his pager. He didn't worry about market fluctuations, quarterly earnings, economic forecasts and equipment orders. He concentrated on learning to be husband material. And somewhere between building a sand castle complete with a moat and eating a hot fudge sundae, he no longer had to try. The fun had sneaked in. When they returned to the city, he planned on grabbing a fast-food dinner and working at the office, but Kate's invitation for a homecooked meal had him sitting in her apartment instead. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had cooked for him. Unless he counted his mother. "Dinner was great." He wiped his hands with his napkin. "Thanks."
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"You're welcome." "Not even my mom makes meatloaf like that," he said. Kate was as efficient and talented in the kitchen as she was in the office. "And those chocolate chip cookies melted in my mouth." "Comfort food is my specialty." She smiled wryly. "I guess you can tell." Was she actually concerned about her weight? She looked fine to him. Better than fine. "Well, I'll take your comfort anytime." He realized how that must have sounded. Not good. He couldn't allow a hint of impropriety. "I mean, food. Comfort food." She smiled. "Anytime." Max wanted to take her up on the offer. This new side intrigued him. After working together for so long, he thought he knew everything about Kate Reynolds. He'd been wrong. She was dependable, hardworking, had an eye for detail and could handle any client who called. But today he'd learned she was also funny, adventurous, didn't mind getting her hands dirty and an amazing cook. Those turquoise glasses of hers finally made sense, too. She clasped her hands together the way she always did at the office. "Do you have any questions?" "Questions?" "About today," she explained. "How to enjoy the moment and not worry about what's waiting for you at the office or who left a message on your voice mail." He'd forgotten today was a husband-material lesson. Funny, but it felt more like a…date. The thought gave him a start. He'd never thought about Kate as anything more than his assistant. Doing so would be…wrong. "I stopped thinking about work today and had fun if that's what you want to know." He expected her to reward him with one of her light-up-her-face smiles, but the corners of her mouth barely curved. "Will I find you asleep at your desk tomorrow morning?" Going into the office tonight seemed less important. He'd rather stay here. Max glanced at the clock. Ten. Where had the time gone? He rose from the table. "The only place I'm going is home." His apartment was bigger than Kate's with brand-new leather furniture and an amazing stereo system and a state-of-the-art flat panel screen TV. But he was rarely there. And now he realized why. His apartment was a place to store his stuff and sleep. Kate's apartment was a home. The feminine and cheery décor was as welcoming as its owner. Everywhere, he caught glimpses of her—from the multicolored wood frames surrounding family photos to the yellow, green and orange plaid and striped pillows on the comfortable couch. Even the floral scent from a bowl of potpourri seemed to say Kate. She stood. "You deserve a good night's sleep in your own bed." What about her bed? Max wasn't sure where the thought had come from—probably all the earlier musing about her apartment furnishings, but still… What was he thinking? This was Kate. Not some woman he met in a bar or at a meeting or… "Do you want to call a cab?" she asked. "It's not that late." He was still coping with the realization that he had thought about taking Kate—Kate his assistant, super-efficient, helpful Kate—to bed. Not that he would…
Chapter Four
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Kate opened the door of her apartment. "I had fun today." Max realized she was showing him out. It was ten o'clock and time to go home. All he had to do was say goodnight and be done with it. That was the logical thing to do. But he didn't want to say anything. He wanted to kiss her instead. He couldn't. This was Kate. Sure, he'd always found her attractive in a girl-next-door-best-friend kind of way. But she was directly under his supervision. That meant untouchable. A kiss would be unethical. Against the rules. A way to lose her. Kissing her was definitely not an option. "Maxwell?" But the way she said his name and glanced at him through her eyelashes made him want to exercise that option anyway. How come he'd never noticed how pretty she was before? Or that her eyes were the color of the sky at the beach? Or that she seemed to be waiting for him to do…something? He felt himself drawn to Kate, to her full, oh-so-kissable lips… Say good-night before you do something you'll regret, he thought. He'd asked for her help to find a wife. He couldn’t repay her by hitting on her. But there was more to it than that. Think. Andersen Willett Employee Code of Conduct. Think. Managerial Training and Avoiding Sexual Harassment in the Workplace Training. Think. Lawsuit. It wasn't worth the risk. Not for either one of them. Max straightened. "Good night." She bit her lip. "Do you want to have another lesson tomorrow after work?" Spending more time with her was the first thing he wanted to do, but the last thing he should do. Still, he couldn’t forget about his mother and the Flying C. He'd just have to be careful around Kate. "Sure." "Great." She smiled. "I'll see you in the morning, then." "In the morning," he echoed. Not only would he spend the day with her at the office, but the evening, too. He would have to be extra careful around her. Too much was at stake to allow this sudden attraction to get in the way. He'd never had trouble getting his thoughts and feelings under control before. And now, with the ranch on the line, Max had more reason than ever to concentrate on the job at hand. He couldn't think about kissing Kate. He had to focus on the business of getting a wife. What had Kate said? He needed to loosen up, relax, have fun. He had had fun today. A lot of fun. But how come he felt anything but relaxed right now? * * * As Kate strolled down the hallway at work early Friday morning, she fought the urge to skip. Even though she hadn’t slept much last night, she hadn't felt this good in…well, ever. Yesterday with Max had been the best day of her life. And had changed everything. Depositing her bag and picnic basket under the desk, she glanced at Maxwell's office. The door was ajar and he bent over his desk. At least he didn't look as if he'd spent another night there. That was a step in the right direction. And she hoped the dinner she'd stayed up preparing until the wee hours of the morning would be another. She straightened her ponytail and smoothed her navy skirt. "Good morning, Maxwell." He was at her desk before she had time to sit down. Strange, but he usually waited for her to come to him. Maybe things would change between them at the office, too. A warm glow flowed through her. "I'm so glad you're here early," he said. She hadn't mistaken the desire in Maxwell's eyes before he'd said goodbye. The bud of hope she'd clung to through the night blossomed. She might have a few—okay, more than a few—pounds to lose, but she was attractive, intelligent, a great cook and loved Maxwell Cooper with all her heart. What more could he want in a woman? Or a wife? He had to marry someone. Why not her? Kate smiled. "I'm glad you're glad."
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She waited for him to say something about the wonderful time he'd had yesterday or notice she wore her best suit or ask about the plans for tonight. "I need a presentation typed up by eight, a breakdown of the latest orders by nine and the letters in this morning's mail," he said instead. Ignoring the twinge of disappointment, Kate nudged the picnic basket farther under her desk to keep tonight's dinner plans a secret. Time to work, not play. "No problem." "This is for the presentation," he said. "The files are on the server." As he handed her a two-inch thick manila folder, his fingers brushed her hand. Tingles shot up her arm and she sucked in a breath. Maxwell's startled gaze met hers. "Sorry." Had he felt it, too? Her pulse quickened at the thought. "It's okay.” He cleared his throat. "About tonight…" The thought of the two of them having a picnic sent a pleasurable shiver down her spine. "Yes?" He shifted his weight. "We've got so much to do, I doubt we'll make it out of here in time for dinner." Her heart jolted. "I don't mind eating late." "I'm sorry, Kate." He set his jaw. "It's just not going to work out." Normally, she would have just nodded and said okay, but not today. Things had changed between them. She wasn't about to go backward. Kate met his gaze directly. "You need to eat dinner." "I'll be fine," he said. "You can order takeout for yourself." She didn't need to order anything. She had an entire meal packed in the basket at her feet, but a picnic in the office didn't sound as romantic as one in the Hudson River Park. "I made dinner. For us." A vein in his neck flicked. "I didn't know." "It was going to be a surprise." A beat passed. "What did you make?" "Fried chicken. My grandmother's secret recipe," she added. "But I can order takeout for you." "No," he replied quickly. "I mean, you went to all that trouble. The least I can do is eat it." For once, Kate held the upper hand where Maxwell was concerned. She liked how it felt. "What about our lesson tonight?" His mouth narrowed. "I don't—" "I baked chocolate cupcakes for dessert." The interest gleaming in Maxwell's eyes gave her the impetus to take a chance. She adjusted her glasses. "What if I let you eat my home-cooked dinner if you let me give you a lesson after work?" His lips parted, then a slow smile spread over his face. "I never thought you were capable of blackmail, Kate." She tilted her chin. "I'm capable of quite a lot." "I'm learning that." Her confidence soared. "Is that a yes?"
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"Yes." He raised an inquisitive brow. "I can't wait to see what else you've got up your sleeve." Neither could Kate. All she needed was the opportunity. And the courage.
Chapter Five "Dinner was delicious." As they walked through the park that ran from Chelsea Piers down to Battery Park, the temperature hot and the air humid, Maxwell rolled up his sleeves. "So what's my lesson for today?" Oh, no. Kate forced her feet to keep moving. She hadn't planned a lesson; she had planned a date. "Kate?" "Look around you," she said, trying to think of something, anything. People were out and about enjoying the Hudson River Park before the sun went down. Jogging, walking hand-in-hand, pushing high-tech strollers. At the sight of a man, woman and baby, an ache started in Kate's stomach and pulsated outwards. That's what she wanted—a family of her own. She glanced at Maxwell. "If you were out with your wife, what would you be doing?" His forehead creased. "Talking like this isn't enough?" "No, it's fine, but are there any little things you could do to make the time together more…" "Fun?" he suggested. "Memorable? Romantic?" "All of the above." "Do you want me to tell you or show you?" he asked. Oh, my gosh. Is he going to hold my hand? She wet her lips. "Either." "How about both?" He grinned. "An A student. Remember?" She nodded as they strolled past an ice-cream vendor. "Let's see." He picked a dandelion from the grass. "I'd start with something a little silly like this." He held the flower under Kate's chin. "Does she love me?" The air whooshed from her lungs. She knew this wasn't for real, but still… Maxwell studied it closely. "Very interesting." She swallowed. "W-w-what does it say?" "Only that you like butter." Kate grinned. "Actually, I love butter." And you. Maxwell handed her the dandelion. "Your turn." She held the flower under his chin. As a yellow spot reflected on his skin, the warmth of his breath caressed her hand. She glanced up at him. The tenderness of his gaze made her want to stay like this forever. "So do I or don't I?" he asked finally. "You do." Her voice sounded strange, husky. She waited for him to look away. He didn't. This was her chance to show Maxwell what she really wanted. Still she hesitated. Scared. Excited. Unsure. Do it now. Before it's too late, she thought. She had nothing to lose. Except his respect, her job, her heart. Kate inhaled sharply and kissed him. On the lips. The moment her mouth touched Maxwell's, he tensed. Mortified, she drew back. But he reached for her, pulled her toward him and kissed her back. Hot, moist, male. As his arms encircled her, his mouth pressed against hers with an urgency she had only dreamed about.
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Wow! Double wow!! She couldn't believe this was happening. Her knees trembled and she splayed her hands on his back, the ridges of muscles beneath her palms. For years she'd imagined Maxwell's kisses, but nothing could have prepared her for the real thing. More satisfying than fried chicken, more tempting than chocolate cupcakes. Her heart fluttered. Her pulse skittered. Sensations rippled. Heat pooled. Kate felt as if she'd just begun to feel, to see, to live. Angling his head, he deepened the kiss. A kiss that hinted of things to come. Kate couldn't wait. She leaned into him, wanting more, so much more… * * * Nothing had prepared Max for the power and passion of Kate's kiss. The world around them stopped: children playing in the park, boats sailing on the Hudson, traffic rumbling on the west side highway. It was only the two of them touching, exploring, kissing. Returning her kiss broke every rule in the book. Stopping was the only thing that made sense. But the moment Kate's lips had touched his, Max's common sense had disappeared faster than shares of a hot IPO. She wove her fingertips through his hair and showered kisses along his jawline. He wanted—no, needed— another taste of her. Cupping the back of her head with his hand, he reclaimed her lips. Sweet-oh-so-sweet. Kate pressed her lips against his with an urgency and hunger that matched his own. A moan escaped her lips. The sound sent his already heated blood roaring. What little control he had slipped another notch. Something nudged between them. Something hard. "Max?" Kate muttered, not removing her lips from his. He glanced down. A dog, a yellow Labrador, tried to separate them with its nose. Talk about bad timing. Max pulled away from Kate. An elderly couple hurried up and pulled the dog's leash tighter. The old man, wearing a Yankees cap and Mets T-shirt, smiled. "I'm sorry. Trixie always gets jealous when she sees me kissing the missus like that." "Stop telling tales." The white-haired woman with rosy cheeks swatted his thin arm. "I told you to keep that dog of yours on a shorter leash." "Sixty years of marriage and she's still telling me what to do." The man laughed. "We'll be on our way. You two get back to what you were doing." That sounded good to Max. No, not good. Not good at all. He stared at Kate. Wide-eyed, flushed cheeks and swollen lips, she looked utterly and thoroughly kissed. He was a jerk. He brushed his hand through his hair. This was Kate. Kate Reynolds. His assistant extraordinaire. One of the main reasons for his success at Andersen Willett. Too valuable to risk losing. Too sweet to risk hurting. Yet he'd just crossed the line. Who was he kidding? He'd jumped ten feet over the line without a second thought. He stepped back. "I shouldn't have done that." "I'm the one who kissed you." She had. Why had she? Her reasons didn't matter. He was responsible for letting things get out of hand. "But I kissed you back," he said. "And I'm…I’m your boss." She pursed her lips. "I'm not planning to run straight to Human Resources if that's what you're worried about." "It's not just that," he admitted. "You are important to me. I wouldn't want our kissing to interfere with our ability to work together." Kate drew her brows together. "You're concerned about our working relationship?" Of course he was.
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"You’re my assistant, Kate. The best I've ever had." His gaze implored her. "I wouldn't want to do anything to screw that up." She stared at the ground. "And the kiss…" "Was my mistake," he said firmly. Even though it had felt so right, so…perfect. Whether Kate complained to HR or not, Max knew hitting on his assistant—his young, single, beautiful assistant who cooked like an angel and kissed like a dream—was just plain wrong. An abuse of his power and her trust. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again." "I'm sorry, too." Because she'd kissed him? Or because it could never happen again? Max pulled himself together. He couldn't go there. He was her boss. He had to do the right thing—the only thing—for both their sakes. *** The kiss wasn't a mistake. Maxwell could lie to himself, but he couldn’t fool Kate. And if he believed he didn't need any husband-material lessons this weekend, so be it. Sooner or later, he'd figure out what was really important in life. With or without her help. She was finished trying to anticipate his every need. She had her own needs to worry about. By Saturday morning, things had become much clearer. Kate was happy she'd gone after what she wanted. She had no regrets about that impulsive kiss in the park. She probably should have done it a long time ago, but no going back. From now on, she was only looking forward. Looking and moving forward. Kate stared at the work clothes strewn over her bed. Beige, navy, black. Every neutral piece mixed and matched. Talk about boring. No bright colors, no originality, nothing that said Kate. Picking up a boxy navy jacket, she sighed. Sensible and professional. The cut hid those extra pounds when her weight fluctuated and was easy to wear. Just like her ponytail. She tossed the jacket on the bed and removed the rubber band. Hair cascaded past her shoulders. She had accused Maxwell of having no life, but she was just as guilty. Kate had been too busy working and building his career and loving him from afar to do anything for herself. She' become what she thought he needed and wanted her to be—an efficient, sensible, hardworking assistant. Only here, in her apartment, could she be herself. But no longer. Kate owed that to herself. Walking out of her bedroom, she stopped at the doorway and glanced back. It was time to say goodbye. It was time to show everyone at Andersen Willett the real Kate. It was time…to go shopping.
Chapter Six Over the weekend, Max reviewed his husband-material lessons. Time was running out for the Flying C ranch and his mother. Unfortunately, this latest development with Kate only complicated matters. He still couldn't stop thinking about her and their kiss. More than once he picked up the telephone, but hung up before dialing her number. Kate hadn't agreed with his canceling the husband-material lessons for this weekend, but he knew they needed distance. He couldn't put them in another potentially romantic position. The consequences were too great. Plus, Max had to find a wife. Without Kate's assistance. Monday morning, he was ready to face whatever challenge arose. With the determination of a warrior intent on the enemy's front line, he attacked the contents of his inbox. "Good morning, Maxwell." He glanced up from a financial report and did a double take at the beautiful woman in a lime green fitted jacket and short skirt. The style flattered her hourglass shape, taking advantage of her voluptuous curves and full breasts, and showed a lot of skin. He'd never seen so much of her legs before. "Kate?" As she walked toward him, Max noticed the way she jiggled. He squirmed in his chair and glanced at her feet. New shoes—high-heeled pumps that showed off her long legs—had replaced her sensible flat ones.
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"Did you have a nice weekend?" she asked with a polite smile. She acted as if today was no different than any other day. But it was. She was. He forced his gaze away before he started to drool. Max cleared his throat. "Yes. Did you go…shopping?" As she nodded, her pasther-shoulder-length strands of auburn hair shimmered. Soft hair meant for running fingers through. "And your hair?" "I decided to try something new." She tilted her chin. "Do you like it?" Like didn't begin to describe what he thought. He swallowed. Hard. But then he remembered her wind-blown ponytail and how the escaped tendrils had framed her face when they were at the beach. "Yes, but I like your ponytails, too." She studied him for a moment, then placed a folder on top of his inbox. "I have your travel plans for SEMICON West." He caught a whiff of something exotic. Not her normal flowery scent. What was going on? Not that it mattered. His thoughts about her were inappropriate. He had to stop. Now. "Thanks." She smiled. "I forwarded you links to some articles you'll want to read." "Okay." Something else was different about her. Her eyes. Same sky blue, but they stood out more. Makeup, he realized, but it wasn't just that. "What happened to your glasses?" "I've had contacts for ages, but never wear them at work." Max missed her turquoise frames. He missed her. Sure Kate-the-sexy-chick was hot, but so was Kate-his-fresh-faced-assistant. The realization made him feel even more unsettled. He didn't want to think of Kate as hot or even a woman, just his assistant. The way it had been before. "Why?" She stared at him, a smile on her lips and a challenge in her eyes. "I thought it was time." "Time for what?" Her smile tightened. "A change." "You don't need to change. You're…" Perfect, he thought. "Fine the way you are. Were." "Maybe 'fine' isn't good enough." She placed his schedule for the day on his desk. "Maybe I want to show more of the real me." "The real you is inside." He'd discovered it for himself over the past week. "It's always been inside you, Kate." "Well, now it's time for it to come out." She motioned to his schedule. "You have lunch with a reporter from the Financial Times, a presentation at two and the monthly staff meeting at four-thirty. Your computer will remind you." Thorough as always. She was still his Kate. Correction, his assistant Kate. "Do you have anything for me?" she asked. Oh, yeah. Stop before it's too late. Max wet his lips. He still felt the effects of their kiss, and now he was feeling the effects of her. Time to put an end to his husband-material lessons and get their relationship back to the comfortable place it had once been. "Why don't you sit?" She did and readied her pen and notebook. "What's up?" Her skirt, that's what. The hem inched up her thighs. Not all the willpower in the world could keep him from looking at that peek of thigh. He wanted to tell her something, but couldn't remember what. "Maxwell?" Closing his eyes, he rubbed his forehead to keep a headache from exploding. "Are you okay?" The tender concern in her voice tugged at his heart.
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Heart tugging was not allowed. He opened his eyes and squared his shoulders. "Let's do this later. I just remembered I have a conference call." "It's not on your schedule." "It just came up." She rose. "Later, then." As she walked out of his office, the sway of her hips hypnotized him. Get a grip, Cooper. Max glanced at the digital stock ticker scrolling by on his monitor, but he couldn't comprehend a symbol or number. All he could see was Kate. Beautiful, sexy Kate. Pretty, sweet Kate. He wanted them both. Trouble, big trouble. Max owed it to his mother and to the Flying C ranch not to do anything stupid, but most especially he owed it to Kate. She deserved so much more than he could give her. *** Kate expected some reaction from her co-workers about her new look, but their positive responses overwhelmed her. She wasn’t used to so much attention and had forced herself to just say thank-you and not blush when anyone complimented her. Including Maxwell. She smiled. He liked the new her, but he still liked the old her, too. The real you is inside. It's always been inside you, Kate. His sincere words had wrapped around her like her grandmother's quilt. Yes, he had his priorities mixed up, but she'd always known there was something special about him. This past week had proved it. Her love for him had grown from what she now recognized as a crush and hero worship to something stronger, more real. If only things could be different for them…. The telephone rang. Her extension, not Maxwell's. "Kate Reynolds." "Good morning, Kate," a man's deep and cheerful voice bellowed through the receiver. "It's Connor Andersen." He was a company cofounder who had offered her a job two weeks ago. A position she'd turned down. "Mr. Andersen." Kate's heart hammered against her chest, but she managed to keep her voice calm. "What can I do for you?" "I'd like to see you in my office this afternoon at two-thirty." "Okay." But it wasn't. Not by a long shot. Was Mr. Andersen upset over her not taking the job? Had someone seen her kiss Maxwell in the park? Was she going to be reprimanded? Or fired? Was he? Suddenly, a new her had a totally different meaning. One not so appealing. Kate gulped. "Would you mind telling me what this regards, Mr. Andersen?" "It's Connor," he said. "I respect your loyalty to Cooper, but I still want you to be my executive assistant, Kate. Is that what you need to know?" Not fired. Good. She blew out a puff of air. "Yes." "Right to the point. I like that about you," Connor said. "Just so you know what you're walking into, I'm not going to make it easy for you to say no this time." Did she want to say no again? Did she want to turn down a high-profile promotion to look after Maxwell while he looked for a wife? No. She deserved more. But this change was more serious than shortening her skirt or letting her hair down. And, Kate realized, she was more than up for it. Anticipation rippled through her. "I'm looking forward to it, Connor."
Chapter Seven At three o'clock, Max followed two of the company's newest fund managers out of the meeting room. As they neared mahogany row—where the founders, general partners and managing directors had offices—one
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manager elbowed the other. "I'd like a piece of that," Scott Parsons muttered under his breath. Max couldn't see who he meant, but the guy's suggestive tone spelled trouble. Not to mention a total disregard for company policy, a lack of respect for co-workers and unacceptable behavior from someone in his position. "You want to share?" Eric Richardson asked. Scott laughed. "You think there's enough for both of us?" Curiosity got the better of Max. He glanced over their heads and saw Kate with her back to them. They were talking about Kate. His Kate. His temperature shot up. His blood pressure spiraled. Muscles bunched and knotted. A protective instinct roared to life. He wanted to punch someone—two someones. Don't lose control, Cooper. She's worth it, but they aren't. Max took a deep breath, three actually. "I don't know what the corporate environment was like where you came from, but here at Andersen Willet, we respect employees like my hardworking, brilliant assistant over there." He pushed his way between the two pea brains and strode toward Kate. She spoke with a very pregnant, very glowing Danielle Freed, the executive assistant to Connor Andersen. Max waited for Kate to notice him. She didn't. Funny, but she was normally so attuned to him. "Kate," he said finally. She straightened and turned. "What are you doing here?" "The presentation, remember?" "Oh, yeah," she sounded preoccupied. "That graph you added at the last minute was a huge hit." He smiled. "Made several of the higher-ups take notice." The corners of her mouth lifted. "Good for you." "Are you heading down?" "Yes." She waved the folder in her hand at Danielle. "I'll talk to you later." "One day we'll be working up here," he whispered, walking Kate to the elevator. "An office on mahogany row. Can you imagine?" She nodded. "Maxwell, we need to talk." "I know." This wasn't the best time or place, but he wanted to get it over with. Inside the elevator, he pressed the button for their floor and the doors closed. "I wanted to tell you that I've been reviewing my husband-material notes." "You took notes?" "A student, remember?" Max expected a smile. He didn’t get one. The muscles in his shoulders tensed. She watched the floor numbers decrease. "It's not so clear-cut." "True, but I'm finished with the lessons." He needed to save the Flying C ranch, but he also needed to stop these crazy feelings about Kate. As soon as he got married, things between them would return to normal. They had to, right? "It's time to find a wife." The corners of her mouth tightened. "You need to find her yourself." "I know, and I've already started," he explained. "I created a spreadsheet with information about each wife candidate to make sure I choose the correct one."
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"Oh, Maxwell." Kate sighed. "You're one of the best analysts on Wall Street, but you don't have a clue unless it relates to economics, the Dow or NASDAQ." He drew his brows together. "What do you mean?" "You research information to rate a company's stock performance—buy, sell, hold and all the variations inbetween—but you can't use the same process to pick a wife." She bit her lip. "What are you going to do? Downgrade each of the women on your list until only one is left?" Her words ripped his logically conceived method in two. He raised his chin. "That was the plan." The elevator stopped, the doors opened, but no one stepped inside. The doors closed. "A wife is not a commodity," Kate said. "She's the woman who will wake up next to you every morning, who will be the mother of your children, who will grow old with you." "I understand that, but I have to be realistic." Max shifted his weight uneasily. "I'm not looking for true love. Just someone I can grow to love over time." "No." Kate's lower lip trembled. "You have to follow your heart, not pick out a wife as if you were buying a new car and hope it's what you need over the long haul." "Desperate times call for desperate measures." "This shouldn't be a desperate choice, Maxwell." Sweat broke out on his forehead. He couldn't allow his mother to lose the ranch, but what would be the price he paid? Spending time with Kate had given him a glimpse into what a couple—what a husband and wife— could have together. Yet finding that with someone took time. Something he didn't have. "What do you suggest?" A beat passed. And another. Kate flipped her hair behind her shoulder and stared into his eyes. "Marry me." The air whooshed from his lungs. Her proposal was an invitation into Heaven and a ticket straight to Hell. He stared at her. Stunned. Grateful. Confused. The elevator stopped on another floor. The doors opened and three people entered, talking about a hit reality TV show. He felt as if his chest might explode. Who cared what bozo was going to be kicked off the show when the most important person in his life had just proposed. Marry me. Was she serious? No, she had to be kidding. But the way her gaze held his, he wondered. Marry me. Kate would be a great wife. He knew that with pulse-pounding certainty. She was caring, nurturing and an amazing kisser. She took care of everything and made life easy for him. Time after time, she'd worked to make him shine in the spotlight not wanting any credit except a simple thank-you. If he hadn't known what he wanted in a wife before, he knew now. Marry Kate? She was willing to sacrifice so much in order to marry him. But Max couldn't ask her to do that. He wasn't husband material. She deserved an equal in the area of romance and relationships. He also knew how focused she was on her career—all those late nights and weekends. She thrived at work as much as he did. Sure, she could find another position, but he couldn’t ask her to do that. He didn't want to. Selfish as it might be, he needed her in his office, not in his bed. Though, he had to admit, that was an appealing thought, but not enough for him to want another assistant. Surely she would understand. The elevator stopped and the trio exited.
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"So what do you say?" she asked him once the elevator doors closed. "Will you marry me?" Her lighthearted tone contradicted the anticipation in her eyes. Emotion, an unfamiliar mix of regret and guilt, clogged his throat. He was doing the right thing, the only thing. "I'm flattered, Kate. Any man would be. But you deserve better than a guy like me." "Isn't that for me to decide?" "You're too valuable to me," he countered. "If we got married, you couldn't be my assistant." "So I'm too valuable in the office," she said carefully. "That's it, right?" The disappointment in her voice hit harder than a thousand-point drop in the Dow. Max hadn't wanted to hurt her, but he wasn't going to lie either. "Yes." "You are not an A student, Maxwell." Anger flared in her eyes. She grabbed a pen from her notebook and scribbled a giant F across his piece of paper and shoved it at him. "You failed your husband-material lessons. Miserably." "You're important to me, Kate," he said. "I’m not going to let you throw away your career for me." "It's a job, Maxwell, my job." She pursed her lips. "Nothing else." "It's more than that, Kate." He wanted to convince her, needed her to agree with him so the gnawing anxiety in his gut would disappear. "We're in this together. You and me. I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you." She tilted her chin. "You'd better figure it out because I'm no longer your assistant." "No. You can't quit." His mind reeled. His stomach clenched. Max had never considered the possibility that Kate would leave him. "What will you do? Where will you go?" "Mahogany row," she said. "I'm Connor Andersen's new executive assistant."
Chapter Eight The pained expression on Maxwell's face made Kate turn away from him. Nothing had worked out the way she'd planned—not telling him about her new job, not her well-intentioned, woefully misbegotten proposal. She'd only ended up hurting him and being hurt herself. Kate grimaced. They needed to talk, but not here. She walked toward her desk. Maxwell didn't want her help, not when it came to his personal life. He wanted her to be his assistant, period. She had resigned herself to it this past weekend. Today she had accepted it. A good thing, too. He'd been correct about one thing. She deserved better than a guy like him. A week ago she might have been satisfied marrying him to help save his mother's ranch and not care if he loved her, but no longer. Kate knew what she wanted—true love, requited love and a happily-ever-after. She wasn't about to settle for anything less, not with Maxwell or any other man. At her desk, she turned to face him, but he wasn't there. Maxwell hadn’t followed her back. Her chest tightened. Where could he be? *** What was he going to do without Kate? Max stood frozen in the elevator. He couldn't move his feet, couldn't do anything but watch her walk away as the doors closed. He exited at the next stop.
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I'm Connor Andersen's new executive assistant. Kate's words reverberated through Max's head. Anger and disbelief gave way to numbness. As he walked into a mass of desks and noise, the air buzzed with energy. Max recognized the drive and ambition on the determined young faces surrounding him. He'd pulled Kate from a similar bull pen to be his assistant six years ago. Kate. A heaviness settled in the center of his chest. She'd made it to mahogany row. Instead of congratulating her as any proud, happy boss would, Max had acted—was acting—like a spoiled, jealous child who'd lost his favorite toy. Kate had achieved her goal, and he still thought only of himself. He hung his head. Max walked farther into the sea of desks. A man, about thirty, sat behind one and smiled. "Nice call on Intel." "Thanks." Max extended his arm and shook the man's hand. "Maxwell Cooper." "I'm John Hill." He gave Max a cigar-shaped chocolate tied with a pink ribbon. "We just had a baby last week. Her name is Eva." "Congratulations." Max stuck the cigar in his shirt pocket. Kate would like it. Kate. An instant, squeezing hurt gripped his heart. He ignored it. "Thanks." "Do you have any kids?" John asked. "No." Max noticed the pictures lining the edge of John's cluttered desk. "How many do you have?" "Four." John's telephone rang. "Keeps me on my toes." As the man answered his phone, Max looked at the pictures. A pretty blond woman with a baby. Two smiling children eating ice cream. A family portrait. A funny, tingly sensation grabbed hold of his stomach. Nothing on his desk suggested he had a family, let alone a mother, three brothers and a nephew. Nothing in his office suggested he had a life outside of work. Because…he didn't. The truth hit with the force of a sucker punch to his gut. Max had a job. A job he'd allowed to take all his time. A job he'd allowed to define him. A job he'd allowed to be his only priority. Talk about a pea-sized brain. There were smarter horses at the Flying C. Kate had tried to tell him, tried to teach him, tried to help him. But he hadn't listened. He hadn't understood. Until now. Suddenly, everything was so clear. He was losing his assistant, but he could be gaining something so much better. Max rushed to the elevator. He knew exactly whose picture he wanted sitting on his desk. He just hoped it wasn't too late. Max found her, more beautiful than ever, sitting at her computer. Hair up or down, glasses or contacts, Max didn't care. He just wanted her. "I thought you might want this." He placed the chocolate cigar on her desk. "It's chocolate." "T-thanks." She bit her lip. "I'm sor—" "Please. Not yet." Max had made so many mistakes already. He wanted to do this right. "Do you have anything official about your job transfer?" Concern filled her eyes. "No." "I need you to write me a resignation letter or an intent to transfer letter." His heart pounded in his throat, yet his voice remained steady, strong. "Something official saying you'll no longer be under my supervision."
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She raised a brow. "Now?" He nodded. "Please bring it into my office when you're finished." As she typed, Max stood in his office, counting the seconds until she appeared. Two minutes later, she entered holding a piece of white paper. His blood pressure rose. He leaned against his desk. "Come in and close the door." She did, handed him the paper and sat in her usual chair. "Thanks." Max read it, a feeling of contentment and destiny rising inside him. He placed the paper on top of his inbox. "Now we can talk." "I didn't mean for you to find out about my new position that way." The words tumbled from Kate's mouth. "I was upset and not thinking straight." "That makes two of us." "I can't use that as an excuse." Her eyes glistened. "I'm so sorry, Maxwell." How could he have not realized the depth of his feelings before? "You have nothing to apologize for, Kate. I'm happy for you. You deserve this." She leaned forward. "Really?" "Yes, really." Her smile lifted him up. He needed that, needed her. "I'm the one who's sorry, Kate. For six years, I've taken advantage of your skills, your intelligence, you. I never gave a thought to your career, only my own. Can you forgive me?" "I forgive you, Maxwell." Her words gave him the strength to continue. "I'm also sorry for being such a poor student. In spite of an excellent teacher, I had my priorities all screwed up by putting work ahead of everything—everyone—else. Thanks to you, I learned there is more to success than a fancy title, an office with a view and a high salary." He watched her straighten. "I deserved an F after today's performance, but I hope you'll give me another chance to show you I can be husband material. Your husband material." Her eyes widened. "I want to marry you, Kate." He dropped down on bended knee and held her hand. "I want you to be my wife." She jerked her hand away. "You only want your inheritance." Max didn't blame her for not believing him. He'd hurt her. Badly. But he wasn't about to go down without a fight. "I need the money to save my mother's ranch, but you are the only woman I want to marry. You are the only woman I love." Kate's mouth formed a perfect O. "And I don't need a spreadsheet to tell me that," he added. "Just my heart." She blinked. "I love you, Kate Reynolds, but was too focused on my job to see it. I was so worried about the consequences, I forgot about the benefits." He pulled her up with him. "But with your transfer so clearly stated in the letter, ethics and company policy are no longer issues. Nothing is standing in my way. Our way."
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Max lowered his mouth to hers, pressing against her lips with an aching need. She leaned into him, into his kiss, and he felt her heart beat against his chest. The rapid beat matched his own. He wove his fingers through her soft hair. He wanted the kiss to go on forever, but there was time, plenty of time for more. Slowly, reluctantly, he drew the kiss to an end. "Will you marry me?" he murmured into her ear. Her warm breath caressed his neck, but she gave no answer. His heart rate sped up even more. "Kate?" "Just a minute," she whispered. "I've been in love with you for so long, Maxwell Cooper, I just want to savor the moment." Kate loved him. Him. He held her away so he could see her face, glowing and full of love. "I didn't know." "No, you didn't." Kate grinned. "It's been quite aggravating." The anticipation was killing him. "Is that a yes?" "Yes!" She raised her chin. "I would be honored to be your wife." Excitement rushed through him and settled around his overflowing heart. "It's going to have to be a short engagement." "I know." Kate winked. "Danielle is due at the end of the month and Connor wants us to have time to transition." He brushed his lips over the top of her head. "I love you, Kate Reynolds." "And I love you, Max Cooper." "Max?" he asked. Laugher gleamed in her eyes. "Maxwell is too stuffy for someone whose job is no longer his entire life." Max pulled her into his arms. "I couldn't agree more."
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A Little Mischief by Kasey Michaels
Three years is a long time to pine. Jessica Sunshine has watched the producers of her television show moon over each other for three years, each totally oblivious to the other one’s feelings. Sarah Jenkins has been funneling all of her attraction for here boss into her work, making her a crack assistant producer, but a lousy seductress. The timid Kevin Mulhally has taken Sarah’s professional cue and resigned himself to keeping his distance from Sarah, even going so far as to only calling her by her last name. After three years, enough is enough and Jessica has a plan to get these two to open their eyes and their hearts. Because if there’s one thing a Sunshine sister knows, it’s mischief….
Chapter One Sunshine sisters Jade, Jolie and Jessica are out to prove that their ex-cop father did not murder anyone and then take his own life. Their stories are told one by one in (so far) Dial M For Mischief (Jolie’s story) and Mischief Becomes Her (Jessica’s story, available now from HQN). Still to come will be 24 Hours of Mischief (Jade’s story) next spring, and the last in the series, Mischief Old/Mischief New, in which we’ll all travel back to Becket Hall, scene of the seven Kasey Michaels bestselling historical romances for HQN about the Beckets of Romney Marsh. Whew! That’s a lot, right? There are always stories within stories, little snippets, additional characters, and two of these people show up—just peek their heads in and wave, really—in Mischief Becomes Her. Kasey thought it might be fun to give them A Little Mischief of their own. Enjoy! *** There he went again, drooling all over Jessica Sunshine. Are you comfortable, Jess? Got a good view of the teleprompter, Jess? Jess, do you want some more ice in that water? It was enough to make Sarah gag, but only because she couldn’t gag Kevin Mulhally, who was yet again doing his All Hail Jessica routine as they counted down to another segment of the Sunday-night cable-TV show The Sunshine Report. “Don’t look now, Kev,” Sarah said into her headset, knowing the producer could hear her, “but we’ve got a show to get back to in less than ten seconds.” She watched, a half smile on her face, as Producer Kevin snapped-to and got back to work.
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“Jess? Heads up there, kiddo. We’re back to you in five.” Kevin held up his right hand and went silent for the rest of the count. Four, three, two, one… Jessica Sunshine, her professional stone-face set, waited a single heartbeat after Kevin pointed a finger at her and then smiled into the camera as if delighted to see her audience. God, Sarah thought—not for the first time—the woman was gorgeous. Freaking gorgeous. “And welcome back,” Jessica said smoothly, pushing a lock of her blond hair behind her ear. “Again, tonight’s special live segment of The Sunshine Report is devoted to this reporter’s personal tragedy, the loss of my father, retired police detective Theodore Sunshine, and the accusation that he murdered the wife of front-running Philadelphia mayoral candidate, Joshua Brainard, before taking his own life. And I’m here to tell you, folks—that accusation’s a bunch of horse hockey pucks.” “And she does it again,” Kevin said as he joined Sarah in the control booth. “’Hello, aren’t I sweet, aren’t I cute, come closer so we can chat,’ and then—bam—she socks them all in the chops.” “Looking for another Emmy, Kevin?” Sarah asked, and then mentally slapped herself upside the head for putting her foot in her mouth as she watched camera two pan across the small portable stage to Jolie Sunshine, Jessica’s film-actor sister, and Jessica’s guest for the show. “You’re right, though, she’s terrific. And I do feel sorry for her and her sisters. It can’t be easy, wondering if your own father is a murderer.” “Yeah,” Kevin said, “I wouldn’t want to be in their shoes. Hey, Jenkins, you hungry? I didn’t have time for dinner tonight. You want to go grab a burger somewhere once we’re done here?” Jenkins. He called her Jenkins. Not Sarah. Did he even know her first name? Three years as his assistant producer—a nifty title for a glorified gofer—and he still called her Jenkins. Would he even recognize her if he saw her outside of their work environment? She wouldn’t take odds on that bet. But, hey, this was new. Ask her to pick up a sandwich for him? Sure, that happened—often. But to actually ask her to join him for dinner? Sarah began mentally composing tonight’s entry in her diary: Dear Diary, looks like the world is about to end, or maybe pigs will fly. One of the two… “Sure, Kevin, that sounds good,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage, watching him as he spoke into his headset, calling for close-ups, warning of the coming commercial break. He was so gorgeous. Not movie-star gorgeous or sports-star gorgeous. He was geeky gorgeous. No, not geeky. Brainy gorgeous. Yeah, that was it. His blond hair was too long and a little shaggy, but he didn’t pay two hundred dollars every two weeks to keep it that way; that was just the way it grew. And those eyes, those great, big, puppy-dog brown eyes that were usually hidden behind gold-rimmed glasses because he was always too busy to bother with his contact lenses, or he
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forgot to carry his rewetting drops, or he forgot he was wearing the lenses and rubbed his eyes and one of the lenses popped out. So adorable. And smart! Smart was such a turn-on, at least for Sarah, who wasn’t exactly a slouch in the brain department herself. Again, not that anyone noticed—probably because she’d been standing behind the door when the social skills were being handed out. “We could try that new diner right off I-95,” she said as they went to commercial a few minutes later. “Pardon me?” Kevin pushed his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose. “Diner for what?” Sarah sighed. Men and their five-minute attention spans. Jeez. “For burgers. After the show. You asked me. Ring any bells, Kev?” “Oh, right,” he said, and then he smiled. That sweet, sexy, lopsided smile that had been the first thing she’d fallen in love with when she’d come to work for the station. “Thanks for asking me, Jenkins, I am hungry. That sounds like a good idea.” He turned back to the control panel and Sarah rolled her eyes as she got to her feet, knowing she had to get back onto the broadcast floor. “You’re welcome.” Jessica Sunshine was taking off her cordless mike as Sarah approached her. “Great show, Jess,” she said, having heard only half of it. “I wish there was something I could do to help you.” Jessica began to thank her in that way people just automatically say thank-you. But then she stopped, looked at Sarah. “Wait a minute. Didn’t you graduate with honors from Columbia?” “Summa cum laude, yeah,” Sarah said, feeling hot color run into her cheeks. Yeah would have been enough. “Why?” “Because that means you’ve got a brain, which I noticed the first day you came to work on this show. Would you mind if I use it a little tonight? You don’t have anything planned, do you?”
Chapter Two “No, I wouldn’t mind helping you out tonight,” Sarah said, mentally canceling the dinner with Kevin that she’d been dreaming of for three years, knowing his next invitation would come in, oh, less than a decade. “What do you need?” Jessica shrugged. “That’s the problem, Sarah. I don’t know. Which is why I want you, not just anybody. Could you… Could you go through the video archives somehow, checking for stories on my dad, on Joshua Brainard—some other names I’ll give you right now? My dad was working four cold cases when he died, and I’d sure love to see anything we’ve got on any of them.”
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“Sure. Go ahead and shoot.” Sarah pulled a pen from behind her ear, turned over a page on her clipboard and took down the names and cases. “I’ll get everything I can find and have it all burned onto a DVD for you. When do you need it?” Jessica shrugged again and made a face. “Yesterday?” “I’ve got a brain, Jessica, not a time machine,” Sarah said, softening her words with a smile. “But I’ll see what I can have for you by tomorrow afternoon, all right? I’ll messenger it over to that address you gave me the other day. In care of Samuel Beckett, right?” “Right, that’s where we’re staying, thanks to some creep trying to burn down our house. So, how’s it going with Mr. Oblivious over there?” “Kevin? I could walk through the studio naked and he wouldn’t notice.” “He’d notice if you didn’t show up one day. You’re too good at what you do, Sarah. You make his life so easy he doesn’t even realize how indispensable you are to him.” “On the job,” Sarah pointed out, sighing. “But personally? How does he need me personally?” “How’s he going to know that if you don’t tell him?” Jessica looked over at Kevin, so Sarah did, too. “Scuttlebutt is that one of our producers is up for a promotion, which means a move to the Atlanta station. Could be Kevin, right? If you’re going to make your move, Sarah—or find a way to have him make one—it had better be soon.” Sarah felt like the bottom had just dropped out of her stomach. “Atlanta? As in Georgia?” “See?” Jessica said. “I knew you had a brain. A brain that might still be in New Jersey when Kevin’s in Atlanta. Unless you stop wishing and hoping, and start doing.” “What do you suggest, Jessica? I tackle him?” “See that handsome guy over there?” she said with an inclination of her head. “Next to my sister and the guy she’s hanging on to for dear life? That’s homicide lieutenant Matthew Denby. Matt. I’m going to tackle him. He doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to do it. You see what you want, Sarah, you know it’s right for both of you—and you go for it.” “Uh-huh,” Sarah said, biting her lip as she looked from the good-looking man near the doors to Kevin, who had loosened his tie and opened the top button on his white dress shirt. Yum. “How? Kevin is half in love with you, you know.” “No, he’s not,” Jessica said, laughing. “I’m the talent. Producers are paid to fawn on the talent. But I’m sure you’ll think of some way to—wait a minute. I’ve got an idea. Kevin? Hey, Kevin!” At Jessica’s call, Kevin excused himself from the cameraman he was speaking to and walked over to join them. “Problem? All right, sure, a little one. I’ll tell Madge to go a little easier on the makeup. Sarah, you’ll do that, right?” “It’s on the top of my to-do list,” Sarah said, and then added under her breath, “That’s why I went to college, to write reminders to the hair and makeup tech.”
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Jessica must have heard her, because she laughed quietly. “Don’t worry about the makeup, Kevin. But I do have a huge favor to ask of you.” Jessica then repeated, nearly word for word, everything she had just asked Sarah to do for her, including needing the information ASAP. “Sure, no problem,” Kevin said. “I want to help you and your sisters with this. And not to be insensitive and mention ratings, but I know if you—when you crack those old cases and this thing with your father, we’re going to get a hell of a show out of it,” Kevin said. Sarah realized not only was she out one face-to-face dinner with Kevin, she was out of the helping-Jessica game. Surprise! “Jenkins?” Kevin said, turning to her. “You’ll help, right? We’ll go grab a burger and then head for the archives. It’s going to be a long night.” As he walked away—not waiting for her answer—Sarah turned to Jessica. “You knew he’d ask me to help. You are one sneaky woman, Jessica Sunshine. Do you give seminars?” “Yes. I am good, aren’t I?” Jessica patted her cheek and then opened the top button of Sarah’s plain blue cotton blouse. “There you go. And good color choice, the blouse matches your eyes. Here’s another hint—go grab Madge before she packs up her bag of tricks and let her work on you a little. Oh, and take your hair out of that damn rubber band while you’re at it. Men don’t get subtle. You’ve got to hit them over the head with things sometimes.” “Figuratively, right? Hit him over the head figuratively.” “You’ve considered other options?” Jessica winked at her even as she waved to her sister that, yes, she was coming. “Oh, let me count the ways,” Sarah said, sighing. “You really think I can seduce him? Kevin?” “Sarah, sweetheart, I’m counting on it. Oh,” she said, slapping a hand to her forehead, “I just forgot something I wanted to tell Kevin about that hotline we set up for people to call in with information about the cold cases. Go, Sarah, grab Madge before she leaves. I happen to know that she has been dying to get her hands on you and those gorgeous blue eyes for a long time.” Sarah watched as Jessica went over to Kevin and pulled him away from the crew he was talking to, leading him over to a corner and leaning close to say something to him. Kevin looked toward Sarah, but Jessica quickly put her arm around his shoulder and turned him away from her, still talking rather earnestly to him. What was going on? Better question—did it matter in light of what Jessica had just told her? Kevin could be leaving the station soon, and she couldn’t let him do that before he at least learned her first name. “Madge,” she called out, waving to the makeup tech. “Yo, Madge, hang on a minute….”
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Chapter Three Jessica Sunshine didn’t know what she was talking about. Kevin decided this as he kept his gaze on the menu, not reading a word, but only thinking back to what Jessica had said to him not half an hour earlier back at the studio. Sarah was in love with him? Was the woman nuts? Sarah Jenkins didn’t even like him. Well, maybe she liked him. Tolerated him. After all, he was her boss. But loved him? No, that was impossible. She’d never shown any sign of loving him, not that he’d know what any of those signs were. She came in, she did her job—did it masterfully—and then she went home again. What else could he think but that she wanted a purely professional association with him, like she had with everyone at the studio? So he’d attempted to keep their relationship strictly professional. But some nights they worked pretty closely together on the control boards, and he’d go home with the lingering scent of her freshly shampooed hair clinging to him, driving him crazy. More than once they’d reached for the same control button at the same time, and her touch had sent signals straight from his fingertips to all of his erogenous zones at the speed of light. Her voice, coming to him most of the time through his headset, had the power to invade his dreams. Which was pretty pathetic, considering that most of the time those words were about as romantic as a commercial for grout cleaner… Removes mold, mildew, leaving your shower clean and shiny. Hubba-hubba. Oh, he was pathetic. He was just pathetic. Sarah was smart—brilliant. Too smart to remain an assistant producer for much longer, way too intelligent to be playing backup to him and pretty enough to be in front of the camera. And tonight she looked even more beautiful than usual. Kevin didn’t know what it was, not exactly, but there was something different about her eyes. She had great eyes, blue as a morning sky, but tonight they seemed even brighter. And she’d pulled off that rubber band she always wore at the station to keep her hair out of her eyes. Now the soft, light brown hair fell sleekly to about shoulder level. As he watched, she swept half of it back behind her ear when it tumbled into her face as she read her menu. He’d like to do that. Push back her hair, that is. Tangle his fingers in it, feel its softness…. “I never knew there were so many different ways to make hamburgers. I think I’ll play it safe and have the California burger and maybe some seasoned fries. What about you?” Kevin put down the menu. “Sure, fine. Sounds good to me. So, Jenkins, you don’t mind coming back to the station?” “Me? No, it’s fine with me. You?” “No, no plans for anything. I’m good with it.” “Good. That you’re good with it, I mean. I’m good with it, too.”
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“Okay. Uh…good.” Somebody should be taking down this scintillating conversation for posterity, or maybe to put it in a “How to Converse with a Beautiful Woman” manual, under Examples of how to ensure that this is your first and last date, you hopeless dweeb. Sarah picked up her glass and aimed the straw at her mouth. Kevin watched as she closed her lips around it and sucked her cheeks in slightly as she drew on the red-and-white-striped plastic tube. The color matched her lips. When did she start wearing red lipstick? She let go of the straw for a second and ran the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip, capturing a clear, errant drop of soda, and then took the straw between her lips once more. X-rated soda sucking. Kevin coughed into his hand and reached for his own glass, nearly knocking it over. He hoped she didn’t notice. He looked out the window, but since it was dark now, all he could see was his own reflection. Funny, he didn’t look like a man on the verge of having a stroke. Why had Jessica said anything? When had Jessica even noticed that he was carrying a torch for Sarah? Such an old-fashioned term, carrying a torch, but Jessica had used it, and now it was in his mind and he was similarly stuck with it. Probably better than the alternative: hot to get into her pants. Kevin choked on his own saliva and began to cough again, one hand to his mouth, his eyes beginning to tear. “Are you all right?” He held up one hand until he could speak. “Fine, Jenkins. I’m… I guess there was a bone in my soda.” “You haven’t had any soda yet, Kevin,” Sarah pointed out to him. See, he knew she was smart. He didn’t think she watched him that closely, though. “No? How about that. Ah, here’s the waitress. You go first, Jenkins.” The waitress took their orders and then it was just the two of them again. Awkward. Silence had never been so loud. “So, Jenkins,” he said at last, grabbing for any subject. “Did you hear about the big shake-up that’s coming down in Atlanta?” “No, I can’t say that I have,” Sarah said, once again tucking a lock of hair behind her left ear. And maybe avoiding making eye contact with him? No, why would she do that? “On-camera or behind the scenes?” “Our end,” he told her, wondering how much he should say. “I hear they could be pulling a few people from our station to go down there, step in as producers for the morning show. Have you, uh, have you been contacted?” Sarah shook her head. “You?”
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“No,” he said, knowing he was lying. He’d been contacted all right. He’d been contacted and asked what he thought about Sarah Jenkins as a possible full producer in New Jersey. If he told the truth, he’d probably be promoted to Atlanta in two weeks, with Sarah taking his place here. If he said she was okay—not great, not terrific, just competent—then he’d stay where he was. Here. With Sarah. Who would lose out on a chance to be a full producer. The term for what he was thinking, what that thinking made him, was selfish, no-good rat bastard. That he’d also be losing out on a huge promotion meant nothing to him. Not compared with leaving Sarah.
Chapter Four Sarah sat back against the dark blue faux leather of the booth. “Well, I’m sure if it’s true—that they’re looking—you’ll be on their short list. I mean, you did win that Emmy, right?” “I didn’t win it alone, Jenkins,” Kevin said, and then grinned, beginning to relax. Why, he didn’t know. “You were there at the ceremony. Remember when I thanked all the little people who helped?” “I do. And, as one of the little people, I now thank you. And I still say that if they pick any of our producers to go to Atlanta, it should be you. You’ve paid your dues here in Jersey.” “Me? What about you? I think you’ve set a new record for longevity as an assistant producer. No, it’s your turn, Jenkins, definitely. You’ll like Atlanta. And you’d be closer to your family, right?” “Like they’d pass over someone like you for a lowly assistant producer. My family? They’re in Sarasota, yes. I didn’t know you knew that.” Of course he knew that. He’d read her personnel file. Twice. One more time and he could qualify as a stalker. He was saved from having to explain how he knew about her family by the arrival of their burgers. For the next several minutes they both concentrated on their food. And Kevin concentrated on Sarah. Twenty-eight, single, lives alone in a small condo in nearby Basking Ridge. Hobbies: reading and running. Quarterly reviews all exemplary (they should be, he did them), no incident reports, no reprimands, no tardiness or absenteeism. Shows initiative, takes direction well. If she could wag her tail and fetch the morning newspaper in her teeth she could be a dog for all that told him. What he wanted to know was if she would taste as good as she smelled; if she would melt in his arms or push him away if he was crazy enough to try to kiss her…. If she’d smile if he suggested they might want to think about a deeper relationship—or laugh at him. “Kevin?” He blinked behind his wire-rim glasses, realizing that he’d done it again, gone off into la-la land instead of paying attention to the here and now. It was very possible that one of them
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could be gone in two weeks, and now he was wasting the opportunity he’d rehearsed in his head for the past three days? He was pitiful. It was time to make a move. Kevin took off his glasses and put his elbow on the table, the glasses dangling from his fingertips. “Yes?” he said, looking into her eyes. “Well, I was going to ask you if you wanted coffee or dessert,” she told him, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “But now I feel I should point out that you just put your elbow in the ketchup.” Smooth, Mulhally, real smooth. “Damn it!” He lifted his elbow out of the ketchup he’d squeezed onto his plate for his fries, as Sarah wet the corner of her napkin in her water glass and grabbed at his wrist. “Hold still you big baby, it’s not toxic,” she said, dabbing at the greasy red glob. He watched as she worked on the material, her hand still gripping his wrist. Her hair had fallen across her cheek again and she gave a slight shake of her head to get it out of her way as she concentrated. “There, all better,” she said, but as she let go of his wrist he slipped his hand down and caught her fingers in his grasp. It was now or never. He turned his hand slightly, so that the back of her hand was uppermost, and slowly brought their joined hands closer to him, close enough to kiss the back of her hand. “Thank you, Sarah,” he said, gazing across the booth and looking deeply into her eyes. What did he see there? Shock? Confusion? Had he just blown it, big-time? After all, suave wasn’t exactly his middle name. “You, uh, you’re welcome, Kevin,” she said, sounding just a little bit breathless, unless that was just wishful thinking on his part. Just then the waitress—obviously at the end of a long shift, with her feet hurting and her powers of observation dulled—slapped down the check and said, “Youse two lovebirds want to take it somewheres else? We close in five minutes.” Still holding Sarah’s hand, Kevin relaxed in her presence probably for the first time since she’d become his assistant producer. He felt the corners of his mouth beginning to turn up into a smile, and a laugh started to bubble to the surface. Sarah’s initial look of surprise had also somehow morphed into blue eyes twinkling with humor, and she pulled a face at him as she squeezed his hand. “So? Youse ready to blow this here burger joint?” she asked in her best Jersey accent.
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The bill was seventeen dollars and change. Kevin put down a twenty and tipped the waitress a ten, and he and Sarah laughed all the way to the parking lot. He held open the passenger-side door for her, something he hadn’t done on their way to the diner. She thanked him, looking up into his face, her eyes still glittering, and then gracefully slid into the front seat. He knew. She knew it. They both knew the other one knew it. They might be on their way back to the station to see if they could help Jessica Sunshine. But if they’d left the station as coworkers, they were returning to it as more, with the chance of much more…. *** The station was fairly dark, the live on-air reporting done for the day except for thirty-second live news breaks. Only the graveyard shift was still at work, taking up a small corner of the main studio. Rick La Donna waved to them from his seat behind the curved on-air desk as one of the crew loaded the teleprompter with the first of several short promos Rick was recording as teasers that would play most of the following day. As a journalist and reporter, Rick made a great doorstop, but he had a great voice, fabulous hair, a winning smile and nobody could look more sincere than Rick. He could make a grocery list sound important. “How’s it going, Prima Donna?” Kevin asked as he and Sarah walked by on their way to the flight of metal stairs that led to the various tape and editing rooms, as well as the archives. “Got any late scores? The Mets and Phillies played tonight on ESPN.” Rick rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t retain what I say. That way lies madness. Somebody had a grand salami, whatever that is. Sounds kind of kinky to me.” “For which team? Who hit it?” “You don’t listen, do you, Mulhally? Hi, Sarah. Still refusing to marry me?” “Yup. I couldn’t hope to compete with your own love for yourself, Rick, you know that,” Sarah told him. The reporter laughed and said she was right, damn right. “He’s asked you out?” Kevin asked as she retrieved her clipboard and they clanked up the metal stairs. He held open the door to the upstairs suites. “He’s only joking, Kevin, he does it all the time,” Sarah told him, pretending not to notice that he’d opened the door for her—just as he had the car door, both leaving the diner and when they’d gotten back to the studio.
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In between, they’d both been pretty quiet, with Sarah silently blessing whoever had come up with the idea of installing car radios so that they could each pretend they were listening to the greatest hits of the seventies. “You only think he’s joking,” Kevin told her as they stopped off at his office to grab his laptop. “I happen to know he keeps a personal scorecard in his office where he checks off every female in this place he’s—you know.” “Boinked. Yes, Kevin, I know,” Sarah said, moving ahead of him to open the door to the archive storage room—which meant three doors for him, one for her. For some reason she was keeping count. “I’ve never liked being part of a crowd. Plus, he doesn’t appeal to me. You know…that way?” “What? You have a thing against great hair, a salon tan, shiny pearly whites?” “He’s too perfect, that’s the whole thing,” Sarah said, wondering why on earth they were talking about Rick La Donna. “Plus, he knows it. I prefer someone who isn’t so wrapped up in how irresistible he is. I think Rick lives his entire life as if there’s a camera on him at all times. Oh, and he’s dumb as a summer squash. There’s also that.” Kevin laughed, and Sarah felt some of her nerves go as they, without discussing it, took up their seats in the cool, fairly dark room, lit mostly by computer monitors. Sarah sat at the computer already set up to search the tape archives, while Kevin grabbed a blank CD and inserted it into one of the computers used exclusively to download requested file footage. They’d had that from the beginning—this personal radar that told them where to go, what to do, what the other wanted or needed, how to divide their tasks and keep everything running smoothly. They were a well-oiled machine when they worked together. She’d always wondered how they’d fit together outside of the work environment. So far— awkward silences aside—she thought they might be doing pretty well. Where there was life there was hope, right?
Chapter Five Sitting close—very close—beside her in the archive room, Kevin picked up Sarah’s clipboard and looked at what she’d written on the top sheet. “Jessica gave you the list of things to research, too?” Well, damn, she shouldn’t have let him see that. Summa cum laude, huh? Clearly there were still lapses in her education. Like in the area of stealth, for one. “What? Oh, that? I, uh, I took notes during the broadcast. I had this, uh, this idea that maybe I could help Jessica in some way, you know?” “You’re a good person, Sarah.” Okay, a 4.0 in Lying 101. It was a start.
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“I’m just glad to help,” she said, and then inwardly winced at her Mother Theresa impersonation. “Plus, if Jessica breaks one of these cases, our ratings get a big boost. You’re not the only one who’d like to get out of Jersey and onto the big show in Atlanta some day.” Kevin put down the clipboard. “Right. Atlanta. So you would like to catch that producer job that’s opening up on the morning show?” “I’m not qualified, Kevin. I’m not even a full producer here yet. But, hell, sure I’d like it. I mean, who wouldn’t want a chance like that?” Me, she screamed inside her head in answer to her own question. Me, me, me, if it meant leaving you, you big, dumb jerk. “I wouldn’t,” Kevin told her as he took his own notes from his pocket and unfolded the sheet on the long laminate tabletop. “I like the team I’m working with now.” Yay, team! “We do have a good crew,” Sarah agreed. “Come to think of it, I would miss you.” Where did that come from? Thinking this stuff? That was fine. Saying it out loud? Oh, way to go, Sarah, scare the guy off why don’t you…. She shot a quick look at Kevin, who was punching his glasses back up onto the bridge of his nose—except they hadn’t slid down it, had they? Was he nervous? She made him nervous? Cool. “So, you don’t put ambition above, uh, friendship?” “I guess not,” Sarah said, unable to keep from reacting to that word—friendship. Is that how he saw them? As friends? Oh, golly whiz, didn’t that make her heart go all a-flutter. The jerk. Despite what he’d just said, he could be gone in two weeks. Sure, he’d taken a step tonight. A baby step. Which meant at the rate of one small step every three years, she’d be signing up for Medicare before the guy made his Big Move on her, at which point she’d be much more in the mood for maintaining a high level of fiber in her diet. She turned back to the screen and typed in the name Theodore Sunshine. She could search by date, keyword, name or type, and she’d have to try all of them. But she’d start with his name, as that would pretty much cover everything on a man who hadn’t exactly been a public figure. A list of references showed up on the search screen. Kevin scooted his chair closer to hers and leaned toward the screen. “Okay, Jessica’s father. Good place to start. What have you got?” “Let’s see,” she said, clicking on the first entry. “Okay, archival footage of Philadelphia Police Lieutenant Theodore Sunshine being honored by the mayor for meritorious service for apprehending one Julius Renatta, who was in the process of robbing, at gunpoint, a state
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liquor store on Vine Street. Wow, and he was off duty at the time. That explains the airtime for the story. The hero angle.” She turned to Kevin, not realizing that the move put her almost nose to nose with him. “Uh…do you think Jessica would like to have a copy of that? It doesn’t pertain to what’s going on now, or any of the cold cases, but it’s sort of nice.” “Your hair smells good,” he said, almost as if talking to himself. “Like lemons, maybe?” “Lemongrass shampoo, actually. I’ve been using the same shampoo for years.” “I know,” he said, pushing his chair back a little, putting some space between them. “I don’t know why I said that. You were saying…?” “I was done saying, actually. But I think maybe we could make up—” “Two CDs,” Kevin finished for her, as they both did for each other all the time. “One with the information Jessica hopes we find, and then another, with just personal memories. We could—” “We could save the second one for when this is all over and surprise her with it. Not now, though. Now it might just upset her.” “Exactly what I was thinking.” Kevin reached for another blank CD, opened the case and inserted the disk in a second recorder. “What else have we got?” Sarah tried to get her mind back to business. It wasn’t easy. “Okay, another commendation listed here. Wow, and a third, all of them over a dozen years old. Jessica has a right to be proud of her father.” Kevin leaned closer once more, putting the tip of his finger against one of the lines on the screen. “What’s this one?” Sarah pretended not to notice that his arm was an inch from her left breast. She leaned closer—head only—and read the words, “’Theodore Sunshine injured in line of duty.’” “Didn’t Jessica mention something about that on her show tonight? He had to retire from the force, which is when he started his business called the Sunshine Detective Agency?” “One of the sisters worked with him. Jade, the oldest, I think. Ugh, and now it gets nasty.” She forgot how close Kevin was to her as they began reading the most recent news, watching the tape on Teddy Sunshine. As stalker, killer, disgraced cop and finally his alleged suicide. “Don’t include any of our on-air stories, Sarah,” Kevin told her after they’d watched several of them. “We’ve got Teddy Sunshine all but tried and sentenced in these reports.” “The Prima Donna looks particularly outraged about the cowardly murder of Melodie Brainard, doesn’t he? Outraged, but also very well groomed.”
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“That’s why they pay him the big bucks,” Kevin said. “Of course, he also sounds all excited when he gives the sports scores, and the guy wouldn’t know the difference between an offensive lineman and a quarterback.” “I do,” Sarah told him. “About ten million dollars a year, right?” Kevin grimaced and made a circular motion with his hand. “Keep scrolling, smart-ass.” The last clip was from the funeral. Sarah felt tears stinging behind her eyes as the camera panned the faces of the three Sunshine sisters as they left the church arm in arm. “They look devastated. Lost. I’m glad we’re doing something to help them, Kevin.” “Notice the total absence of police presence,” he said as the tape rolled on, the scene switching to the cemetery. “Three commendations, injured in the line of duty and forced to retire—and then nothing. Yeah, Sarah, we’re doing a good thing.” He reached in front of her again and typed in a command that sent a copy of the funeral footage to the first CD. “You’re giving that to her now?” “Better now than on the second CD as a crappy follow-up to the commendation ceremonies. I think that’s about it for Teddy Sunshine. Who do you want to try next?” “I’d search for Jolie Sunshine, but we both know what would happen if I did that.” “We could shorten the parameters to the past couple of weeks. But you’re right. The emphasis would probably all be on Jolie Sunshine, movie star, not Jolie Sunshine, daughter. Same for Jessica. What about Jade?” “I can try her,” Sarah said, already typing, but the only hits she got went straight back to those they’d seen on Teddy Sunshine. “Guess it’s time to move on to the cold cases?” “We could,” Kevin said, sighing. “How about some coffee first?” “Sure,” Sarah said, automatically rising, as part of the more important duties of the assistant producer was making the coffee. But Kevin must have meant that he was going to make the coffee, because he stood up at the same time and they sort of collided, caught between their two chairs. They just sort of stood there in the dark, inches apart, partially lit by the computer screens. It wasn’t moonlight, but it was sort of romantic. “Oh, sorry, Kev.” “No, my fault.” She pointed in the general direction of the door. “I’ll…I’ll just go…”
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“No, that’s all right. I’ll… Sarah?” She swallowed with difficulty because her heart had somehow gotten lodged in her throat. “Yes?” “Would you…” he raised his hands, lightly cupping her upper arms. “Would you mind very much if I kissed you?”
Chapter Six Sarah bit her lips together, quickly running her tongue against them, but her mouth had gone so dry the effort was probably wasted. She could only give quick, silent thanks that she’d taken the thick slice of onion off her California hamburger. “Uh…no, I wouldn’t mind if you kissed me….” She felt his breath against her cheek as he exhaled, as if waiting for her answer before he could breathe, and then he lowered his head to hers. Slowly. Agonizingly slowly, until she wanted to grab him by the ears and aim him in the right direction. Her eyes fluttered closed as his lips finally touched hers and a thrill ran through her body. His kiss was light, almost tentative, and it was the sexiest, most arousing kiss she’d ever experienced. He kissed her as if he cared, as if he had thought about it for a long time and wanted to get it right. Not crowd her, not overpower her, not impress his will on her, and with no intent to arouse and conquer. It was just a kiss. But it was also so much more than a kiss; it was everything…. Behind her eyes, Sarah could swear she saw fireworks exploding, bright colors flashing out signals that— She opened her eyes, and then put her hands on Kevin’s shoulders and pushed him away from her in alarm. He slipped his hands to her waist, pulling her toward him again, but she shoved at him again. “The lights, Kev. Somebody’s blinking the lights.” She knew that he instantly understood what that meant. With someone in the studio on-air or recording around the clock, there was no public-address system at the station. When something big happened, lights installed in each room blinked red, white and blue to announce breaking news, which also meant all hands on deck. Kevin took her hand. “Let’s hope Rick isn’t hiding up here in one of the offices catching up on his beauty sleep. Let’s go,” he said, heading for the main studio. He stopped at the door leading to the stairs and turned to face her. “You okay?”
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“That depends. Are you going to kiss me again sometime in the next three years?” “Count on it,” he said, and then they rushed down the stairs, joining the weekend skeleton crew in the main studio to hear that a small plane had just gone down near Newark. They all knew what was next—it would be flat-out live coverage for at least the hour. The next thing they heard was a strangled curse as Rick La Donna slipped into his fourhundred-dollar leather-soled designer slip-ons (the ones with the tassels), and went head over heels down the metal steps behind them, landing squarely on his main “talent.” *** “How bad id it?” Kevin kept his expression as bland as he could as Rick lifted the bloodied handkerchief from his nose to ask his question. The guy’s nose looked like he’d just gone ten rounds with the heavyweight champ. “Not too bad,” Kevin lied as he avoided looking at the evidence that, yes, a person’s nose could actually bend into a right angle. “And it’s hardly bleeding anymore, so that’s good.” “There’s blod all oder my thirt. And I dink my fron tooth id loose. Oh, shid, there doez a cab,” Rick said, spitting a porcelain crown into his palm. “Your front teeth are capped, Rick?” Kevin said, trying not to grin. “Wow, I didn’t know that.” “Fundy man,” Rick said, and turned to head back to the men’s room. “I cand do the on-air.” “No shid,” Kevin said, slicing his fingers through his hair. He looked over at the weekend graveyard-shift producer, who was not looking so good himself, and then to Sarah, who had taken charge. She had a film crew already on the way to the crash site, had grabbed someone else to find file tape and facts on past small aircraft crashes in the state and had already added a news alert to the crawl along the bottom of the screen, announcing the crash. She’d even asked someone to pull up weather reports for the Newark area over the past five hours. She was calm, cool, collected—nothing about her voice or demeanor showing any hint of panic that could upset their small crew. And all while the chair behind the news desk remained ominously vacant. He could call in Nancy Haas, due on-air at 6:00 a.m., but she and her husband had a place in Beach Haven and went there every weekend during the summer. It would take her at least an hour to get to the station, and they didn’t have the luxury of that kind of time. They needed to go live the minute the crew got to the crash site. He looked at Sarah again. Damn, she looked good tonight. Not that she wasn’t always beautiful. But tonight she was wearing makeup, and her hair was down. And she was smart. Whip-smart. Thinks-fast-on-her-feet smart.
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He made a decision. “Sarah,” Kevin spoke into his headset, “get ready to go on-air.” He pulled the headset away from his ear at her rather high-pitched response, and then waited as she made her way across the studio toward him, stripping off her own headset as she came. He did the same, deciding she was right; nobody else needed to hear what they had to say to each other right now. “Go on-air? Me? Are you out of your mind?” “You’ve got another suggestion?” he asked her, fighting an insane urge to grab her and kiss her senseless. Was it the fire in her gorgeous eyes? Was it the way her chest was rising and falling rapidly beneath that simple cotton blouse with the two top buttons open? Was it just because he was in love with the woman, damn it? “Yeah, I’ve got another suggestion,” Sarah said, not sounding very loverlike herself, he noticed. “Kick the on-air straight to Atlanta. Let them speak with the crew on-site via satellite.” “Can’t,” he told her. “I just found out the satellite’s down for the next half hour. Just a half hour, Sarah, until the satellite comes back up, and then we can send it to Polly in Atlanta. Thirty minutes. You can handle thirty minutes.” “No, I can’t,” she said, her complexion going strangely pale beneath Madge’s makeup job. “You don’t understand, Kevin. I just can’t.” He took hold of her arm and drew her behind the screen used for the weather maps, and turned her to face him. “What am I missing here? We’ve got a situation, Sarah, you know that. Everybody does what they have to do.” “Fine. You go on-air. Not me.” She was blinking furiously, and he could actually feel her trembling beneath his hands. “It’s just talking to the camera, Sarah. I know, there will be no teleprompter, just whatever notes we can get together, so you’ve got to wing it. But I’ll be in your ear from the control booth, feeding you anything I can think of, and the on-site guys will carry most of the half hour. Come on, we’ve only got two minutes until Atlanta throws it to us.” “Kevin, no. I…I tried, okay? I always wanted to be on-air, not behind the scenes. Reporting is what I wanted to do. Producer is what I can do. I can’t go on-air. I just can’t do it.” Kevin looked at her for a long moment, watched as she blinked back tears. “Stage fright?” “It didn’t start out that way, no.” “You want to explain that one?”
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The moment the question was out, Kevin wanted to kick himself. But Sarah didn’t seem to mind answering him. What upset him was that she seemed to be answering by rote, as if she’d memorized her shortcomings. “I don’t have the presence, the style. I come across as too cerebral, too serious. I don’t…I don’t do banter well.” “And you know this because…?” he asked, one eye on his wristwatch. “Because in college, every time the class got to critique me they all said the same thing. I can’t do it, Kevin. Don’t make me do it.” “Sarah. It’s almost eleven on a Sunday night. Do you know how many people watch this station at eleven o’clock on a Sunday night, even with a plane crash?” “But this goes live everywhere. I’m not an idiot. I know what’s happening here. You’re making me into a coast-to-coast disaster zone.” “Cut that out. You’ll be fine. You’ve been out of college for a long time—” “Not that long. Now you’re making me sound like Methuselah.” “Don’t interrupt! You have to give it a shot, Sarah. For yourself.” He took a deep breath. “If not for you, then do it for me.” “Oh, that’s low, Mulhally,” she said, her eyes narrowed. “One kiss, and you pull out the do it for me line?” He grabbed her, slanting his mouth against hers, taking her by surprise before she’d finished speaking so that her mouth was unprepared for him—soft and yielding. He deepened the kiss almost immediately, and her arms curled around his waist, maybe because he’d almost knocked her off balance, maybe because she actually wanted to be closer to him. His headset was down around his neck, but he—and Sarah—could both still hear Jason up in the control room shouting, “One minute, people—who the hell’s going in the chair?” Kevin broke off the kiss and grabbed Sarah’s hand even as he pulled his headset back on. “Sarah’s on-air tonight, Jason. Cue the Breaking News screen in thirty seconds.” “Sarah? Sarah who? I need a last name for the graphic.” “Sarah Jenkins,” Kevin told him tersely. “Who the hell did you think I meant?” “Not Sarah Jenkins, that’s who,” Jason answered. “Okay, your funeral, Mulhally.” “See? Even Jason knows I can’t do this. I hate you,” Sarah told Kevin quietly as he led her across the studio and up onto the portable stage that served as the news anchor desk. “Completely and utterly,” she continued as one of the techs miked her.
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“Forever,” she added, the word a little garbled, as the tech told her to purse her lips so he could smooth some blusher on her cheeks after doing a quick light check. Jason was still shouting, his nervousness showing. “Ten seconds, people! Sarah, honey, we managed to get a couple of notes in front of you.” She looked down at the pages on the desktop, shifted her eyes to the left to the built-in screen, and then lifted her head and found the live camera. “Ever and ever,” she said as Jason counted down….
Chapter Seven “And in five…four…three…two…” Jason then pointed to Sarah as he mouthed the word one. “Good evening,” Sarah said exactly on cue, her lovely face grave but not maudlin, her voice calming, clearly articulated. “We interrupt your regular programming with breaking news tonight out of Newark, New Jersey. A small commuter passenger plane en route from Boston to Newark crashed approximately ten minutes ago while on approach to the airport. A thunderstorm, we’re told, was earlier forecast for the area but has not yet been confirmed. There is no news of any fatalities at this time but our information at the moment remains sketchy. Our mobile news team is even now arriving on the scene, and I have been assured we will have a live shot and an update when we return from this short break.” The red light on the camera went out and Sarah began barking orders. She wanted a live feed by the end of the break or she’d know the reason why. She wanted a small graphic of the type of plane positioned beside the Breaking News headline at the bottom of the screen. She wanted someone from Newark Airport on the horn to talk to her, live. Who had the file footage of this type of plane to use as a fill-in if they couldn’t go live from the scene as yet? It was all in her head, everything needed for a complete story, and all on no notice. Her years behind the camera were helping her now that she was on the other side—and she looked terrific. “Good work, Sarah,” he said into his earpiece. He was feeling the sort of pride he believed parents felt when their kid didn’t cry on Santa’s lap. If she handled the rest of the half hour as well as she’d handled the intro, he was going to make sure to push a tape of her performance upstairs. As far as he was concerned, she was perfect anchor material. “I mean it. Perfect, Sarah.” “Eat dirt and die, Mulhally,” she said, and then lowered her head. But he saw it. He saw her smile, and the way she drew her elbow in close to her body as she gave a slight fist-pump before Jason began the countdown again…. *** The half hour behind the desk stretched to three hours once they learned that the junior senator from Pennsylvania had been one of the passengers on the crashed plane. All of those hours revolved around Sarah as she went on split-screen with the anchor in Atlanta, spoke with the head of Newark Airport and, at last, with the junior senator herself, who had walked away from the crash with only minor injuries.
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When the red light went out for the last time, the crew in the studio broke into spontaneous applause, along with cheers for Sarah, who had carried it all off without a hitch. “Shez gud. I dink you just lost your goper,” Rick La Donna said, still holding a handkerchief to his nose, but newsman enough not to have left the building to seek medical help until the crisis had passed. “You still here, Rick?” Kevin asked as Sarah walked over to them and the hastily summoned Nancy Haas, their regular morning anchor who’d arrived five hours early, took up the spot behind the desk. “Yes, Rick, you really need to see somebody about that nose,” Sarah said, still jumpy with nerves, but unable to completely hide the exhilaration she felt after her hours on-air. She wanted to ask if she’d done okay, but after the applause that probably would have been pushing it. Still, she needed to hear what Kevin thought. It was one thing to have him cheerleading into her earpiece; it was another to hear what he thought after the fact, as her boss. “The node, the cabs,” Rick said, holding up the paper cup that held two porcelain caps now, not just one. “Loods like you’ll be fillingh in for me for a bile, Sarah,” he said before one of the crew motioned that he was ready to drive the man to the local E.R. “Me?” Sarah turned to Kevin. “He’s not right, right? We’ll pull in somebody else.” “No, we won’t,” Kevin told her, taking her elbow and leading her back up the metal stairs she’d descended in what seemed like another lifetime. “Tag, you’re it, until Rick is ready to go back in the chair. And that came straight from Atlanta, by the way, just so you don’t think anyone’s pulling strings here.” “You mean, like you?” “Like me, yeah,” he said as they entered the archive room—still dark, with only the glowing monitors giving off any light. “They thought you showed great on-air presence, exuded an air of calm while still keeping it all human. They especially liked your interaction with the senator, and the way you thought of patching through an on-air phone call from her daughter at college. United States senator or not, the country hearing her say ‘I’m all right, baby,’ and the daughter telling her ‘I love you, Mommy’? Gold, Sarah, pure broadcast gold, and you know it. The senator will probably want to steal you for her reelection campaign, but Atlanta has first dibs. You’re to report there in two weeks to take over as coanchor of the morning show. They’ve decided to drop the happy patter routine and go back to a full news format.” “No, that can’t be right.” Sarah stopped dead in her tracks. Funny stuff, what he was saying, but he had to be kidding, right? “They want me to what?” Kevin kept his back to her as he sat down in front of one of the monitors, so she couldn’t see the expression on his face. “Seems the shake-up is pretty extensive. On-air talent and behind the scenes. That bit with the senator and her daughter will run for the entire next news cycle, and then—bam—you appear as the new face in the morning—new, but already familiar to viewers. I’d try for an interview with the senator as one of your first guests, but I’m sure you’re already thinking that, right? But first, are you ready to get back to the archives for Jessica? We promised her we’d have something for her ASAP.”
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Sarah collapsed into the chair next to him in shock, but his body language was bothering her. Was he angry? He didn’t sound angry. He sounded almost nervous. What wasn’t he telling her? “Kevin? Are you all right with this? Putting me on-air was your idea, remember?” “Sure was, and it was the right move. You were fantastic, a natural. Atlanta said they didn’t know what they wanted to do with the morning show until they saw you, but now they’re pushing to get you down there as soon as you can pack your bags,” he said, reaching across her to tap on a few keys, bringing up the first of the cold cases, that of the Fishtown Strangler. “So, you gonna do it, Sarah, take the job?”
Chapter Eight “I… I don’t know if I want to accept the job. I feel like the understudy to the actress who can’t go on, and then steals the show. Like, you know, it’s all one great big fiction. It can’t really be happening.” “It’s happening,” Kevin said, pushing his glasses up farther onto the bridge of his nose. He still wasn’t looking at her. He was saying all the right things, but he wouldn’t look at her. “That’s a good one—save that one to the disk.” “Okay,” Sarah said, deciding to just follow Kevin’s lead for now, and for the next ninety minutes they fell easily into the smooth way they had of working with each other, anticipating each other’s needs. They found and saved to the CD stories on the Fishtown Strangler, the Scholar Athlete murder and the heartbreaking tape from the Baby In the Dumpster news clips. “And we finish with the bit from Teddy Sunshine’s funeral,” Kevin said at last, and Sarah hit the keystrokes to burn the CD before sitting back in her chair. “Not exactly great home movies you’d want to watch again and again, but I think we’ve given her what she wanted.” “Yes, I suppose so. But sometimes what you think you wanted isn’t what you know you want once you get it.” At last she could feel Kevin’s eyes on her, even in the darkened room. “You want to run that one past me again?” Sarah shrugged, wishing he’d stick to the program and understand what she was saying without her having to go into detail. “You know. Sometimes you want something, but that something seemed better before you got it than it really is when you finally get it, because by the time you finally get it there’s someone—that is, there’s something else much more important that you realize you really have been wanting instead of the thing you thought you were wanting.” She sighed. “And then the thing you wanted doesn’t seem so important anymore.” “Oh, yeah, that cleared everything up for me,” Kevin said with a small smile, once more reaching past her to hit the buttons that took them out of the computer program. “Put a little makeup on a person, change her hairstyle a little and she goes all female and cryptic on you….”
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“I thought I was being perfectly clear,” Sarah said, grabbing the burned CD from the slot and scribbling the order of the stories on the disk with a marker. “Hand me that case, Kevin.” “Giving orders already. Very good, Sarah.” He handed her the case and she thrust the disk inside it before bracing her palms on the desktop, ready to stand up. Ready to run. “I never thought you could be like this,” she said as her parting shot, which was a pretty good one—or would have been, if she wasn’t near tears. Kevin stood up as well, taking her arm as she tried to turn away from him. “Be like what, Sarah?” “I don’t know. Mad, maybe, that I’m getting a break?” “You think that? Oh, God, of course you do. It’s not that, Sarah. I’m delighted that you’re getting a chance to do what you’ve always wanted to do.” He shoved his fingers through his hair and made a face. “But you’re right. I am mad. But I’m mad at me. Not you, me.” She blinked away her tears. “Excuse me?” “Three years, Sarah. Three years I waited. Idiot me, building up courage, thinking I had all the time in the world. And then what happens the night I finally decide to make a move? I’ll tell you what happens. You get to choose between a huge break in your career and…and me. Tough choice, huh?” Sarah put a hand on his arm, the world suddenly making sense again—if it ever had. “Kevin? What are you saying here?” “That I’m an idiot?” His ashamed smile nearly broke her heart. “That I had my chance and blew it? You’re going to Atlanta, Sarah. You’re going to the big show. You need me like you need another hole in your—” This time she did grab him by the ears, pulling him down so that she could press her mouth against his and shut him up before he talked himself out of being in love with her. Because he was in love with her. He had to be. No otherwise brilliant man could act like such a total jerk unless he was in love. She felt his arms go around her even as he deepened their kiss, shifted his thigh so that it pressed between her slightly spread legs. They were back to where they were three hours earlier, except they’d also taken a step forward; maybe two steps, even three. Because there was nothing at all tentative in Kevin’s kiss now, or the way he moved his hands over her, telling her without words that he wanted her; he wanted her badly. “I won’t go to Atlanta,” she said as, together, they sort of aimed themselves toward the floor between their two chairs. “I want you to go,” Kevin said as he took off his glasses and tossed them in the general direction of the desktop. “I’m so proud of you… I love you so much…”
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She tipped her head to one side as he was busily kissing her neck. “But…but I don’t want to leave you. I can’t leave you…” “Well, um, see—there’s something I haven’t told you. You don’t have to leave me,” he said as she worked on the buttons of his shirt, all inhibitions leaving her the moment he cupped her breasts in his hands. “But…” “I’m going, too. As producer of the morning show,” he whispered as she put her hands in his hair, ready to pull him down to her breasts. “But I needed to be sure of what you wanted. I’d already been approached for the producer’s job in Atlanta, and I was thinking of turning it down because I knew I couldn’t leave you, except that would have held back your career, since you’d be promoted to my old job if I left. You can see my dilemma, can’t you? Either I’d go to Atlanta, or I’d stay here so I could be with you, but not be able to look at you because I’d have cost you a promotion out of my own selfishness in not wanting to be without you.” “And you say I don’t make sense? I think you’ve got me beat, Kevin, although I think you’re wonderful, I really do.” “I think I’ve lost my mind, and you think I’m ‘wonderful.’ But now you’re going, too, which would be even more wonderful if I didn’t…if I didn’t want to force myself on you…” Sarah paused in the act of unhooking Kevin’s belt. “What did you just say?” “I told you,” Kevin said, taking deep breaths as he held her slightly away from him. “I was up for the producer job in Atlanta and you would then take over here. But that was before your on-air tonight, and now they want me as producer and you as on-air. They think we’re too good a team to break up. And that would be terrific and solve all my problems, except that it also just screwed everything up because now you might think I was only using you to get to Atlanta when I was only trying to tell you how much I love you and want us to be together and…and the timing sucks, Sarah. That’s all.” Sarah looked at him for a long time. The vulnerable Kevin, the unsure Kevin. The Kevin who also probably didn’t do all that well in Social Skills 101. The Kevin who loved her. Loved her. “You’re right,” she told him at last, grabbing on to his hands and pulling him to his feet along with her. “You are an idiot. This floor is cold…and my apartment is ten minutes from here. Say it again, Kevin. Please.” “I love you?” he said, reaching for his glasses. “Is that it?” “I think so, yes,” Sarah said, feeling a little breathless. “That, and the we-make-a-great-team part. I thought you’d never figure that out. Three years, Kevin. I mean, three years. He pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “What are you talking about? I mean, I know about me, but are you saying that you—?” “Since the first day I walked onto the set and you called me Jenkins.” “You’re right. I mean, we’re both right. I’m an idiot.”
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“Oh, Kevin, I love you so much,” Sarah said, reaching for him again. It turned out that the archives room floor wasn’t all that cold after all. Then again, maybe they just didn’t notice….
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The Honest Truth by The Honest Truth Description: Katie Fletcher, household name thanks to her daily talk show, The Honest Truth, has not had a good week. The tabloids are having a field day printing unfounded rumors about her love life, and a night spent drowning her sorrows in one cocktail too many meant she failed to make time to read the research notes on that afternoon's program on secrets. To make matters worse, the guest she has just introduced, a man who has decided he can no longer live a lie and who today is coming out to his wife live on national television, is...her ex-boyfriend.
Chapter 1: Katie Fletcher looked at her watch for the second time in as many minutes as she strode along the corridors of the television studios as fast as her designer heels would allow, her perfectly styled hair bobbing along behind her, reminiscent of a shampoo commercial. She'd learned to be a master of emotional disguise a long time ago. In fact, based on her last couple of weeks, she was practically a Jedi master. Turning the final corner into Studio 6, she automatically checked her jacket and inhaled deeply. With over two hundred programs under her belt and a People's Choice Award on her desk, Katie rarely got nervous. She just wished that today she were a little less hung-over. She could still taste the smoky atmosphere of the bar over twelve hours later. What had she been thinking? To err may be human, but for the media it's divine. And last night must have been the icing their cake was waiting for. *** "Let's go. You've got a show to present tomorrow afternoon." "I've always got a show to present. Come on, just one more for the road." "That's what you said three mojitos ago. I don't think the road can possibly be thirsty anymore, and if I knew you at all, and you weren't my boss, I'd say you were trying to avoid going home." Tom stopped himself wondering if he'd just overstepped the mark. After all, he was only a researcher, admittedly a researcher full of beer, but while the office hierarchy may have apparently been suspended once they got to the bar, he suspected Katie could pull rank any time she felt like it. "Quick. Better call the papers." Katie assumed her best tabloid voice-over tone. "I can see it now. 'Katie Fletcher in midweek alcohol binge at S Cargo. Addicted to sex and drink. What on earth has happened to TV's girl next door?' I'll add it to my scrapbook." Tom laughed. "Come on, it's not that bad." "It's pretty bad." Katie willed herself to feel drunk. How could she have polished off over five cocktails and still feel this sober? "I've been all over the papers."
Chapter 2: Let's get you into a cab. I don't want to be responsible for you having to present tomorrow's show in shades." "Okay. You win." Decision made, Katie wished she could click her kitten heels together three times and be transported directly to her bed. "But you'd better watch yourself. I am a marriage-breaker after all." "Don't believe everything you read in the papers."
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"I don't. I just wish everyone else didn't." "And I'm not married." "That's because you're only twelve," Katie teased. "Twenty-four." "Same difference." "But I have got a serious girlfriend." "Don't worry, I'm not interested." "I didn't mean that." Katie was amused to see Tom was suddenly flustered. "It's just...I meant you're only ten years older than me." "Eight." "The Herald said you were thirty-four." "Fantastic. Not only am I a moral-free zone but they're aging me, too." "Stuart said you were thirty-eight according to another article." "And if I know Stuart, I'm sure there's an office sweepstakes in progress. If they can't even get my age right, how on earth are people supposed to believe any of the other crap they write." It was true — there was a sweepstakes. They'd only put a pound in each, and there were only eight of them playing, but it was the principle of the thing. "I'm thirty-two. And only just," Katie clarified. Damn… He'd been sure she was thirty-one. "Just out of interest, is the general consensus in the office that I did or didn't sleep with Jamie Joseph?" Tom blushed, stalling. "Well? Seriously, I'm interested." "Didn't... But plenty of the girls think you're mad not to. Apparently he's got an amazing six-pack." "And an ego the size of South America…and a wife, of course." Fact: She'd been out for dinner with Jamie Joseph, erstwhile footballer, model, and now national love rat at a time when his marriage was practically on the rocks — but only in an attempt to persuade him to grant her show an exclusive interview.
Chapter 3:
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Fact: He was a smooth-talker and flirtatious, and she had passed out on his sofa after a lengthy drinking session. But that was it. And if anyone had bothered to study the photo of her leaving sheepishly at 2 a.m., it was obvious she'd slept in her clothes. There was even a crease on her cheek where the cushion had left its imprint. Yet now that he'd publicly gone back to his wife, suddenly it was supposedly all her fault that they'd split up in the first place. Pure fiction. And while she knew that today's tabloids were tomorrow's cat litter liners, now every time someone profiled her, this story was going to surface to haunt her. Her word against his. And, in the eyes of the tabloids, she was guilty until proven innocent. Checking her phone for messages, Katie was appalled to note that it was past midnight. They'd only gone for a quick drink after work in the name of team bonding, and now it appeared that she and Tom were the only two left. As they reached the pavement, Katie momentarily lost contact with her left shoe and grabbed hold of Tom's arm for balance. Flashbulbs exploded. Her wobble captured by a handful of hungry press photographers who were only there for the A-listers in the private bar. Yet now, accidentally, Katie had handed them the next installment of their version of her life on a plate. "Coming to you in ten, nine, eight, seven, six..." Stuart, the studio director, calmly counted Katie down to her opening link while her producer, Fiona, urgently shouted last-minute instructions via talkback into her earpiece as the familiar catchy title-story teaser blared out in the studio. The studio audience erupted into a cacophony of applause, cheers and whoops as the floor manager, now waving his arms madly, galvanized the invited group into action. The warmup had obviously been a good one. Katie could barely hear her cue. And to think she used to believe they were genuinely that pleased to see her. "Three, two..." From where she was standing behind the set, the cheers sounded friendly enough. Daytime TV's favorite gladiator prepared to enter her arena.
Chapter 4: "...one. Good luck." As the door slid open to reveal Katie for the first time, the applause crescendoed. With a trademark cock of her head she walked forward to her mark, ignoring the audience, only to smile warmly at the camera. Just another day in the office. "Cue Katie." "Good afternoon. Today on The Honest Truth we're talking about secrets. Joining me in the studio are people who have lived their lives with the burden of a secret....' Thank God for Autocue. Her mind was still wandering. And it wouldn't be long now until the evening papers hit the stand. But with or without a picture of her and Tom? That was the trouble with August. Quiet news month. Silently she prayed for a real breaking-news story. She wasn't talking world-troubling or lifethreatening, just a small economic downturn, a cross-dressing politician, a royal pregnancy...anything to bump her out. "... We will be asking our guests whether it is ever justifiable to keep a secret from someone that you love, or does the truth always catch up with you in the end? Is honesty always the best policy? My first guest today is a man who has decided he can no longer live a lie and has come out to his wife after only eighteen months of marriage." An audible intake of breath from the audience. "Cameras two and three swap. Going well, gorgeous." Automatically Katie took in the information from Stuart, turning to face the right camera and the podium, where an empty chair awaited her first interviewee.
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"Allow me to introduce you to Daniel Red…fern." Externally her hesitation was barely perceptible; emotionally she was on Code Red. The name was far too familiar. She wished she'd made time to read the research notes this morning. As Daniel took his seat, Katie caught his eye. Her stomach felt like it was single-handedly in the process of completing an Olympic gymnastic routine. He had a little less hair than she remembered, he'd lost a bit of weight, but somehow she had just introduced her ex-boyfriend to the nation, live on television.
Chapter 5: She didn't even know he'd got married. She hadn't seen him for nearly two years. But when your boyfriend leaves you for your best friend there is only one way to take it: badly. "So Daniel." "You can call me Dan, Katie." Of course she could. She'd called him Dan the whole time they'd been together. But in those days he'd been claiming to be heterosexual, so presumably his preference for name variation could also have changed. And what was three letters between friends? Even when they were a g, an a and a y? "Thanks. So, Dan, how long have you known you were gay?" She hadn't set eyes on him in two years. And yet now, the improbable conclusion to her recent triumvirate of bad luck, she was about to interview him on national television about his sexuality. Consummate professional behavior required. She was going to have to dig deep for this one. "If I'm honest, probably since my early teens…" "Early teens?" So their two years together had been a total sham. If he'd been honest, maybe the heartbreak she'd felt when he'd left her for her best friend might have been easier to take. Or perhaps Sarah wouldn't have been interested, and she wouldn't have lost her best friend and her boyfriend all at the same time. "… Or at least then I knew I was attracted to both men and to women. I was lucky, I guess. I'd always enjoyed sex with women." Sex with women. He certainly knew how to make his ex feel special. Surely there should have been a sign? Couldn't some greater force at least have had the decency to send her a text message to warn her that this was test-Katie-to-her-limits month? "And yet knowing you preferred men, you went ahead and got married?" The ratings had been up since Katie's alleged antics had hit the public domain, but right now the show's presenter was definitely down. Dan looked the same, he sounded the same. Thankfully no one else in the studio appeared to be aware of their history.
Chapter 6: "Yes, I did. Eighteen months ago, and for her sake I wish we hadn't." Surely he wasn't expecting her to feel sorry for him? "Can I ask, and I know our viewers will be interested in the answer to this…" if not quite as interested as the presenter "…why? I mean you're still young. What was the hurry?"
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"He's nearly thirty-three." And a rustle of paper as Katie heard Fiona checking the file. Superfluous information. Dan's birthday was two weeks before her own. She still had the silver bracelet he gave her yellowing in her jewelry box. "We'd known each other a long time, we were both in our early thirties, we'd been through some tough times, and I think we just thought, why wait?" "Tough times?" Katie felt sick at the realization that he hadn't just left her for Sarah. He'd bloody well gone and married her. But that didn't explain why he'd chosen to appear on her show and hadn't so much as called to tell her first. Maybe this was some 21st-century reinvention of Candid Camera? "Well, a few ups and downs. In a way it threw us together more firmly." Katie took a deep breath. She could do this. "And how did your wife take your confession?" "Well, actually, it was her who forced the issue. Made me face up to a few things. She was a pillar of support." "Was?" "Well, these things are never going to be easy, and I couldn't have done it without her. But, well, it's a few months ago now, and she has her own life to be getting on with, to rebuild. I mean it's not like this is what she was hoping for. I was always looking for something else. She deserved better." Every woman in the audience nodded. "No, most women don't walk down the aisle dreaming of a childless marriage ending in divorce because their husband confesses to being gay all along." "Steady on, Katie," Fiona's voice trilled directly into her ear, a timely reminder to herself and her conscience.
Chapter 7: "No." Dan looked at his shoes for a moment, his discomfort heightening the audience sympathy. "But coming out was the best thing I have ever done. It just feels like a huge weight has been lifted. The relief is enormous. For the first time in my life I am being true to myself…." This was harder than she'd thought it would be. And surely the best way to find out whether or not she could cope with his confession was not in front of a studio audience of a hundred and twenty and a viewing public of over two million. "… I just wish I'd done it years ago. The support I've had has been amazing…." "Hand up in block A." Fiona's voice interrupted her train of thought. Dan was still going strong. "Hang on a second, Dan. We have a gentleman here who would like to say something." Gratefully Katie thrust her stick mike at the audience member in question. A second to regroup and enough time for a furtive glance round the studio when the cameras were on Dan. To her relief there was no sign of anyone looking anything like Sarah in the audience this evening. "I just wanted to say to Dan that he'll never look back now. I wrestled for years before coming out. And my family took it badly at first. Very badly. But things are definitely better now. It's very hard. You were brave and you should be proud of yourself. Good on you, mate."
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A warm ripple of applause. "Thanks." "Let me ask you, Dan, how has your family taken it? Was telling your mother harder than telling your wife?" "Great question, Katie. Edge-of-seat stuff. Camera 4, cover audience reaction." Stuart was firing compliments and camera directions at a rate of knots. "My parents don't actually know yet…." With perfect professional timing, Katie raised an eyebrow at camera 2. "Well, we're not that sort of touchy-feely family. I don't know, to be honest, how they'll take it. Let's say they're very traditional and, well, conventional about a lot of stuff." "And you don't think it might have been wise to tell them before coming onto national television to talk about it?"
Chapter 8: "They know my marriage is over. I know they were disappointed. And I did tell them that it was my fault. That it was because I was having affairs. But it was like they didn't or couldn't listen." Katie hoped with all her heart that his parents weren't waiting in the wings, then reassured herself that this was The Honest Truth, not Jerry Springer. They rarely did confrontation. "You were having affairs?" He hadn't changed that much then. "I'm ashamed to admit that I was. My wife suspected me and found out, and then it was over." "How did she find out?" "Well, I was careless. She saw a text message on my phone that was pretty self-explanatory, put it that way." "Okay, so you were married, having affairs, but deep down underneath it all you knew you were gay. Or at least bisexual." "Yes. I guess I've just got quite a high sex drive." A titter from the younger members of the audience. "But I've always been confused about who I was. Since I was a teenager." A supportive murmur from the audience. "So it would seem." "They weren't all long-term affairs. Some were just one-night stands." "Oh, that's much better then." "Everyone makes mistakes. It was a very confusing time for me."
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"Twenty seconds to first ad break. Go softly." Saved by the bell. "My thanks to Dan for his candor. Coming up after the break we'll be talking to him some more, finding out what the audience here in the studio thinks, and we've also got a surprise for Daniel…." Katie could feel her chest tightening as she read her next prompt clearly and flawlessly from the Autocue. It was as if she were watching her own show. "…as we ask his soon-to-be ex-wife for her side of the story. So don't go away."
"Fade down my microphone." Katie marched off the set the second they cut to the break. From the gallery Stuart watched her departure on the monitors with concern. One presenter. One ad break. Very little time. "Where the hell's she going? Camera 2, can you see her?" Dave's voice crackled over the talkback. "On her way in Stu."
Chapter 9: Almost simultaneously she burst through the heavy door, adrenaline coursing ferociously through her body. "I know him. Did you know that?" "Well done, great first part, shaping up really well…" Fiona ignored Katie's crisis tone, instead adopting the stroke-your-presenter-back-to-sanity approach. "How amazingly small this world is. It's like that six degrees of separation thing…." Katie interrupted, "No, I know him, know him. We were an item. Until he left me, nearly two years ago, for my best friend. My best friend who, I now gather, he married. And, thanks to your script on Autocue, who I just introduced as my next guest." "You see, and to think the critics have the gall to say that people never learn anything new from your show." "Not funny, Stuart. Look…" Katie hesitated. "These microphones are off aren't they?" Stuart checked the console and exchanged nods with Bill in the sound gallery. "Yup." "You can't seriously expect me to mediate between the two of them live on air?" Katie started pacing the length of the room, Fiona and Stuart watching every step. She couldn't raise her voice out there but she had to let off steam somewhere and fast; otherwise, she suspected, she might spontaneously combust. Undoubtedly a great television moment, probably a television first if she did it live, but she wasn't ready to throw in the towel yet. There were still a lot of things she wanted to achieve. "Who the fuck does our research these days?" Katie's shock bubbled into anger. "Where did they find him?" She knew she wasn't blameless. If only she'd read the research this morning instead of trying to limit the damage caused by her late-night stumble. Now her afternoon had just careered off the rails. She only hoped it wasn't about to take her career with it. Fiona picked up the phone to summon the relevant researcher to the lion's den while Stuart attempted to diffuse some of the palpable tension emanating from his presenter. Her cool had well and truly deserted her. Stuart only hoped it hadn't actually left the building.
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"I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation, and if not, we'll just sack somebody." He smiled, trading humor for encouragement. "I'm sure this must have been a shock."
Chapter 10: "A shock. Really? Do you think? I mean my ex is gay and oh, yes, about to divorce the girl formerly known as my best friend." "Okay, I can't imagine what you're going through this minute, but do me a favour — dig deep and postpone your crisis for about…" Stuart consulted the bank of ever-decreasing green digital numbers in front of him "…another seventeen minutes. And lose the swearing. It never looks good when you have to bleep your daytime presenter. Seriously Katie, you can do this. You're the talk-show queen. Try and keep calm." Pep talk over, Katie nodded. She'd worked hard to put Dan and Sarah behind her. And if this was the ultimate challenge, she would bloody well rise to it. At least for seventeen minutes. Fi put the handset down. "Dan was recommended to us by a gay charity. He didn't mention your relationship nor, in the course of the research, did he mention that he'd ever met you. Tom promises he'll talk you through it all afterwards. He'd do it now but —" Fiona consulted the digital countdown "— you're back on in under two." "Great." Katie slumped into a chair much to Fiona and Stuart's combined horror. "Be reasonable, Katie. I wouldn't expect our researchers to ask all our prospective guests if they have at any point in the past slept with our presenter, and neither would you. I'm just surprised his name didn't sound familiar when you read his brief." Katie knew she had dug herself into a pretty deep hole. Currently up to armpit level and sinking rapidly. "I know. I guess I thought there might be more than one Daniel Redfern." It was a pathetic attempt to cover herself. "Look, you better get back out there. Sarah is waiting behind the door on the left." "Right." "Left." "Right. Left. I know." Best publicity smile in situ, Katie walked out to confront her past and tried to ignore the excited hum coming from the audience. "Sarah's ready. Do you know her, too?" Fiona's sarcasm was clear, even over talkback. Katie spoke into her radio mike, annoyed that her producer clearly hadn't been listening earlier. "I told you. I knew her before I knew him."
Chapter 11: "Of course. The best friend." Katie didn't trust the excitement in Fiona's voice. "Hmm…I might give Press a call. There's definitely a feature article in this, and they could probably organize a quick photo in hospitality afterwards."
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Katie cupped her hand round her mouth and her microphone, attempting to create a sliver of privacy even though she knew the whole crew would be listening. "Hold off for now, Fi." Katie meant it, although she also knew Fiona's "journalistic" instincts would be racing ahead by now. "Why not build your history with Dan and Sarah into the interview? We'll just chop the other guests out of the running order." That was why, Katie mused, Fiona was so sought after in the business. Always chasing the headline. "I can't just bring it up out of the blue. Besides, who cares." "I'd say at least two million viewers for a start. It'll be compulsive TV. And where better to come clean than on a show about secrets. If Dan and Sarah wanted a quiet life they shouldn't have decided to air their dirty laundry on TV." Katie's silence was deafening. "Leave it to her, Fiona. She's got great instinct. She knows what she's doing." Katie could have kissed Stuart. "But what's his motive? For all we know Dan's here not because he wanted to help people but because he wanted to stitch Katie up and get his Warholian fifteen minutes of fame." Fiona had an annoying habit of always assuming the worst, but, as they had all learned, her instincts were usually pretty spot-on. "He's not like that." Katie said it more for her own credibility than for his. "Look, you didn't know he was gay, plus he left you for your mate. Don't quite understand where your loyalty is on this one. Plus, he's signed his contract. I say go for it, and with a bit of luck the papers will love it more than they loved you leaving S Cargo last night with young Tom…." The use of "young" was pointed and unnecessary. "…and it'll be fantastic for the ratings." Katie ignored her. She refused to see herself or her guests as a commodity. "Is last night in tonight's editions?"
Chapter 12: "Rumor has it yes, but no one's seen any concrete evidence. Tom is staking out the newsagent as we speak." "It wasn't a date. I fell off my shoe." "Whatever." "Stuart'll tell you. Loads of the team were there earlier on. The papers wanted some gossip and so they made some up." "So give them something real. And it might stop them harassing Tom — poor guy's been hounded by reporters all afternoon." Poor guy? Just because she was paid more than he was didn't mean she didn't have feelings.
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"Thirty seconds." Katie assumed her position back on the set and did her best to smile calmly at Dan despite the fact that only minutes earlier he'd admitted live on national television that he'd had lots of affairs. Yet he'd always denied that he'd slept with Sarah during their relationship. And then he'd married her. "Ready, darling?" At least Stuart was being nice today. She was sure he'd come out in a far more civilized fashion. Katie nodded. "Coming to you in…ten, nine, eight…" Swallowing hard, Katie searched for her inner calm. It had to be around there somewhere. Losing her best friend had been the biggest tragedy of the whole mess, and in seven seconds she was going to see her for the first time in two years. "Five, four, three… Go get 'em, Fletch." Stuart was doing his best. Fiona's words played on a loop in her head. Katie wasn't at all sure she wanted to invite the press into her private life. Then again, maybe she should retain the initiative. And she had been the victim in all of this. "One…" The personal/professional line stretched before her. To cross or not to cross… "Cue Katie." Showtime.
Questions that Katie Fletcher really wanted to ask: "You were supposed to be my best friend. What on earth possessed you to steal my boyfriend and marry him? Don't you think that, just maybe, you got what you deserved? And besides, why didn't you call me when it all went wrong?" Official question as heard by the studio audience and 1.85 million viewers (and counting) on their sofas at home: "So, Sarah, how long were you married before you realized that Dan wasn't everything he should be?"
Chapter 13: "With the benefit of hindsight, I guess I should've known from the start that things weren't right. We even got together in unusual circumstances." "What do you mean?" Katie locked eyes with Sarah, curious as to how she was going to answer this one. "Well, Dan and I got together after his previous girlfriend…" Relief washed over Katie. No name-check as yet.
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"…had accused him of having an affair with me. In a way, it was almost as if she had thrown us together…. I mean, we'd got to know each other through her already so there was a shared history of sorts, which made it easy just to sort of fall into a relationship." Surely Sarah wasn't suggesting that this was all her fault? "I mean, we'd both denied having an affair but she simply wouldn't listen. The accusations hurt." Katie interrupted. She'd had enough. "But in the last part of the show, Dan confessed that he had many affairs during his long-term relationships. That he constantly felt that something was missing and had been searching for something else pretty much from his teens." "You bet he was having affairs. Obviously I didn't know that when we got together, but I do now. It turns out his ex was right to be suspicious, but nothing had ever happened between us before she effectively threw him out." "Really?" "Really. And, as it happens, it saved her going through what I've had to deal with. I have to confess that, for a while, I wondered if she'd known what I hadn't yet discovered and was just trying to teach me a lesson or something." Katie was shaking her head. To the audience at home it may have come across as disbelief at the whole situation, but to Sarah it came as a relief. Dan had lied to her on so many levels, she hadn't known what to believe. Encouraged, she continued. "It's been a very confusing time. I am supportive of his decision to come out. I know it's an incredibly brave and hard thing for anyone in his position to do. But the real reason I've come along today…"
Chapter 14: Katie held her breath and prayed the next sentence wasn't going to contain her name. "…and perhaps the reason he's not pleased to see me, is that I wanted to set the record straight. What he might have forgotten to mention, if I hadn't come along today to remind him, is that these affairs he's confessed to having were with men." Katie's relief that her secret was still safe was tempered by the feeling that a cold front was approaching the studio as the blood drained from her cerebral cortex. The studio audience was definitely switching allegiance from Dan to Sarah, and Katie deftly moved the questioning back to her ex, while concentrating on breathing in and out and waiting for her emotions to catch up with the rest of her. Affairs with men… "So, Dan, are we supposed to feel sorry for you?" She could feel herself going on the offensive and reined herself in. Let the audience decide. Her job, never more difficult than today, was to remain neutral. "What?" "Let me put it this way. Because you were confused, are we supposed to believe that you having affairs with men was okay? Surely being unfaithful is being unfaithful? And how could you do it to your wife? I mean discovering your husband is having an affair with a man has got to be the worst-case scenario?" "Great stuff." Katie barely registered the fact that Fiona was practically whooping in her ear. Concentration was the key. "Well, you would clearly agree with my wife. Actually, at the time I thought it might be easier. As you're not going to be in direct competition, as it were."
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"Right." Momentarily Katie was lost for words. What a mess. She had no doubt this was gripping television. It was just a tad less great when it was your own life. To the relief of Stuart, Fiona and Tom, all watching from the gallery, she came up with another question before the pause went from powerful to simply unprofessional. "Can I ask, Sarah, were there any indications in your physical relationship that Dan was struggling with his sexuality?"
Chapter 15: "Not at first." Sarah blushed, as did Katie beneath her foundation as she recalled just how good their sex life had been. "We always had a great time in bed." Katie didn't want to think about it. Yet, she'd asked. "Excellent stuff." Fiona was in seventh heaven. "Audience question, block C. Second row. Blue jumper." Katie walked over with her microphone. The girl with her hand up was young and attractive. No wonder Fiona had been keen for her to appear on camera. "Yes, madam." "I've got a question for Dan." Katie nodded her encouragement. "I just wanted to ask if he'd thought that maybe he was bisexual rather than gay…." Dan stiffened. "It just sounds like he might be. I mean I've had relationships with both men and women…." An estimated 1.85 million viewers, one hundred and nineteen audience members, plus assorted crew members leaned in a little closer. "And I know it can be confusing." Katie suddenly felt very old-fashioned. Clearly she'd missed her experimental phase. She'd probably been caught in traffic. "Dan?" Katie smiled as the spotlight returned to Mr. Redfern, who was definitely looking a lot less comfortable than he had twenty minutes earlier. And then she remembered that Sarah hadn't slept with Dan while they were going out. He'd been in bed with a man instead. One man? A string of men? Had she lost her best friend in this whole debacle for no reason? Questions, questions everywhere, and only one way she was going to get the answers she deserved. Suddenly Fiona's suggestion wasn't sounding so ludicrous. Or maybe it was down to the heat of the lights. Katie wasn't sure if she was capable of a rational decision today. But she only had a few seconds to decide, while Dan dealt with the question. "No, I don't think so. I mean I don't hate women — indeed I have had some great sex with girls." Did his gaze linger on Katie a little then? She thought it did. "But I just feel that on a deeper level I relate better to and my base attraction is to men. I was in denial for a long time and then I was just too scared. And Sarah here was the one who made me realize I was living a lie, and I'm very grateful to her. I'm just sorry that people had to get hurt in the process, but that's life I guess."
Chapter 16: A ripple of spontaneous applause. St. Dan was making a comeback. "Another hand up. Same row."
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Katie leaned across with her stick mike. "Go ahead." "Dan, do you think if your previous girlfriend had been more trusting of you, maybe you would have opened up to her and not got married in the first place?" "Interesting question..." Dan was pensive. "I don't think it's fair, or indeed relevant, to speculate." As soon as the last word left her mouth Katie knew she'd made a mistake. Suddenly, two years down the line, nothing seemed so black-and-white. Walking back to the center of the studio, Katie created a shot with both Dan and Sarah in the background and addressed camera 4, while Stuart did his best to keep up and Fiona crossed her fingers that Katie was about to throw their running order out of the window. "I'm afraid there's yet another twist in this tale. There's something I have to share with you all. Something I thought I could ignore, but as the subject we're discussing today on The Honest Truth is secrets, it would be hypocritical for me to keep one from all of you. The fact is, I have to confess that I know both of my guests. Better than you could even begin to imagine…"
A reverential hush descended on the studio as Katie wound up her confession. For two years her career had soared as she'd concentrated on helping everyone she could. Today she was helping herself. Autocue had been abandoned but Stuart and Fiona couldn't have cared less. "Wrap it up to camera 3. Well done, you. Very brave and, in parts, very moving." Fiona interrupted Stuart in Katie's earpiece. "Great show. I feel another People's Choice nomination coming on…." Looking more together than she felt, Katie got up from the staircase where she had spontaneously seated herself a few minutes earlier and addressed camera 3.
Chapter 17: "So there you have it. We started off talking about secrets and yet now, half an hour later, I think what we need to take away this afternoon is that there are at least two sides to every story. It might only take a few seconds to leap to conclusions, but the consequences may last for years. Try to remain circumspect and most importantly of all, set your preconceptions to one side and really listen to those you love… "My apologies to those we didn't have time to talk to. My thanks to Dan and to Sarah for joining us in the studio this afternoon, and thanks to the audience here and to all of you at home for watching. Join me tomorrow on The Honest Truth, when I will be talking to some inspirational people about life after the death of a loved one. And remember this show is nothing without you. See you tomorrow. Goodbye." A warm wave of applause followed Katie's closing speech. "Roll titles. We're done in four, three, two, one…." Life after the death of a loved one. To Katie's relief she had nothing to contribute on the subject. Unclipping her radio mike she resisted the urge to break into a sprint but left the studio as fast as she could without running and without approaching Dan or Sarah off camera. She needed a shower, a drink that wasn't water and a moment to regroup first. En route to her dressing room, she grabbed the first member of the team she could see. "Tell Dan and Sarah I'll see them down in hospitality. I'll be twenty minutes max."
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*** Having done her best to wash today right out of her hair, wrapping herself in her robe, Katie was surprised to find Stuart waiting for her in her dressing room as she came out of the ensuite shower room. "Hey, just wanted to check you were okay." Stuart embraced his presenter, who was only too grateful for a hug. "To be honest I'm exhausted. I didn't expect this afternoon to be so emotionally draining. I can't believe it's still the same day." "Yup, it's definitely still Wednesday.…"
Chapter 18: "Just another manic Wednesday. The Bangles got it so wrong. Monday was fine." *** Tom hurtled toward Katie's dressing room clutching the evening papers. His palms were clammy, regrettably not sweaty enough to smudge the headlines into illegibility. Pages four and six. Not front page, but close enough. They'd even dredged up a picture of him with his girlfriend, Louise, taken at the Christmas party. Grim. He was sure all his mates and, more importantly, Louise would've seen the coverage by now, and worse still, all Louise's friends. And there was only so long he could keep his mobile phone turned off. "Katie, I've got the pap…ers." Knocking and entering practically simultaneously, Tom wasn't expecting to see Katie in the arms of another man. Not "another man" as in he was her man, just, well, in the arms of… The last twenty-four hours were starting to get to him. "I'll be outside." Closing the door behind him he leaned against the wall and waited. *** "Well I'd better get down to hospitality and try and stop your ex from killing your former best friend." "Thanks, Stu. I'll be down in a minute." "I bet you can't wait. Take your time. I'm sure they'll hang on." "I'm looking forward to seeing Sarah…I'm sort of hoping…oh I don't know…." "I'm sure it'll all work itself out," Stu tried to reassure her. "I hope so." "Look, he's a good-looking man. I'm not surprised you fell for him." "My life would've been a lot easier if I hadn't." "Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. We've all had at least one of those. Your life would have been much easier if she hadn't fallen for him, too, or at least he hadn't wheedled his way in there." "Quite."
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"See you in a minute. Shall I send Tom in?" "Why not? I doubt anything he's got to show me is going to make today any worse…and, Stu, could you possibly make sure there's a vodka-tonic waiting for me downstairs?" "Will do. A double. On the rocks. Just a splash of tonic. I know." Tom rushed in half a second after Stuart closed the door. No knocking, nothing. Luckily Katie was still in her robe.
Chapter 19: "Hey, Tom. Sorry about that." "No need to be sorry. You don't need to justify anything to me." "Hey, this is Stuart we're talking about. If I know him, he's just off to flirt with my ex-boyfriend." "Don't be ridiculous." "Why would I mind? He's just told the nation he bats for the other team and Stuart's always appreciated a fine man." "Stuart's not like that…he might be camp but he's definitely heterosexual." "He is? Damn." "What?" "Why does my life have to be so complicated? Why can't my gay best friend just be my gay best friend instead of possibly being heterosexual and so maybe having a hidden, or even not so hidden, agenda?" *** Bemused, Stuart picked up his jacket from the hook in the gallery and picked up the phone. "Bill? Stuart here. Look, Katie's got her stick mike in her dressing room and it's still on." "I'm on it. We heard her, too. Shouldn't you be off to seduce the podium guest now." "Very funny." *** "So I'm afraid things could get worse before they get better." "Stop being melodramatic, Tom." "They're not being nice. Apparently now you can add 'cradle-snatcher' to your list of qualifications." "I thought you said you weren't much younger than me." "Eight years. But as far as they're concerned, you're in your thirties and I only left university two years ago."
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"Great." "The good news…" "There's good news…?" "…is that Sarah's waiting to speak to you. Wants to see you on your own before you get to hospitality. She's in the tea bar. I said I'd go and get her when you were ready. And if you're happy to see her." "I'd love to see her." Maybe finally the tide was turning. Maybe some good could come out of today. "Great. I'll go and fetch her." "Thanks, Tom." Katie had barely pulled her jeans on when there was a knock at the door. Sarah must have sprinted. "Come in." Bill popped his head round the door. "Um, sorry to disturb. Just came to get your stick mike." "Sorry, Bill. Forgot to hand it in. Couldn't get out of the studio fast enough tonight."
Chapter 20: "No problem. I don't blame you. You've got a lot on your plate." "Thanks." "Always best if you turn if off, though…" Katie reddened as the implications of her kindergarten error dawned on her. Bill winked as he left the room. "I'd get yourself down to hospitality before your director makes a move on your ex-fella if I were you." He'd heard her. "You won't say anything?" "My lips are sealed." He closed the door behind him as Katie resisted the almost overwhelming urge she now had to bang her head against her dressing room wall. Who else had been listening? What else had she said? And most importantly of all, where had Stuart been two minutes ago…?
The knock at the door startled Katie. She still wasn't ready and she knew she had to get down to hospitality before Dan thought about going home, or incur the wrath of the entire production team. Plus, she already owed them an apology. All she'd had to do that morning was read the research and she hadn't even managed that. "Who is it?" Please don't let it be Stuart, please don't let it be Stuart.
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The voice was tentative but familiar. "It's Sarah. Okay if I come in? Tom said you were…" "Of course. Just please be nice." Pulling a T-shirt over her head and slipping her feet into the welcome comfort of her backless trainers, Katie was ready. Physically at least. "Hi." "Hi." Two former best friends and more than a frisson of awkwardness. Katie moved toward Sarah for an embrace of sorts. Pretty cardboard in its execution, but at least a step, or just a hug, in the right direction. At the physical contact, Katie could feel the tension diffusing. Sarah caught sight of the newspapers on the desk. "Oh, no. Not more." Katie nodded. "Yup, more fiction." "Who writes these headlines? 'Stumble in the Dating Jungle.' 'Kate Fletcher Caught on the Hop at S Cargo' versus 'Katie the Man-Eater.' 'That's Two in Two Weeks. And Counting…' I think I prefer the first one, although I have to say, not your best picture. You do look incredibly drunk." "Thanks. I think I must have been midblink."
Chapter 21: "I'm just being honest. Tom looks as bad as you do." "Yeah, but he's not the one they're suggesting has a drink problem. Apparently I'm about to go into rehab." "Don't let me keep you." They laughed. Suddenly it felt like two years earlier and Katie had to admit, awkward as she felt, it was great to see her. Sarah decided to take the initiative. "Look, I'm so sorry…about everything. There's more you don't know but even when things went wrong with Dan I didn't dare call. I was sure you'd still be livid, and it's not like I couldn't understand why. I just, well, I didn't know where to start, or even if I could, in terms of trying to make amends. I've learned so much in the last couple of years, about Dan, of course, but also about myself. Do you think there's any way we could start over?" A year ago, definitely not. A month ago, no guarantee. Twenty minutes ago…well, anything was possible. And if Katie had learned anything from her show, it was not to leave things until they were too late. And to give people you loved a chance to explain. "Why didn't you call and tell me you were coming on?" Not that she'd ever managed to take much of her own advice. In her head she had sounded less clipped than that. "I was a last-minute booking. I didn't know I was going to be here until yesterday. Funnily enough, Dan hadn't called to warn me and I guess I thought Tom would mention me. I had no idea today was going to be a surprise to you."
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"Yeah, well, it wasn't planned that way. Some of that is my fault." Katie gestured at the papers. "What with all that, I didn't exactly do a lot of preparation this morning." "You've done so well, Katie. I'm so proud of you. This is everything you ever wanted, isn't it?" "Careerwise it's more, to be honest. I was quite happy doing the magazine thing but then after Dan moved in with you, there was an enormous gap in my life and only work left to fill it. I just put my head in the sand and worked my socks off. Not stunningly original in terms of getting over it but, well, quite effective."
Chapter 22: "Quite effective. Look at you. Your own show. Awards. Newspaper headlines…" "About man-eating and rehab. Not quite what my mother was hoping for when she funded my journalism course after university." "Glad to see you haven't lost the self-deprecation. Whatever you say, we've all been watching you rise and rise with total admiration." "So much for a soaring career. In case you haven't noticed, I'm about to assume the crisis position." "Hey, join the sympathy club. At least your husband didn't leave you for a man." "No but my boyfriend left me for my best friend…." Hurt registered in Sarah's eyes and Katie immediately regretted her jibe. But if they were going to move forward they couldn't pretend it had never happened. Not now. Not after half an hour of television on the subject. "Don't get me wrong, it's great to see you, but I still don't understand why you took him in. From where I was standing it just felt like I'd been getting in the way. I couldn't get my head round why you had rejected me. And being on the outside really hurt." "I can see that now. But when Dan came to me and told me you were accusing him of having an affair with me I was incredibly hurt, too. How could you think I would do that to you?" "But you did." "Only afterwards. By which time Dan had fed me a whole lot of lies." "You should have come and talked to me." "Of course I should. But I didn't. And then we slept together and I knew it was all broken. That there was no going back. And he was so persuasive. Told me everything would be fine. It was the most stupid thing I've ever done…." Despite herself, Katie was feeling for Sarah. Standing back from her part in all this, she could sort of see how it could have happened. "Then when we started having problems, he told me that you'd known he'd been having affairs with men the whole time and had been cool with it. For a moment I thought that maybe you had known and chosen not to tell me to teach me a lesson — and I couldn't blame you really, not after the way I behaved."
Chapter 23:
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Katie shook her head. "But then some other stuff happened. I suspected he was lying and now I know. He was playing us off against each other. And my pride got in the way. So did yours. That's the trouble — we were too similar." Katie was sitting now, trying to take it all in. "Blimey, Sarah. What a mess." "I know. And I've had enough. I just want to move on. But I'm hoping that maybe you and I can start again, or at least try to pick up where we left off. I don't want to do this all on my own. I've missed you." "I think you should take a holiday. Get away from it all. Have a break. I'm sure you'll feel better once you've had a chance to get a bit of perspective and a tan." "Why don't you come with me?" "One step at a time. Don't look at me like that. I'm not ruling it out, but right now I just need to take this slowly…." Sarah nodded. "Look, I'm thrilled you're standing there. I never imagined we'd ever be having this chat. And in some strange way it doesn't feel like two years later. That bloody man. I couldn't care any more whether he's straight, gay or bisexual, he's got a lot to answer for…." Katie looked at her watch. "In fact, Sarah, let's come back to this conversation. Right now I want to set a few things straight with Dan before he leaves hostility." "Hostility?" "Sorry, team in-joke. I mean hospitality. It's just traditionally where any post-show aggression kicks off." Sarah smiled. "You TV types, I don't know." "Hey, I'm a journalist." "'Course you are," Sarah teased "Do you want to wait here?" "Hmm, let's see…. A chance to get a few things off my chest when the cameras aren't rolling or an empty dressing room? Of course, I'm bloody coming. Whoever said revenge was sweet wasn't kidding. Nothing I'd like to do more than wipe that smug smile off his face." Sarah folded her arms. "Hey, steady on. My show isn't Jerry Springer, you know…." "I know he's had a hard time, but he's handled things really badly."
Chapter 24: "…and I really don't need to be adding revenge or spite to my ever-expanding CV of vices." "Okay, I'll follow your lead."
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"Well, if there's one thing I've learned in this job, it's that it's best not to bottle everything up for years. Yet until this afternoon, I managed to pretend this never happened." Katie grabbed her purse. "Sounds like championship-level bottling it up to me. Vintage anger can't be good for you." "To be honest, I'm probably a lot calmer and more circumspect now. But I just can't help thinking that it would be better to get everything out in the open…. You coming?" "No, I think I'll stay here and read the papers…. Honestly. It might have been a while, but I'm still me." "Excellent. Follow me."
"You set me up." Dan's volume setting was clearly stuck on "uncomfortably loud," and Tom was doing his best to keep control of a situation that he could feel starting to slip through his fingers. "I assure you, Dan, that I was merely following my brief to find someone who had recently come out, and was happy to discuss their experience on television. The charity gave me your details in the first instance. There was no conspiracy on my, or on anyone else's part." He resisted the urge to look over Dan's shoulder at the clock on the wall. Surely Katie would be there in a minute? Tom couldn't help feeling that Dan was only venting his anger and frustration on him because he was the nearest target he had a name for. "Then what was my ex doing here?" Stuart was eavesdropping from the makeshift bar and decided now was as good a time as any to take the heat off Tom. Poor bloke had been through enough in the last twenty-four hours, not least having to send six contributors home that they hadn't even got round to speaking to. Sliding into Dan's field of vision, he made himself part of the conversation before he could be ignored. "Well, one of them presents the show, which you must have known when you agreed to come on, and Tom approached Sarah for research reasons." "Hmph. Research, indeed."
Chapter 25: "We have strict guidelines we have to follow for legal reasons." With Stuart on his side, Tom felt a lot more confident. "I had to corroborate your story with Sarah and, out of fairness, we then have to give her the right to reply. She wasn't happy about you coming along on your own." "So it would seem. And now I've been well and truly stitched up. I'm not stupid. I know I didn't come out of that studio with any more friends." "But was anything discussed on air this afternoon untrue?" Mentally Stuart crossed his fingers. "No, I guess not, strictly speaking. But that's not the point. I didn't know it was all going to turn out like this."
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"If it's any consolation, Dan, neither did we." Stuart willed Fiona to come over and rescue him. This was her department. And if factually it had all been correct, the heat was off. "Here comes the cavalry now…." Stuart looked up in time to see Katie and Sarah arriving together. "… And you're telling me this wasn't a setup? Look at the two of them." "They haven't seen each other in nearly two years." Tom leapt to Katie's defense without thinking about it and wondered what on earth he was doing. "Doesn't look like it to me." "Looks like you'll be able to ask her yourself. She's heading over here." Sure enough, Katie was coming straight over. Stuart retrieved her drink from the bar and handed it to her as she arrived. Hostility was warming to its reputation. "'Afternoon, Dan. It's been a long time. Thanks for coming on the show today. Good program." "Thanks." For a minute he was flattered into submission. Well, not quite a minute. "Look I was just telling your researcher, this wasn't the programme I was sold over the phone." "What on earth you thought coming on a program I presented without calling to tell me first was going to be like I have no idea. I wouldn't be surprised if you hadn't agreed to take part just to drop me in it." "Would I do that? Come on, Katie, we had a couple of great years together." "So I'd thought." "Sorry to interrupt…."
Chapter 26: "What is it, Michelle?" For once Katie wasn't annoyed that her PA had barged in on one of her conversations. "It's just that I've had your agent on the phone ever since you came off air. I didn't want to harangue you, but apparently her phone has gone berserk. She's fielded calls from journalists on three or four dailies and they're all wanting exclusive interviews." "Are they now." Secretly Katie was quite pleased to note that they'd clearly all been watching in the first place. "On what?" "On this lot." Michelle nodded at Sarah and Dan. "The Tom thing is small-fry by comparison." Tom was the only one to look relieved at this point. "Well, call and tell her there are three sides to this story and that I'm only doing a feature if we can all put our points across clearly…and they have to pay us all or it's a nonstarter. That should separate the men from the boys. Oh, and tell her she can handle all the fees…." Katie turned to Sarah and Dan. "I take it you two don't have agents?" An informative silence. "Well, that's something, I guess. Yeah, Michelle, tell her she can agent these. That should put a smile on her face. And if she wants to speak to me, I'll be free to talk to her in about twenty minutes or so."
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"Will do." "I take it that's okay with you two?" Sarah nodded and Dan followed suit. "It'll have to be more than a fifty-pound fee, though." "That's what I loved about you — all compassion. How have you been?" "What do you care?" "Until about half an hour ago, more fool me, I did care. Just recently I've had a few more home truths than I was expecting and I have to confess I care less." "What do you mean?" "Sarah's filled me in and I'm afraid your plan to come out as St. Dan is looking a little flawed. I mean, just because you were struggling with your sexuality doesn't mean you had a license to behave the way you did. There's coming out and there's having your cake and eating it too until you meet the right man. It wouldn't be acceptable if you were heterosexual, and you can't have the best of every world as and when it suits you."
Chapter 27: "Couldn't have said it better myself, Katie. Clearly this is why they gave you your own show." Sarah was impressed. "Best in her field." As Stuart beamed at the group like a proud father, Katie was relieved to note that he was acting totally normally. He obviously hadn't overheard her earlier. Maybe her run of bad luck was about to run out of steam. "And you're trying to tell me this wasn't some sort of feminist revenge thing." "How could it be? Thanks to you, we haven't been talking to each other for years, plus, you came on to the program of your own free will…and you knew I was the presenter. What were you thinking?" "That it might be fun. I know it sounds ridiculous now. But you should have seen your face when I walked in. I wish I'd had a camera." "Don't worry, Dan." Stuart interrupted. "I had six. I'm sure we can get you a tape of the show if you haven't set the video at home." "Well, I guess that's something." Katie listened, wondering when exactly her life had become a soap opera. "You know what?" Katie turned to Sarah. "I think your holiday plan might just be what the doctor ordered. I could do with a break." "You can't go," Dan proclaimed. "What's it got to do with you?" Katie was defiant. "That holiday was booked for me and Sarah to celebrate our second anniversary. It's Mallorca's top hotel." "Well, I have to confess that I had no idea that there was even a holiday booked, but now you come to mention it, I bet Mallorca is lovely at this time of year. Face it, you owe us both."
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Dan shook his head and in so doing unwittingly admitted defeat. "And you're telling me this wasn't a setup…." "Look, consider this getting off lightly. Revenge may be sweet, but a free suntan would be even sweeter. I promise that, after this article, you'll be left to get on with your new life." "You're not going to get away with this…."
Chapter 28: "Another glass of sangria?" "Don't mind if I do. Have you got the factor 8?" "Coming right up. Want me to cream your back?" "Thanks." Katie flipped herself onto her stomach and rested her chin on the end of the sun-lounger as she positioned her novel on the stone slabs beneath her. This was the life. Ten feet from the pool, five in the afternoon on a Saturday and not a cloud in the sky. Twenty-five degrees of sun coaxing the perfect tan to the surface. "All done, love." "Do you know this is the best idea you've had in years." "About two years actually." Sarah smiled as she lay back on her bed. "Three days down, ten more to go, and we haven't had to spend a Euro." "The bar bill will soon put an end to that." "You know what I mean. Obviously it doesn't exactly make up for everything he put us through, but it's certainly a start. This is the first lie-down-in-the-sun holiday I've had in years and definitely the first holiday Dan has paid for." "That's true enough. Just a shame he couldn't be here to join us." Sarah and Katie giggled. United in sisterhood by sangria and sunshine. Bliss. Katie hadn't realized how much she'd missed her. Sarah removed her sunglasses and enjoyed the pink patterns on the inside of her eyelids as the sun beat down. "What do you think he meant when he said we weren't going to get away with this?" "Who knows and who cares? Of course, he might have sent a photographer out to snap us walking into the sea together." "Big deal. I mean everyone's got cellulite and is proud of it these days." "Unless, of course, he is trying to suggest that Katie Fletcher's ex isn't the only one who was gay." "I'd like to see the papers try and pin that on you after what they've been saying over the last month. They can't have it every way…unless, of course, you are just addicted to sex." "Clearly that'd be it…. I can't even remember the last time I had sex. Is that bad?"
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Chapter 29: "Only if it was last week. Welcome to the real world." A cloud had appeared on Katie's horizon. Or at least her back was no longer in the sun. Raising her head to scowl at the sky, she found herself face-to-face with a waiter. "Sorry to disturb you, but are you Katie Fletcher?" "Who wants to know?" "Chill out, Katie, we're in Mallorca now," Sarah chided. "It's just I have a call for you if you are…. You can take it at the pool bar." Katie grabbed her sarong and followed the waiter. She'd purposely left her mobile in her room. She was On Holiday. Why did people find that so hard to understand? It had better be important. And it had better not be Dan. Suddenly she had a very suspicious mind. "Hello? Katie Fletcher speaking." "One of the problems with having a reputation like mine is that any women who spend any time with me are often sucked into scandals that don't even exist. They all blow over. And for me, well, I guess in the past it's made me look like even more of a stud/love rat depending on whether you are male or female. I know for the women it is more of problem. Guilty until proven innocent. That's what happened with Katie Fletcher. I guess I should have come forward at the time, but with everything else going on, it fell by the wayside. But now Jackie and I are back together and all loved up, I just wanted to set the record straight." "Hallelujah, Stu! I hope that's something real you're reading and you're not just winding me up." "Look, I know better than to write anything. Images, that's my thing." "When did Jamie Joseph say all that?" "Good, isn't it? This week in the Mail. Thought you'd be pleased. And while we're expunging your record, Tom proposed to Louise at the weekend, so consider yourself back in business as the nation's favorite girlnext-door." "Oh, and there I was beginning to enjoy my bad-girl image…." Katie laughed. "Really?" "No. Much prefer the beach-girl look. Much more my style." "I bet. So what'll you be having?"
Chapter 30: "Pardon?" Katie looked around before she wondered what on earth she was doing. "A drink to celebrate…hey, are you still there? Come on, what do you fancy?" "Where are you…?"
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"Look left." Suddenly Stuart appeared at the far end of the bar clutching the newspaper, his mobile clamped to his ear, looking very overdressed, and very hot, in his jeans and T-shirt. "Hello." Katie was speechless. Now face-to-face, Stuart hung up and Katie followed suit. "What on earth do you think you are doing? There are golden rules about not interrupting girlie holidays, you know." "Good to see you, too. I've only flown over for the weekend. Some of us have to work on Monday. Besides, Sarah knew I was coming. She was the one who told me where you were staying." "Where did you get her number?" "The research briefs in the file you didn't read." "Ah." "And here she comes now." Indeed Sarah was heading their way. "Surprise." Sarah planted a kiss on Katie's cheek. "Indeed." "I didn't think you'd mind. You don't, do you? It's about time I sent a few good deeds in your direction." "I'd forgotten you were always the interfering one. Hilarious. Two weeks ago I wouldn't have imagined in a million years that I'd be sitting at a pool bar in Mallorca with my estranged best friend and my gay director." "Hey, less of the gay. That's my reputation you're playing with, Madame Man-Eater!' "You mean you're a closet heterosexual?" "What's with the closet?" "So you definitely haven't in the past nor are now considering dating men? It's just, you know, I've had a bit of a time of it." "Definitely not." "Swear?" "Swear, despite your attempts to sabotage my reputation. Thanks to you I've had to defend my sexuality at work." Katie blushed and hoped Stuart thought it was sunburn. "Sorry. I didn't realize…"
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"I'd hope so. So I can be a bit camp at times, I dress well, and I can coordinate my arms and legs on a dance floor, but that's as far as it goes." "Really…?" "Promise. I mean what sort of gay man pretends to be straight…? Okay, in your case that's not a great example…." "It's just that I'm not sure I can deal with any more ups and downs." "So is that no to a drink then?" Stuart's shoulders slumped a little in defeat. "I didn't say that." "She'll have another jug of sangria." Trust Sarah to take over. "What about you, Sarah?" Katie asked. "I'm off to play tennis. I'll catch up with you guys later." "Oh, okay. Have fun." "You, too." Sarah smiled to herself as she left for the room. "So…sangria?" "Yes, please. You heard the lady." "Glad to see you've assimilated in less than seventy-two hours." "We're practically Spanish now." Stuart laughed and Katie continued. "… Well, you know what they say, when in Rome…. Tennis, though — I'm very impressed. I should exercise more. I didn't even know they had courts here." Stuart smiled. "They don't." Katie looked around, but Sarah was nowhere to be seen. Stuart, on the other hand, was right there.
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Return to Tyler: A Hero for the Holidays by Jacqueline Diamond Keith broke Sunny's heart last Christmas. She thought she'd seen the last of him—until he showed up at her door! Why has he returned to Tyler? Read Chapter One of Jacqueline Diamond's A Hero for the Holidays!
Chapter One Sunny had never expected to see the man again. She wasn't sure she wanted to see him now. But there he stood, dominating the doorway of Books and More. Sunny owned the bookstore just off the picturesque main square in Tyler, a small, close-knit town in southern Wisconsin. There he was, Keith Jamison, the man who, a year ago, had pretended to love her and then had broken off their brief but intense relationship as if it meant nothing. His neatly trimmed, sandy hair and the tailored overcoat stretching across his broad shoulders gave Keith the air of a man in charge. But there was a wariness in those blue eyes that touched Sunny more than she wanted to admit. "You have a lot of nerve, showing up on Christmas Eve." She smacked a book on the counter so loudly that the only remaining customer in the store, librarian Elise Fairmont, jumped. Keith nodded toward Elise. "I was hoping we could talk somewhere private." "I think you said it all on the phone." He'd left on New Year's Day because of what he claimed was a family emergency, and called her long-distance two weeks later. "Don't remind me…." "Let's see if I can remember the words. Oh, yes. 'I'm sorry, it was a mistake. I won't be returning to Tyler. It's better if we both go our own ways.' Does that about sum it up?" At 28, Sunny had nurtured her dreams of finding a soul mate for many long, lonely years. Then, as if by fate, her yearned-for hero had arrived last Christmas Eve after her car broke down outside town in a snowstorm. The stranger had driven her home to her farmhouse. Snowed in for a week after the storm, they'd quickly fallen in love, or so she'd believed. She'd given herself freely to her first-ever lover, only to discover that he'd apparently been using her as entertainment for the holidays. "I knew you'd be a hard sell, but I had to come back." Keith gave her a disarmingly warm smile that flashed a boyish dent in his cheek. "I've sure missed you, Sunny." "Oh, spare me!" She stopped as Elise came to the counter with a book. The librarian, who had patronized the bookstore since Sunny's parents founded it 20 years earlier, frowned at her in concern. "You're coming to the party at the Timberlake Lodge tonight, aren't you, Susan, dear?" That was her real name, Susan Barlow. Only the older residents of Tyler used it, though. "I…" Sunny glanced down at her simple black outfit. She'd brought along jewelry to dress it up for the occasion, an important annual event for Tyler's business and professional community. But she wasn't sure she was in the mood to party.
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"I'll be watching for you," Elise said, and shot Keith a warning glance. Sunny hadn't talked about her mystery lover, but there wasn't much that escaped people's notice in this town. And word about anything romantic traveled like wildfire. Maybe that was how the ladies of the quilting circle always seemed to know, as if by magic, to prepare an appropriate quilt as a bridal gift, no matter how unexpected the wedding. Not that Sunny ever expected to receive one of those quilts. She finished gift-wrapping Elise's purchase. The librarian departed. It was five o'clock. Sunny prepared to close the shop, trying to ignore Keith's bemused presence. She loved this place and had run it since her parents' deaths in a fire at the farmhouse nearly two years ago. Last February, she'd learned that she couldn't afford to keep it unless she sold the farm. Either way, she would lose a precious legacy for which her parents had worked all their lives. "Sunny, I'm not giving up until I've said what I came to say." Keith's words yanked her back to the present as he moved purposefully toward her in the empty store. "You have to listen to me." Although she was five feet eight inches high, he stood a head taller. The closer he came, the larger he seemed. As Sunny caught a whiff of his tangy cologne, memories flowed through her. The strength of his arms and the gentleness of his mouth. The feel of his bare chest beneath her hands. The naked power of him, poised over her… She took a quick step backward. "All right, I'm listening. So get to the point."
Chapter Two "I'm back," Keith said. "I want to recapture what we had together." Sunny stared at him in shock. "Do you think I'd be crazy enough to trust you again after what you did to me?" "Please hear me out. I promise to make a good case for myself." Beneath his teasing tone, she heard fierce determination. Was it possible he truly cared about her? Despite the pain she'd been through after Keith left her, Sunny had to admit that she hadn't stopped loving him, no matter how angry she'd been. "You've got five minutes to talk while you walk me to my car," she said. "I'm parked on the other side of the square." "Fair enough." Keith helped her into her coat and opened the door to a gust of frosty air. Trying to ignore the warmth of his nearness, Sunny stepped outside and locked up. "No burglar alarm?" he asked. "We don't get robbed in Tyler." She led the way across the open square, its leafless oak trees glimmering with white bulbs. A colorful display of holiday lights winked from the nearby Gates Department Store. "That's what you think." Keith's provocative comment made Sunny stop, her heart racing.
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"What do you mean?" Her breath created a cloud in the chill evening air. "Did someone get robbed?" "You're about to." There was no humor in his expression now. "By your father's cousin, Everett Barlow." Sunny couldn't believe she'd heard him correctly. How could he know about Everett? The elderly man, who lived in St. Paul, Minnesota, had loaned her parents the money to buy Books and More. Although she was certain her parents had repaid him years ago, Everett had declared after their deaths that they hadn't given him a cent. Since her parents' papers had burned in the accidental house fire that killed them, Sunny had no way of disproving his claim. To repay him, she was faced with taking out a large bank loan or selling the farm that had been in her family for generations. "How do you know about Everett?" she demanded. After all, Keith had simply been driving through town last Christmas Eve and rescued her when her car broke down. He had no way of knowing about her financial troubles. "It's cold," he said. "Can we sit in your car?" Somewhat reluctantly, Sunny agreed. Although still angry at Keith, she wanted to find out more. She led him to her station wagon. "All right. Now answer my question, please," she said when they were seated inside. "As I mentioned last year, I'm a lawyer," Keith said. "What I didn't tell you was that I came to Tyler on business. I was looking for a woman named Susan, not Sunny. We only used first names when we met, and I'd been told that Susan Barlow was staying at a boardinghouse, not a farmhouse." "You came here to see me?" she asked, stunned. "I didn't realize who you were until after we'd made love," he said. The blood drained from Sunny's face. She'd been a virgin when, yielding to a rush of tenderness and love, she'd slept with a man she hardly knew. This man, Keith Jamison. "Everett sent me to get your signature on a contract acknowledging that you owed him the money," he said quietly. "He's my stepfather, so I agreed to do it on my way to visit friends in Chicago." "You were going to help him cheat me?" she demanded. Her cousin had mailed her the contract later, but she hadn't yet signed it. "I didn't suspect any wrongdoing." Keith rested one arm across the seat back, almost touching her. "Recently, after my mother died, I came across some evidence…. It isn't absolute proof, but knowing my stepfather, I became convinced he was lying." Emotions tightened inside Sunny's chest. Although she was eager to know what Keith had found, she couldn't stop thinking about why he'd come to Tyler. "So what happened between us was just an accident?" Her throat felt thick. "A wonderful accident." He leaned closer. "Sunny, I left because I got word my mother was ill, as I told you. Later, I decided my unintentional dishonesty when I was with you had destroyed any chance of a future with you, so I called and said it was a mistake. But I was wrong. Please give me another chance." "To do what?" She could barely see through the sheen of tears. "To have another fling for the holidays and then go your merry way?"
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A ragged breath escaped Keith. "I've always been a loner. I thought that was my nature. Then last Christmas, here in Tyler with you, I discovered something special. Something I didn't think I deserved, but I realize now it's worth fighting for." His handsome face was only inches away and his blue eyes sparkled with reflected white light from outside. He looked so magical that Sunny almost yielded to the urge to kiss him. She felt the tug of warring desires within her, and the promise—or was it the danger?—that the bond between them might be too strong to break. She couldn't send him away. She needed his help to right old wrongs. Still, that didn't mean she had to open herself to more hurt.
Chapter Three "You told me you came across evidence that my parents repaid the loan to Cousin Everett," Sunny said, her breath raising a frosty cloud in the car's interior. "Let me see it." After all, she reminded herself, what mattered was proving that her parents had paid off their debt and that she owned Books and More, free and clear. Since her parents' papers had been destroyed in the accidental fire that killed them, she would otherwise have to sell her family's beloved farm or take out a crushingly large bank loan to repay her father's elderly cousin. "You haven't responded to the main reason I came back." Keith touched a strand of her long dark hair gently, as if it were precious to him. "I want to recapture the happiness we found together." "It's too late." Sunny struggled to ignore a pang in her chest. "You were the first man I ever loved. When you broke off with me last January, it hurt me a lot. I won't risk that kind of betrayal again." "I'm sorry. Sunny, I promise—" "I don't want an apology or a promise. Just show me your evidence and then leave me alone. Permanently." Against the strong planes of his face, Keith's blue eyes glittered with vulnerability. Sunny could hardly believe she was speaking so harshly to the man she'd once loved, but she refused to let him break her heart again. "I will show it to you," Keith said, "after we've spent more time together. Last January, I took the coward's way out by leaving, but this time I'm sticking around. My evidence is the only leverage I have to persuade you to talk to me." Despite the chill in the air, Sunny's cheeks heated with anger. "That's blackmail. Get out of my car, Keith." "I promise to tell you everything tomorrow," he said. "I'm staying at the Timberlake Lodge. Since you're heading there anyway, I'll follow you in my car." "No. I changed my mind." Sunny had planned to attend the annual Christmas Eve celebration for business people in her close-knit hometown of Tyler, Wisconsin. But after seeing Keith, she was in no mood to make merry. Besides, it was starting to snow, just like last year, when her car had broken down and Keith, a stranger, had rescued her. Better to skip tonight's party rather than risk getting stranded, since her farmhouse lay several miles outside town. Keith was studying her in the darkness broken only by the holiday lights of the town square. "I promise to come by the farmhouse tomorrow. Then I'll show you what I've brought."
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A moment later, cold air blew in as he exited, and then the door closed. Sunny was alone. Wrenched by conflicting emotions, she watched his tall frame stride across the square toward a luxury sedan. Darn him, anyway! Maybe he was lying about having found evidence. Why should she believe him after the way he'd left her? Furiously, Sunny twisted the key in the ignition. The motor sputtered, caught — then died. "No, no, no!" She tried again, but raised only a weak mutter from the engine. "Why is this happening now?" The answer came to her when she noticed that the trip meter stood at 310 miles. Since the gas gauge was broken, Sunny always filled up at 200 miles. Last week, she'd pulled into the gas station, only to find four cars ahead of her. In a hurry to open the store, she'd left, meaning to stop back later. But she'd forgotten. Sunny's gaze swept the picturesque square and found it empty of townspeople. There were houses only a few blocks away, but she was reluctant to interrupt someone's Christmas Eve to ask for a ride. Besides, in the black dress she'd worn for the party, her legs would freeze. Keith's car pulled alongside and the passenger window whirred down. "Trouble?" he called. Sunny hated to ask for a favor. On the other hand, she hated even more to impose on someone else. Opening her door, she said, "I need a ride to the gas station. This doesn't change anything." "Hop in." Keith gave her a rueful smile. "I'll take you straight there." Sunny grabbed her purse and got out. She would only be in his car for a few minutes, she told herself, and opened the passenger's side door. That was when she saw the handwritten letter protruding from an open briefcase on the floor. Was this the evidence he'd mentioned? As she sat down, Sunny snatched up the sheet of stationery. Keith, a startled look on his face, grabbed for it at the same time. His hand touched her wrist, raising an electric spark. "Don't read that," he said. Sunny eyed him suspiciously. "Why not? Afraid I'll uncover some secret?" Keith released a long sigh and sat back. "I can't blame you for mistrusting me. You're right, Sunny. I shouldn't have put you off. Go ahead, read it."
Chapter Four Sunny fetched a flashlight from the glove box and directed its beam of light on the paper. She couldn't believe it. The paper that she had hoped would help her save the family farm was nothing more than handwritten notes. "This isn't evidence!" she said. "I'll bet you wrote this yourself." "That's right, I did," Keith admitted as he put the car into gear. "Before we both freeze, let's go get gas for your car."
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Sunny felt crushed by disappointment. "How could you lie to me?" "It wasn't a lie," Keith said. "I told you I had evidence, not absolute proof." "This isn't worth the paper it's written on!" In silence, he navigated the deserted streets of Tyler, Wisconsin. Brightly colored holiday lights flashed a greeting from the houses they passed. Loneliness welled inside Sunny. She missed her parents terribly. Now she had no one to share Christmas with except a former lover who had twice betrayed her trust. Once when he broke up with her abruptly, and again tonight. "As executor of my mother's will, I had to retrieve her papers from my stepfather's attic," Keith said. "While I was up there, I stumbled across an old ledger that showed the receipt of loan payments and a zero balance." "Was it my parents' loan?" she asked, hardly daring to breathe. "My stepfather had his own secret coding system. Their names weren't on it, but I figured I could find proof if I looked hard enough. My folks stashed papers in all sorts of unlikely places. So I put the ledger aside and began to search," Keith said. "A short time later, Everett ordered me out of his house." "Where's the ledger?" "While I was searching in another room, he took it," Keith said. "He refused to admit it, of course. When I got back to my apartment, I wrote these notes about what I'd seen. If we go to court, they'll give my testimony more credibility." They turned a corner. Ahead stood the gas station, dark and deserted. "Oh, no," Sunny moaned. Was nothing going to go her way today? "I'll take you home, Sunny," Keith said. "I want to make sure you're safe." She wasn't sure she wanted to be alone with him at the farm. She remembered last Christmas all too vividly, making love with him in almost every room of the farmhouse. Why, they would have made love in the barn and the old potting shed if it hadn't been so cold.… "Keith!" she said. "I just thought of something. After the fire, I found insurance papers hidden in the barn. I just realized I never searched my mother's potting shed, next to the barn." He started the car moving again. "A potting shed doesn't sound very promising." "Until six or seven years ago, Mom used it as an office. Maybe she left something behind." "Let's find out." Snow was falling heavily by the time they reached her house. Sunny had used her insurance money to rebuild it before she learned of the unpaid debt, but she didn't regret it. This was her home, and her connection to the memory of her parents. She'd do anything to keep it. A light in the front room revealed a small spruce hung with ornaments. "You decorated a tree?" Keith asked. "It was an impulse," she admitted.
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"A wonderful one." His eyes glittered with emotion. "My mother was like you, warm and joyful, until Dad died. I guess she was seeking security when she married Everett, but it didn't take long for his true personality to emerge." "His true personality?" "Self-centered and irritable," Keith said. "We learned to hold our feelings inside. Last year, with you, I experienced real happiness for the first time in years." Sunny wanted to believe him. There was no way to sort out the truth right now, though, and she couldn't wait to search the shed. "Will you help me look?" "Of course." After parking in the driveway, he took out his flashlight. "Let's go." They hurried along the walkway. In the snowy darkness, Keith's strong silhouette was reassuring. "You must be freezing." He rested one hand on Sunny's waist. She fought the urge to cuddle against him. "I'm fine." Stopping at the long, narrow shed, she scraped open the door. The scents of earth and dust wafted toward her. "Whew! You can tell I haven't been in here for a while." A tug on the overhead chain activated a wan light. As she stared at the cluttered shelves and piles of clay pots, Sunny's spirits plummeted. She didn't see anything of value. "You're dressed up. Let me look." Using the flashlight, Keith probed along the shelves and behind some implements. "I found something!" He emerged with a cobwebbed file box. Her heart thundering, Sunny accompanied him into the house. A few minutes later, they found what they were seeking: a document signed by Everett Barlow, acknowledging repayment of the loan. Happiness swept through Sunny and she flung her arms around Keith. "If it weren't for you, I'd never have found this!" Without warning, his mouth claimed hers, sending a thrill of pure pleasure through her. Then, abruptly, she pulled away. "I didn't mean to do that." Keith studied her for a long, tender moment. "Let's finish this business with my stepfather so we can celebrate and sort things out between us. I'm going to call and tell him exactly what I think of him." "Wait!" Sunny touched his arm. "It's Christmas Eve. He deserves a chance to redeem himself." "After the way he tried to take advantage of you?" "He has to be suffering. After all, he lost his wife recently," she said. "Maybe he regrets trying to cheat me." Judging by Keith's stern expression, she expected him to argue. However, he nodded slowly. "All right. Without telling him what we've found, I'll ask him to admit that your parents paid off the loan."
Chapter Five
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Listening on the telephone extension in the farmhouse kitchen, Sunny heard Everett's dry voice answer on the other end of the line, in St. Paul, Minnesota. "Hello?" "It's me." Keith, who was using the phone in the living room, didn't call his stepfather "Dad," she noticed. "I'm with Sunny Barlow—you know her as Susan. Your demand that she repay the loan is really hurting her." "That isn't my problem," growled her late father's elderly cousin. Many years ago, when he'd visited her parents, he'd struck her as cranky and cold, and he gave the same impression now. "It's Christmas Eve," Keith pointed out. "I…I'm sure you're a good person deep inside. Please admit that her parents paid off the loan, and we can all have a merry Christmas." "It's my money," snarled Everett. "I'm not giving up a cent." Sunny heard Keith sigh. "Sunny insisted I give you a chance to redeem yourself," he said quietly. "We found her parents' loan papers, signed off by you. She doesn't owe you anything and you know it." A long pause followed. Then, "You're lying." "No, and I can prove it." Keith read from the document, citing the date and place where it had been signed. Everett could no longer deny the truth. "Okay, you caught me. So what? She's young. It wouldn't hurt her to help out an elderly relative." "What you did is vile." Keith spoke with taut fury. "You hit her with this phony loan repayment while she was still grieving for her parents, and you took advantage of the fact that the fire that killed them also burned most of their papers. What a rotten thing to do!" "I'm an old man," whined his stepfather. "I need money." "You have plenty of it." "I might need more in the future," Everett said. "You never know." "Your actions amount to attempted fraud," Keith went on, clearly struggling to contain his anger. "I could take this to the district attorney." His stepfather cleared his throat. "I, uh, I have memory lapses," he said, improvising. "I was sure her parents hadn't paid me. You may be a lawyer, Keith, but you'll never make any charges stick." Even Sunny's generous nature had had enough. "Cousin Everett, shame on you!" She burst out. "You should feel sorry for me," came the response. "I'm all alone. No one cares about me. Tomorrow, on Christmas, I'll be eating a frozen dinner in front of the TV." "I'm afraid my sympathy is all used up," Keith said. "If no one cares about you, it's because you never cared about anyone but yourself." "Maybe if you go to church tomorrow, instead of sitting alone feeling sorry for yourself, you'll find the true meaning of Christmas," Sunny added. "Obviously, you aren't going to find it in your heart." They both said goodbye and hung up.
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She was surprised by how shaky she felt as she went to join Keith in the living room. Revenge was supposed to be sweet. Instead, she would have preferred to see the man redeem himself. On the other hand, her farm was safe, and she faced a future unburdened by debt. Sunny's spirits rose. They rose even further when she entered the living room and caught sight of Keith. He stood beside the Christmas tree, his blue eyes glowing almost as brightly as the colored lights. The two of them were alone, just like last year. She remembered how he, a stranger who'd rescued her from a snowstorm, had taken her in his arms. She'd been swept away on a cloud of happiness. Now Sunny could barely resist running to Keith. She ached to wind her arms around his neck and bring her lips up to his. But did she dare trust him after the way he'd abandoned her last January? Hastily, she searched for a distraction, and found it in the pile of brightly wrapped gifts under the tree. Her many friends here in Tyler, Wisconsin, had brought her presents to the bookstore all week, and she'd had a wrapped book ready for each of them. Sunny had prepared a few extras in case anyone dropped by her house. "I'd like to give you a present," she said. "To thank you for all you've done for me." "I don't need thanks." Keith reached for her hand. His grip was firm but not demanding. Sunny felt his warmth radiating toward her. It would be so natural to lean against him and accept the shelter of his arms. Reluctantly, she pulled away. "It's not really thanks, just a token of my friendship. Pick any one of these." She indicated half a dozen packages on the coffee table. "I don't remember which book is in which wrapping. I meant to write the titles on the backs but I forgot." "Whatever I choose, I'm sure it will have special significance." Keith didn't approach her again, although she could see the longing in his eyes. "There's no special meaning. They're just fun books," Sunny said quickly. He chose the largest one. "I'll try my luck." Silver paper and glittering ribbon slid off beneath his strong hands. "Well, well." Keith held up a large, illustrated history of love. On the cover, Cupid aimed an arrow at Botticelli's nude painting of Venus. Blood rushed to Sunny's cheeks. "I forgot that was in there!" She wrapped her arms around herself. "I'd better make a fire in the fireplace. It's cold in here." "I know a good way to warm the place up." Keith raised an eyebrow at her above the suggestive book cover. "No! I mean…" She stopped, flustered. He set down the book. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, Sunny. Please, sit with me for a minute. I want to give you my gift." "You brought a gift?" Surprised, she joined him on the couch. Their legs touched as they sat side by side, but Keith gave no sign of noticing. Sunny's breath caught in her throat as, from an inside pocket, he produced a crimson jeweler's box.
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"What is it?" she asked. "Open it and find out." Sunny's heart raced. Would his gift indicate that he wanted her to be his wife? Sunny wondered. Or was it the kind of flashy gift a man gives to a woman he hopes to seduce?
Chapter Six Holding her breath, Sunny opened the jewelry box. Catching a glimmer of light from the Christmas tree, a large, perfect diamond winked at her from a gold ring. "I…I don't know what to say." Did this mean what she thought it did? "I'd be happy with the word yes." Sitting beside her on the couch, Keith took her left hand between his. "Sunny, I came back because I want to marry you. I hoped you might love me as much as I love you." She couldn't believe he was proposing. When Keith had left her a year ago, she'd believed her romantic dreams were smashed forever. Seeing him again, though, she could understand why, after growing up with a cold, selfish stepfather like Cousin Everett, he hadn't trusted his own heart. "I'll give up my job in Chicago," he said. "Tyler may not need any more lawyers, but I don't mind commuting to Madison. I'm crazy about your farm, you know. And I'm crazy about you. Sunny? Will you marry me?" She wanted desperately to say yes. Yet she wondered if she was thinking clearly. Tonight, Keith had saved her from financial ruin. He'd rescued her, just as he had on the night they'd met, when she'd been stranded in a snowstorm. His presence in her farmhouse on Christmas Eve was reassuring and tender. Also sexy and inviting. She wanted very much to spend the night in his arms. Was that a good enough reason to promise him the rest of her life? Uneasily, Sunny removed her hand and slid away on the couch. "You caught me by surprise. I can't give you an answer tonight." Keith's blue eyes widened in disappointment. Quickly, he hid it with a smile. "Then I'd better stick around and hope you give me the best Christmas present a man could ask for. Any objections to my sleeping in the guest room?" "Of course not," she said. After fetching a suitcase from his trunk, he retired to the spare room. Sunny sat alone by the tree, gazing at the ring. During all the Christmases of her youth, while joyfully celebrating with her parents, she had dreamed of someday sharing her holidays with a husband. A man who would love children as much as she did. A man she could lean on and cherish. Was Keith that man? Sunny didn't have to ask herself whether she loved him. She'd fallen for him the night they met and, despite her efforts to forget him, her feelings for him had never changed. But could she trust him again after the way he'd abandoned her?
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At last, she turned out the lights and went to her room. The bed was cold, and it took a long time to fall asleep. *** All night, Sunny wavered between dreams of happy weddings and nightmares of a wedding where the groom never arrived. Awakening on Christmas morning, she dressed quickly. With luck, she could fix a special breakfast before Keith got up. Passing through the living room toward the kitchen, Sunny stopped. On the floor by the tree sat Keith, cradling a ginger-striped kitten wrapped in a red towel. "Where on earth did you find it?" she asked. He looked up with a grin. "I went for a walk this morning to enjoy the snow and found this little guy mewing out back. Any idea who owns him?" "No one. A stray cat gave birth in the barn. I guess she didn't like me playing with the kittens, because one day they all disappeared." "Well, this one came back." Keith held the tiny creature aloft in his strong hands. "You can name him, if you wish. Of course, we'll want a puppy, too. Our children ought to grow up with lots of animals, don't you think?" Mischief played around the corners of his mouth. He was inviting her to agree with him, she realized. And she did agree, with a rush of joy that brought tears to Sunny's eyes. "Yes," she said. "Does that yes mean what I hope it does?" "It's the kitten's name," she teased. "Don't you think Yes is a great name for a cat?" Seeing the uncertainty on his face, she hurried on, "What I really mean is, yes, I'll marry you, and, yes, our children should have lots of animals." The next thing she knew, the kitten was sitting on the floor and Keith was crushing Sunny into his arms. He gathered her against him and covered her mouth with kisses. "I love you, Susan Barlow," he said when he came up for air. "I love you, too, Keith Jamison." The hardness of his shoulders, chest and hips, pressing against her softness, promised intimacy to come. Sunny was in no hurry though. They had all the time in the world. They had forever, and they were going to spend it together. *** Keith and Sunny were married at the Fellowship Lutheran Church in January. Friends filled the service, and, at the reception afterward, piled their gifts high. The most special gift to Sunny was a quilt that featured a snowflake pattern and the red and green colors of Christmas. Once again, the ladies of the Tyler quilting circle had lived up to their reputation and, confident that she and Keith would find happiness on a snowy Christmas Day, had put their talents to work stitching her a bridal quilt.
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But then, when it came to true love, the quilters of Tyler, Wisconsin, always did seem to know….
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Hope in a Handbag by Annie Jones Finola Barrett is a head-in-the-clouds, miracles-still-happen, Christmas-has-not-gotten-too-commercial-ifyou-have-the-spirit-in-your-heart believer. She is also a woman on a mission—to achieve the resolutions she made for herself at New Year's, almost exactly one year ago: Finding Mr. Right, owning a home, starting her own business and lastly…to find the perfect handbag. She thinks she may be able to complete them in time, if only the man who manages her trust fund—her own personal Scrooge—would approve her business proposal. Will she be able to overcome the banker who stands in her way? Will she ever find Mr. Right? And will she have a great handbag when she does?
Chapter One My name is Finola Barrett and I'm a head-in-the-clouds, miracles-still-happen, Christmas-has-NOT-gottentoo-commercial-if-you-have-the-spirit-in-your-heart believer. I believe in God and try to put my personal faith into action everyday. I believe that people who set goals and work toward them can still realize their dreams. This is my story. It was getting close to that time of year again…the holiday season. I believed that while the first-round draft choices of men where I lived were slim pickings, there was somebody out there for me and I would find him. And lastly, undoubtedly, unashamedly, and to spite every evidence to the contrary, I unwaveringly believed that somewhere out there was the perfect handbag. And when I found it, it would change my life. I lived in Wileyville, Kentucky. It wasn't New York. It wasn't L.A. It wasn't even Indianapolis on Memorial Day Weekend. But Wileyville was my village—as in it takes a village to raise a child. Trust me, raising me from my arrival—as the unplanned baby of a couple of teenagers—to my life as a part-time baker and the town's most used substitute teacher took a communal effort. Even with my grandfather at the helm. When my parents realized they couldn't care for an infant, my grandfather took me in. My mother moved away, eventually to Europe, and started a life that didn't include me. My father, well, because his dad was the one I lived with, I grew up knowing him—and his "real" kids. He sent checks for birthdays and holidays. I never went to his home but I heard it was nice. The house I grew up in is gone now—sold as part of the estate when my grandfather died a few years back. Any other real estate he owned, he gave to his son. Me, I got his money—every last cent. I supposed that meant he had a soft spot in his heart for me. But just to prove that soft spot was in his heart and not his head, he threw up provisions keeping me from my trust fund—which is an awful funny term for something that no one actually trusted me to manage and that left me constantly in need of funds—until I reached the age of thirty. Or until I got married or started my own business and kept it solvent for a year. I guess Granddad thought if I hadn't done any of those things by thirty, there was no hope and I might as well squander his money in the same way I had my life. Countdown to being considered a total failure: Five years. With all that in mind, it's no wonder that the year before I had made four resolutions: to start my own business; to have a home of my own (I rented—above the place where I worked part-time, no less!); to meet
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Mr. Right (meet, not marry. My head may be in the clouds but I still get enough oxygen to my brain to know you don't rush into some things); and lastly…to find the perfect handbag. It exists. I know it does. I'm just hoping it hasn't already been snapped up by my Mr. Right's lovely wife. Those four resolutions I completely and totally intended to see accomplished before the bells rang in the next New Year. The problem was…that was eleven months, five days, seven hours, forty-two minutes and a handful of seconds ago. I had woken up to the unavoidable truth—time was running out! So I decided to do something about it. Really…with two part-time jobs (full-time work is not easy to come by around here in Wileyville), it was time for me to discover my place in the world. "Miss Barrett, I have no room in my schedule today for another one of your…creative business proposals." He was dressed in gray—a suit, of course. And a white shirt that contrasted with his inherited Italian skin tone and thick, black hair. He didn't actually have the words "banker" emblazoned across his back—and believe me, with those broad shoulders, he could have had that and his bank officer/financial counselor title on there to boot. But he didn't have to. Everything about him screamed: This man means business! Which is exactly why I sought him out. Well, that's one reason, at least. Did I mention how broad his shoulders were? His olive skin? Black hair? The way he wore his position of power like a billboard? Hmm, yes, I believe I did. And one more thing—the man owned me. Okay, owned is a bit ominous sounding. Let's just say he was the man who held the purse strings of my financial future. Tight. Think death grip. In the year since he had taken over that job from another banker, our relationship had been adversarial. I thought I would change all that. "Clear your calendar! Make room for me, Mr. Christopher, because I'm not leaving until you hear me out!"
Chapter Two Charles Christopher III was not a believer. At least, not in the same sense that I was. Church-going man of faith? Yep. Advocate of hard work reaping results? Oh, yeah. Enamored of hope in a handbag? Not so much. Okay, not at all. And that went the same for Christmas spirit and New Year's resolutions, I was sure. What I did know of him I had gathered from our "working" together over the year. Strictly business. Oh, and the fact that it was a small town. People talked, especially over breakfast at the bakery. Really, if Wileyville had a hot spot, between the hours of 6:30 a.m. and 11:00 a.m. the Not by Bread Alone Bakery was it. Not to mention what I heard around the schools while subbing. Teachers love to talk. I knew the town and I knew I could make a business work here. I just didn't know how to convince a certain money manager of it. The man had no room in his life for anything that couldn't be collated, cash-valued or crunched. As in number crunching. Which is why he had sent me away and told me not to come back until I had a business plan on paper. Instead, I returned the next day with my plan wrapped in paper. I took a deep breath and clutched my black leather attaché-style handbag to my chest like a life raft. If James Bond had been a woman, this is the handbag Q would have designed for her. Cool, sleek and bought for a song at an off-season shop. It screamed I have power and I know how to use it.
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I had muffins in it. "Miss Barrett?" He looked surprised to see me. "I'm back." I tried to sound cheerful, but not so cheerful that it went around the bend to psychotic. Men like this hardly ever want to do business with the cheerfully psychotic. I held up my purse. "And I brought muffins." "Muffins?" The fact that he did not immediately signal security after that strange little pronouncement gave me hope. But then again, what didn't give me hope? "For you." I started to open my bag. "To show you what I have in mind. I thought you might have more enthusiasm for my wanting to buy and run the Not by Bread Alone Bakery if you had a sample of the kinds of things I plan to serve there." "Miss Barrett, please. Keep your muffins in your handbag." He blinked, shook his head and then—and I could tell he didn't really plan on doing this—he laughed. "Now there is a sentence I never thought I'd hear myself say." "'Til you met me." I smiled. He smiled back, all the way to his dark, deep-set eyes. "'Til I met you," he echoed softly. "You just have to give me a chance, Mr. Christopher. I know I can prove to you that I can make this work. I've watched how that bakery has been run for the last three years—noted every mistake and every opportunity they have had to really make the place a money-maker." "No business that only stays open a few hours a day, that operates the same way it did 30 years ago when the original owners opened it, can be a money-maker, Miss Barrett." "Exactly! That's why I plan to do just that!" "What?" I stuck the muffin practically under his nose. "Change!" He took a deep breath, glanced around the bank lobby and motioned for me to follow him into his office. "Okay, let's get this over with." "You won't regret this," I told him as I brushed past him so close that his silk tie rasped against my Christmas sequined sweater. "Regret spending time with you? Never. Regret that even after I give you as much time as I can spare this morning—which isn't much—I'll still have to tell you no? Always." "Why?" I turned and had to tip my head back to meet his gaze, he was that close. Kissably close. "Why do you always have to tell me no? I think you must enjoy it."
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"Believe me, Miss Barrett…" He raised his hand to almost touch my cheek, then changed direction and, stepping back, rubbed his own temple. "Saying no to you is one of the last things I want to do, but I will do it. I have to. It's my job."
Chapter Three Carried the old standby the next day. The strap was about to go. There was a hole in the lining that ate change and the zipper stuck so bad that I knew one day I would have to take scissors to it to get to my car keys. It was a frayed, frumpy, frustrating fiasco waiting to happen. Which suited my mood perfectly. I mean, really! Sugar-Plum Fairy Fruitcake Muffins. How could the man not immediately see the brilliance in that? The facts: Wileyville needed a bakery. The owners couldn't afford to keep the doors open unless they changed the way they ran the place. They preferred to retire and sell the place off than take a chance. I lived above said bakery and had worked there for three years. There I was, a woman with the motivation and the oven mitts to make it happen. All I needed was… The door swung open, bringing in a blast of cold air. I turned from the knickknacks I had been looking at, startled to see who was shuffling in. "Mr. Christopher! What a surprise to see you here." Here. Gifts'N'Garb. In a town the size of Wileyville, everything did double duty. Barber and beauty salon shared space, the garden shop sold books and the hardware store dispensed legal advice—okay, not legit legal advice but that's where the old men who thought they had all the answers hung out. The women, young and old, didn't seem to slow down long enough to hang out anywhere—not that there was a place for them that would stay open past 5:00 p.m. Which brought me back to the man who was standing awkwardly among the quilted bags, snowflake angels and brightly colored teapots. He took my breath away. I could have just kicked him for that. "Finnie, uh, that is Miss Barrett. I saw you come in here and I wondered…" He made a quick check to see if anyone heard him. Secrecy. It's not just for Santa, anymore. "Call me Finnie." I held my hand out to put him at ease. Yes, and because I liked the way my hand felt in his. "And I can call you, what? Charlie?" He winced. "Chris." Again with the looking around, then that fab smile of his. "Like I said, I saw you come in here and…" "And you chased me down to say you changed your mind about the bakery?" Hey, season of miracles, hope and all…why not? "And unleash those muffins on the unsuspecting people of Wileyville?" He shook his head, kindness in his unyielding eyes. "Actually, I have this sister. Half sister, actually, long story but…she's 13. I need to get her a Christmas gift. When I saw you come in here I thought you might help me pick something out." "Here? For a 13-year-old?" The poor man. I glanced around us. And his poor sister. "Not likely. You want to buy a gift for a girl that age, you're going to have to go to Lexington."
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"Lexington?" He nodded slowly then smiled. Big. Like I'd just solved all his problems. I smiled back, probably looking like a crush-drunk 13-year-old myself. "Great. I can do that tomorrow after work." He started to leave without so much as a thank you. I opened my mouth to remind him of his manners—look, the guy didn't mind being a total pain in my behind, why shouldn't I return the favor? Before I got a word out, he turned, nailed me with that power gaze of his and said, like we were the best of old buds or something, "Thanks, Finnie. When should I pick you up?"
Chapter Four Cute. Cute. Cute. I would usually put function ahead of fashion—really—but for that night I chose a darling little red velvet drawstring bag with a vintage Christmas pin stuck on it for fun. Outfit? Who knew? Chris had rushed out of the store so fast I didn't get a chance to find out if I needed to dress casual or classy. I mean, I always dressed classy, but…you know. So when the knock came at the door, I had nothing but a plush robe, a worn T-shirt, flannel pants and a flimsy story about running behind to cover me. "Am I early?" Mr. Perpetually Punctual checked his wristwatch. "No, I'm…" I was standing a few feet away from this gorgeous guy basically in my pajamas! I folded myself more tightly into my robe. He didn't come inside my apartment and I didn't do the little swing-the-door-open-and-motion-him-in thing that I'd planned when I had played it all out in my head earlier. In fact, I leaned in and narrowed the gap, using the door to shield my body. Did I mention that when I was around this guy I acted like a real dork? He was still waiting for me to speak. "I didn't know how to dress," I said, sort of shrugging. He cocked his head and half smiled. "You forgot how to dress?" "Contrary to the way my grandfather treated me regarding money, I am not a total child." Instead of going for the flirty thing, I figured why not exert a little independence? Then I totally negated it by confessing, "I didn't know what to wear." "Wear?" He frowned and this pleat formed between his brows and his eyes crinkled at the corners. "What would you normally wear to go Christmas shopping?" "Shopping?" I tugged at my robe lapels. "For Ashley?" "Ashley?" "My sister?" "Oh, shopping. For Ashley." What had I thought? That Mr. I'm-always-going-to-tell-you-no had actually asked me out on a date?
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Yes. That's exactly what I had thought. I thought he'd felt what I'd felt that day he stood so close to me and he had decided against his better judgment—no, he had been unable to deny the attraction—and wanted to take me off to a wonderful, romantic retreat to a town 50 miles away where no one would bother us. That he wanted to walk through streets lined with twinkling lights, hear church bells playing carols, hold hands, gaze into my eyes and say… "I've been giving a lot of thought to savings bonds."
Chapter Five We never made it to the mall, to the romantic date or anywhere. Chris had suddenly decided to give his sister the gift of financial responsibility and I had decided to give myself the gift of my special recipe double fudge pecan caramel brownies. As usual, baking inspired me. I wasn't ready to give up on the resolution to open my own business. My most important accessory for the following day would be confidence. Confidence and a briefcase. No purse. Clearly the only way to impress Chris—business-wise, what else?—was to actually present him with a business proposal. So I stayed up all night frantically feeding my computer all my hopes and dreams and ideas about the significance of the small-town business and how much people relied on the bakery at the most important moments of their lives. Weddings. Graduations. Breakfast. "Hey, Finnie!" A teller, someone I'd known roughly since birth, waved as my boot heels clicked across the cold, gleaming floor. "Here to see Mr. Christopher? Did he invite you to the open house?" I eyed her suspiciously. "Umm…" "Well, either way, help yourself to some cake and cookies. We were all supposed to invite customers. Mr. C. invited you, right?" "Open house?" I whipped my head around to see a long table draped in gold cloth and loaded with all kinds of holiday treats. "Cake? Cookies?" "Help yourself." Chris stood in the doorway to his office, leaning one shoulder against the door frame. "Grab what you want and come on in." "Grab something? Oh, don't tempt me, mister. Because right now I'd like to grab you by the scruff of the neck and…and…and…throw you out into the snow!" "What? Why?" "Where did all this come from?" I pointed to the table. "Certainly not the bakery. I live above the bakery. I work in the bakery. If this had come from the bakery I'd have known about it." "We, uh, got it all at the grocery store in the city. Is there a problem?" "Oh yeah. There's a problem. You knew I was coming in here today." "Actually, I didn't." "I've come in here every day this week, so you could have made an educated guess." He laughed and conceded my point with a nod.
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"You knew I'd be here, and you knew I would be coming to plead my case for why I can make the Not by Bread Alone Bakery profitable again. And you staged an open house with baked goods from the grocery store—" "I didn't do it to hurt you or your plans, Finnie. But doesn't it show you something?" "Yes." It showed me that I was never going to accomplish my resolutions if I depended on him for help. "It shows me who is on my side—and who's not." "It's not a matter of sides, it's a matter of space. There is no room in this town for a business that doesn't meet multiple needs." I took my cue to storm out, but not without calling over my shoulder: "Then maybe there's no room in this town for me."
Chapter Six Church purse. Small and sedate. Just like I felt after my baked-goods-induced bout of false bravado at the bank. How I had ever gotten up the nerve to show my face at the church's children's Christmas pageant, I didn't know. Yes, I did. The previous week, I'd been called in to sub and teach first grade and I had promised the kids. It was technically an obligation. I had so few of those around the holidays that I didn't want to miss out. That's not sarcasm. People with tons of friends and family don't realize how empty the calendar seems this time of year to those of us who don't have a lot of either. So I went. Because, though the town might not have room for a bakery, or for a girl who just wants a few simple things in life (four things, if you go by my resolutions), my holiday season had plenty of room for everyone and everything in town. Except maybe…you know who I was thinking about. Chris. There he was in my head again. I couldn't seem to shake him loose. All weekend while I trimmed my tree, mailed my Christmas cards and wrapped presents, he had been right there with me in my stubborn, stupid mind. I should have been totally sick of him by then. "Hi." But I wasn't. I looked up and gave the man a weak smile. "Hi." "Room for me in that pew?" I should have told him no. But, you know, I brought the extra small purse so neither it nor I took up much space. I slid over. "What are you doing here?" "My sister is singing in the choir." He settled in like he belonged there. Not that he belonged in the pew, but that he belonged beside me. So I had to warn him. "Lollie Mulldoon goes to this church." "So?"
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"So?" Sports arenas had jumbotrons to give instant replays and stats. Round-the-clock news shows had constant crawls to keep up with the ever-changing status of the world around us. Wileyville had Lollie. The woman saw all, knew all and, most importantly, told all. "So, you get too comfy in that seat beside me and she'll have half the town thinking we're planning a winter wedding." I always wanted a winter wedding. I blinked, unsure where that thought had come from, and cleared my throat. "Just watch yourself, okay?" He leaned over, his shoulder pressed to mine. I held my breath. "Finnie?" His breath made the feathery curls by my ear flutter. My heart, too. "What?" "Rest assured that everything between us will be just as it should be." Ouch. That put me in my place. "Now hand me a hymnal, please," he said, placing his hand oh-so-gently on my back as we stood, then slipping his arm around my waist as he bent low enough to whisper. "Oh, and don't forget to wave to Lollie Mulldoon." I couldn't say for sure, because just then the music started up and the choir marched in singing Gl-o-o-o-ria, but I think he chuckled under his breath.
Chapter Seven "Sorry. We're closed," I said through the crack of the door. Sigh. That felt waaaay too good to say to the man who had put the kibosh on me buying the very bakery I was standing in and changing a few things—like closing-time policy. "Closed? At eleven—" he glanced at his watch "—twenty-four in the morning?" I opened the bakery's front door the rest of the way to where he stood on the other side. "That's the current owner's policy. We bake in the morning, put everything out and when it's gone, we close." "So if somebody promised to pick up cupcakes for his little sister and then let his schedule get so crowded that he forgot to stop in earlier and only has his lunch hour to—" "Stop. Stop. Okay. This is for Ashley?" "Yeah," he said sheepishly. I motioned him inside, and he slid past me. "When does she need them?" "Uh… I have to get them to the school office no later than 1:30." "Why didn't you go to the grocery store?"
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"Because…the baker there doesn't have your smile." "You play dirty." And I smiled. He did the same. "Go back to work." I flipped a towel over my shoulder. "I'll get the cupcakes to her." "Thanks. I owe you." "Go." Before I turn entirely to gush, I added to myself. Or worse, decide to try to cash in on that debt and start making demands about letting go of some of my money. He nodded and turned, then halfway to the door, he turned back again to say to me, "It wasn't an entirely rotten idea, you know." "Waiting to buy cupcakes?" He shook his head and put his hands in his coat pockets. "You buying the bakery." "What? But…" "It just wasn't…enough, you know?" "No." I mean, really, if I'd known wouldn't I have done something differently? "What did you have in mind?" His shoulders rose and fell, making the hem of his coat swing for a moment, then he cocked his head. "Let's go fishing." "Fishing?" "Yeah, a fishing expedition. Casting around for new ideas, that kind of thing. Go and see what works in places outside of Wileyville. Take what you can use and throw the rest back. Let's take that trip to Lexington that we didn't make before and…" "Fish?" "You fish. I'll hunt. I'll look for a different, more kid-friendly gift for Ash and you go after the thing you need most." The perfect purse? Or maybe some other thing on my resolution list: Mr. Right. "Um, what would that be?" "A good idea," he said with quiet authority. "Oh, ideas I got, pal." Plenty of them, and not all about business. "But okay. If you're asking, I'm accepting. We'll go to Lexington—shopping." "Fishing," he corrected, and swept on out the door.
Chapter Eight I chose a bag to take to work the next day—my last sub day until January unless something unexpected came up—a big bright satchel type which I stuffed with smaller clutches and bags for makeup and so on. And I actually thought to myself, it's like having my own little purse family. Ugh. How sad is that?
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I really needed to make good on those resolutions—and fast! Sub work was ususally slow around the holidays. The regular teachers made every effort to be in class, and not just because the kids brought gifts. In fact, looking at some of the gifts piled up on the table at the back of the room, I couldn't help thinking those might be a good reason to take the whole season off. There they sat: cookies and candies, two rolled cakes (one jelly, one chocolate/marshmallow with holly stuck on top) and a tin marked "Not for Children." Rum balls, I reckoned. Believe me—if I had been a drinking woman…or is that a snacking woman? Either way, the whole collection only served to mock me. Chris was right, they said. This town didn't need a bakery. It needed… What? Maybe the trip to Lexington would help me figure it out, I thought. Lexington. With Chris. "Miss Barrett?" A little girl with red hair and a sweater she had tugged and pulled out of shape at the hem and sleeves stood by my chair. "I made you a card." "Well, isn't that sweet?" I took the crude construction paper offering and admired it like the child had created something worthy of the great masters. And to my mind, she had. "And look! You've got Rudolph at the manger." "I didn't want to get in trouble by making it too relitious… I mean reledge… churchy," she whispered. I patted her hair (subs don't hug—it's a new rule; one I can't stand but that's the way of the world today) and said, "You did just fine. We still live in America and if you want to make a churchy card, you should go right ahead and do it." "I wanted —" she said, twisting her sweater in her hands "—to get you something because you're my favorite sub-sta-tude teacher, but Mrs. Welks didn't say you'd be here until the end of school. I asked…my mom if we could get you something last night, but all the stores in town were closed." Which was why so many people drove up to an hour to spend their money someplace where they could shop, eat…even just meet after work. "It's okay, honey. I like this card better than anything you could buy." She smiled. I sighed. The rest of the day dragged on and all I could think about was how I could use this nothing-staying-open situation to my advantage. Other than how it had already come in handy giving me a reason to go off alone with Chris the next day…
Chapter Nine Purse the next day: backpack. Great for shopping and fending off smart remarks from Chris about my tendency toward the impractical.
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"I had no idea," he had said as I got in his car. "What?" "That you planned on such an extensive trip that we'd need hiking gear." "Not funny." No, but pretty adorable. I hadn't counted on how I'd feel sharing an hour-long car ride with the man. And that was just one way. Then there was the traffic. "Maybe we'd have made better time if we had hiked. Nicholasville Road at Christmastime! What was I thinking?" "You said Fayette Mall. We could have bypassed it all and hit Hamburg Place but…" "Ashley is 13. You want to buy a gift for a 13-year-old you have to hit the mall. It's like a law or something." "Well, I wouldn't want to break the law." "Besides, now that we're here…we can go there." I pointed to the sign proclaiming Joseph Beth Booksellers. "Honestly, I wouldn't consider my Christmas tradition complete without a trip there." "Your Christmas tradition is a trip to a bookstore?" "Well, in my defense, it's not just any bookstore. And…well…it's not like I have a family or anything. Friends try to include me in their traditions but, you know, it only makes me feel more like an outsider than anything." Stop. Stop now, I told myself, shutting my mouth before I blurted out that being in a mall or a huge bookstore filled with holiday shoppers was as close as I got to a warm holiday moment. Except the other night at church with Chris. And, to some degree, the bank's open house—with Chris. Funny. For so long I had dreamed of having someone in my life for just those kinds of things, and then I did—but I didn't. And given our situation, I was thinking I never would—not Chris. Hmm, careful what you pray for, indeed. "Maybe we should skip the bookstore," he said, driving through the lot. "There's no room in the trunk for another bag." "No room is a big thing with you, isn't it?" "It's just simple mathematics." "Mathematics?" "You know, square feet, what goes into what, how it all adds up. What's wrong with that?" "Nothing. At your work. But as a way of life? I have to tell you…" "Tell me over dinner." "Dinner? I thought this wasn't a date." Okay, I was flirting. I liked the guy. He was cute. He was mature. He was honest. "It's not a date." Too honest.
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"But we're in an area where you can get a bite to eat in a place that's not along the highway and has more than just fast food—that's definitely a plus." Plus. I should have known there would have been math involved in his decision. Math was safe. While dinner on the other hand… "Great. It'll give us a chance to talk," I said. "Yeah. I have some thoughts on your business plans." Just business. He said it with a tightness in his shoulders, a grim set of his mouth. He was all about business as he sharply turned the wheel to pull into a parking space. He was all about business with his actions, but not with his words. "Seafood okay?" "Like clams? Lobster?" The only shell I was interested in was the one this man had just crawled into. What was up with him and the numbers and the no room for things that didn't add up? It wasn't just spreadsheets and business plans, I knew it. "Whatever you want." He got out of the car. "Whatever I want? Even if what I want is to have an honest to goodness discussion with you?" I met his gaze over the top of the car. "Like this whole 'no room' deal and how it came to be the watchword for your life?" "Leave it, Finnie." "But…" He got out of the car and the door swung shut, hard. He depressed a button on his remote and the locks clicked into place. Leave it? He had not just closed the door on the subject, he had bolted it down! It seemed there was no room in that man's life for someone who wanted to know him better.
Chapter Ten A doggie bag. Seemed only fitting for a girl consigned to the doghouse, huh? Well, I couldn't just leave it, could I? "Why does everything have to add up?" "What?" He'd asked over his shoulder. "Name?" the host had asked us. It seemed there was going to be a short wait for a table. "Christopher," Chris barked. "Last name?" "That's it."
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I let him alone as we waited for our table. A few short moments later a new hostess motioned to us. "This way, Mr. and Mrs. Christopher." Mr. and Mrs. Christopher. Chris and Finnie Christopher. My heartbeat did a jingle. Sounded good. Too good. Even twenty-four hours later, it still had a sweet, sweet ring to it. "Oh, we're not…" I had held my hand up. Chris intercepted. "She doesn't care about our marital status. Let it go." Let it go. I tried to make it my mantra for the whole evening. I repeated it in my mind so often it began to sound like a holiday song—"Let it go, let it go, let it go!" "So, did you get any good ideas today?" "Ideas?" "You came along to look at successful businesses and to get some ideas, right?" "Actually, I came along to find a purse." Mental note—check to find short in the wiring between brain and mouth. "A gift?" "Not really. Sort of. To myself. I mean, you know my situation, I don't really have family to exchange gifts with and with money the way it is, my friends agreed to just send cards. So—" I can't be sure. I've gone over it in my mind a dozen times since then, but I think, maybe his expression betrayed a little something behind the big bad banker man facade. If I had to describe it, I think I might say it was like he was looking at a kindred spirit. And then it was gone. For him. For me? I couldn't get it off my mind. What had made Chris the way he was? Why was he so set against taking chances? Even when it wasn't his money at risk? And the most important thing I had to ask myself—how was any of this my business? How did knowing that move me closer to my goals? It wasn't selfishness but self-preservation that kicked in that next day when I called and made an appointment for the following Monday to see Chris—on business.
Chapter Eleven "Prequalify me." I smacked my sleek black vintage envelope bag down on the desk right next to the nameplate of a certain Charles Christopher III. "For what?" He glanced up from the paper in his hand.
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For a torrid romance, I wanted to say. I sank into my chair like his very gaze melted the steel right out of me. And despite my no-nonsense bag right out of a black and white big-shouldered gal moviedom, I demurred. "For a house, silly." "A…a house?" Eye batting. "Isn't that the way one is supposed to do things? Prequalify before they go out and start house hunting, Mr. No Room for Risky Business?" "I never said…" "So, do it." I tossed my hair back. "Prequalify me so I can get out there and start looking. I'd like to have a contract as soon as possible." "Finnie, this is all so sudden. Wouldn't it be wise to—" Oh, no. The man had come between me and my resolutions—me and my dreams—one too many times already. I didn't care how cute he was (and he was cute), or how strong and capable (maximum strength of both), or how much I believed there was a wounded soul beneath his hard exterior (yeah, I could see it even now), I had arrived with a plan and I would see it through. "I'll tell you what wouldn't be wise. It wouldn't be wise to tell a person with just—" I snatched up the small calendar on his desk and did the math. "—just twelve days, and two of those days Sundays, not to mention Christmas, left to make good on the promises she made herself last year. Resolutions that she made after quite a bit of thought and deliberation about what she wanted in life, what she found lacking in her life. To tell that person that she should put her life on hold until after the first of the year. That doesn't sound very wise, now does it?" "I have to admit, I admire your optimism." "Thank you." "Don't thank me until I finish that thought. I admire your optimism that you could qualify for a home. I was going to suggest you wait until you had a steady, reliable source of income." "Until I…but you're the reason I don't have those things!" "I'm the reason you're a substitute teacher and part-time baker?" "Yes." He blinked. Some people are so dense. "I'm subbing because a year ago I decided to do what my grandfather said I had to do to be worthy of managing my own money—start my own business. I needed work that was flexible and wouldn't leave my employer in the lurch when I left to start my own business." "Actually, that makes sense." "And I'm a part-time baker because, well, again, because I don't own a home I live above the bakery and it was close and it gave me the chance to learn about business firsthand and…" "A lot of sense," he said softly. "You say that like you didn't think I had any sense at all."
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"If that's the way I've made you feel, I'm sorry." He reached across the table, not to caress my hand but to shake it. Coming from him, the gesture of respect, equal to equal, it meant a lot. "Prequalify me," I urged again. "I'll see what I can do," he murmured, his hand still clasping mine. "But I'm not making any promises."
Chapter Twelve The next day's handbag of choice—a toolbox. That's right! So sure was I of Chris coming through with the loan approval that I'd begun patching up my apartment so I could get my damage deposit back when I moved out. Hey, I wasn't a nut. I understood money and the need for not wasting it. By the same time next year I'd have my own home and I'd have a real tree—a big tree, one that will fill an entire room. I reached down and picked up the Baby Jesus from the manger. And no one could say there was no room for it. In fact, there would be room for all my dreams, for all the people who don't have any place to go—and hopefully for a man. In a few days, Santa Claus would slide down my nonexistent chimney and hand me the remainder of my resolution list in a neat, pretty package. I laid the holy infant down again. Who was I kidding? At the same time the following year I'd probably be in the same apartment doing exactly what I was doing at that moment and hoping for… A knock at the door cut off my train of thought. "Who is it?" "Chris." Chris? "What do you want?" "I brought a surprise." "A pre-qualified loan?" "Better." "Better?" "Don't you want to see?" "If it's not a loan then, no." I lied. "Aw, c'mon, how can you say that? I bet you were the kind of kid who shook every present under the tree." "When I was a kid the only thing I had to shake at Christmas was the card from my father and that just to get out the picture of him with his 'real' family and the obligatory check he sent. My mother didn't even send that
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much and made it clear she did not want me infringing on her new life. My grandfather, as you should have figured out by your very presence in my life, was not a man who liked surprises." "Finnie?" "What?" "I just work for the bank that's following your grandfather's directives. That doesn't mean I agree with them." Wow. Was that an honest to goodness confession of emotion? Of empathy? Of… "Open the door, Finnie. If you do, I promise to make you smile." Chris promised to make me smile. The possibilities sent a shiver down my spine. And just that fast I was at the door and had flung it open to find — "A dog? You brought me a dog?" "Actually, no, Flyboy is my dog. I brought you a job."
Chapter Thirteen "Dog sitting." I tossed my makeup bag onto the kitchen counter. When Chris had asked this favor he had said to make myself at home. I decided I'd just make myself presentable. Home. The man had no idea what a powerful word that was for me. My home. His home as my home. Even more so. Holding my breath, I looked around me for hints of the man and found…not much. Marble countertops. Trendy and probably standard in this neighborhood. Perfectly matched appliances— ditto. Uncluttered. Of course, uncluttered. I wasn't going to find what I wanted most here—Chris. Big sigh. "Life goes on, huh, Flyboy?" A low, growly woof. "Even if you have to push, drag and kick it along," I added under my breath. "And that's exactly what I have in mind." Once I'd done this favor and finished at the bakery, I'd slip over to the bank before Chris got back from picking his aunt up at the airport in Louisville. As usual, I had a plan. A plan that involved a third-party loan officer, a budget and three-years worth of work history. Such as it was. "Pardon me, Flyboy, if this dog-sitting gig doesn't show up on that." I grabbed the can on the counter and began sliding open and slamming shut drawers, looking for the can opener. "But this is hardly the kind of job that's going to get me a mortgage." Still, how could I have said no? And not because Chris held my finances in his hands. But because when he asked me to do it, he said it was because he trusted me.
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"Amazing, huh? The kind of things that would mean the world to me—his home, shopping, his loved ones." I looked down into the dog's huge brown eyes. The dog wagged his tail but I can't say if it was out of adoration or hunger. "The things that matter he drops into my hands, no problem. But with my own money?" Cutlery rattled. Pay dirt. More rattling to pull the handheld opener free from a tangle of serving spoons. Can opener aloft like Liberty's torch, I proclaimed for all present dogkind to hear, "With my own money, the man trusts me not at all. So I am going to go around the man." "Well, it's about time." Heartbeat flailing, I spun around to confront the very man in question. "You're in Louisville." "Flight cancelled." He frowned and scrubbed his blunt fingers through his sleep-ruffled hair. At least, I assumed it was sleep that ruffled it. "And in your pajamas!" I added, again mouth totally unrelated to brain activity. "And you're in my house. At four in the morning." "You said to come by as soon as I got up." "It's four in the morning." "I'm a baker. This is when I get up." "Every day?" "Three years. Without fail." He smiled. Leaned down to pick up the can of dog food I'd dropped and handed it to me. "Be sure and tell the loan officer that when you go to the bank today."
Chapter Fourteen "The last of the packages." I pressed a ribbon on top of the brightly wrapped box and slid it under the tree with the rest of the things I'd gotten myself. It was hokey, but Christmas is a season of surprises and hope. You can't blame a girl for wanting a few surprises! So I'd spent the last few weeks before Christmas ordering things online and through catalogs. Handbags and purses mostly, of course. And every time the opportunity presented itself for me not to know exactly what I was ordering—size, color, trim—I told the order taker, "Surprise me." Then I wrapped each box as soon as it arrived and–voila! Instant dork! Would it help if I said it had seemed like a good idea at the time? I had thought that I would at least have some kind of surprise to look back on come mid-February. Of course, the real surprise that would get me through the bleak winter days was the image of Charles Christopher III standing barefoot and pajama-bottomed in his kitchen. Sigh. Great image. Not hot enough to melt a polar ice cap but definitely a day warmer. Him, all rumpled and relaxed, his eyes dark with sleep, hair soft and ruffled. I'd gone over the sight in my mind time and again and wished more than once that he might have felt the same way as me.
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I glanced down at the gift I'd gotten him and made a mental note to set it aside so it wouldn't get mixed in with my— "Finnie?" Chris called out even as he knocked on the door. I pushed his gift into the pile, hopped up and hurried to the door singing loudly, to cover the sound of my startled heart pounding in my ears, "God rest ye, merry gentlemen…" I swung the door open. He seemed to give me a once-over with that sweet gaze of his. Or was it my imagination? "I thought the person on the outside was supposed to do the caroling." "I was just—' thinking about you '—starting a new trend. Reverse caroling. You like it?" "I do." I do. I took a moment to memorize the way that sounded coming out of his mouth. "Come in, I'm glad you came by." "I can't. I just stopped by because I can't stop thinking about…" He squared his shoulders, giving his big black wool coat a shake. He looked at his hands. "Finnie, I have to ask you something very important."
Chapter Fifteen It was one of the easiest questions I'd ever answered. No, not "Will you marry me?" Not even, "Will you be my date this New Year's Eve?" The question Chris had come by to ask was, "What are your goals?" He'd come by to talk about the concept of goal setting, like a grown-up homework assignment. He even asked me to come by to discuss it after the holiday. When I'd dropped the concise version—in the form of my four resolutions—on him, he had definitely been impressed. Yeah. All four. Included the quest for the perfect purse. I don't think he honestly "got" that one, but the rest… Canvas tote the next day. Red, with sequined Christmas appliqué. Made it myself to carry baked goods to…well, to everyone who didn't have time to go to the grocery store and buy them there this year. By late morning it was empty, save a lone gift. I gulped in some air. Aware of the long line of people trying to get their banking done before the doors closed in 20 minutes, I whispered to the teller, "Would you know if, um, Mr. Christopher is busy?" "I just saw him go…" Her gaze flickered up from the check and deposit slip I had handed her and she broke into a wide grin. "He's in the conference room, but if you'll just go stand in that doorway over there, I'll tell him you're here." Somehow, she managed to point with her elbow, pick up the phone and tuck it under her chin and slide my finished paperwork back to me. I tried to smack as few people as possible with the nearly empty bag and reached the doorway just as Chris walked up.
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"I thought we weren't meeting until Tuesday." "I'm not here on business. That is, banking…oh…" I dove into the bag up to my shoulder and grabbed the silver and white wrapped gift. I shoved it at him, as I felt a red burn creep up my neck and face. "Here." "Finnie, you shouldn't have." He grinned like a kid on Santa's lap as he said it, telling me I definitely should have. "Open it," I urged. He lifted his head and swept his gaze over the crowded lobby beyond us. Was it my imagination? It seemed like a soft wave of conversation was moving our way down the line from my teller. Maybe not. "Go ahead," I urged him. "It won't embarrass you." "Hmm." He tore off the paper. "It's nothing big. But I noticed you didn't have one and I thought it might be a nice reminder of the season and…" He flipped open the lid. "You are so right about that." I gasped. Burgundy brown, sleek but roomy. Straps just the right length and a brass plate with my own personal monogram engraved. The man had in his hands… "The perfect purse!" "Perfect for you, maybe, but I don't think I have a thing to wear with it." "I must have picked up the wrong box. I only had one under the tree that wasn't…" For me. Too pathetic, even on Christmas Eve. Especially on Christmas Eve. I blinked up at him, wondering if it was more or less pathetic to ask him to come and get his real present over the weekend as I had absolutely no plans. He was looking over the crowded bank, a funny look on his face. I opened my mouth to say…something. "Excuse me." A little boy with a candy cane sticking out of his mouth tugged on Chris's pant leg. "My mom told me to come over here and do this." The kid removed the candy cane and pointed it up to a spot just above our heads. Mistletoe. Guessing the same thing I had, Chris shot the teller who had put it all into action a you-just-made-mynaughty-list look, grabbed my arm, reached up to snatch down the offending fungus, and pulled me into the seclusion of the hallway beyond the lobby. "Sorry about that, Finnie." "Yeah. I know. No room for that kind of holiday frivolity in your…" His mouth covered mine, softly at first, then harder, fuller. He pulled me close, as close as he could with bags and boxes between us. But I didn't care. All I cared about was Chris and the moment and…
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He pulled away, closed his eyes and whispered, "Spend Christmas with me." "Oh, Chris." I lay my hand on his warm, smooth cheek, my heart full and my head swimming as I murmured, "I don't know whether to kiss you again or slap your face."
Chapter Sixteen The perfect purse, the perfect kiss, the perfect holiday, the perfect… Oh, grow up, nothing is that perfect! But as holidays go, it wasn't bad at all. I mean, how could you fault a celebration that mixed faith, fun, hope and joy? And cold weather ripe for cuddling and food. Tons and tons of food. And mistletoe. I had no idea—until the holiday weekend—how much mistletoe there is in the world! It didn't hurt that Chris gave me the sprig from the bank and I pinned it to a velvet headband. I wore it for our Christmas Eve dinner after church, along with the gift he'd given me. Earrings. Gold with pearls and diamonds. Fake diamonds—or rather, faux, according to the place where he saw me admiring them on our Lexington trip. Big points for observation. Bigger points still for the remark he made after he gave them to me. "I was going to get you that glass piece you liked in the shop in the mall, but I thought maybe it wouldn't fit in your new home." New home. The man believed. He believed in my goals. He believed in my ability to achieve them. It was the best present I could have gotten from him. That and the kiss. Kisses. And the not being left to myself for Christmas. And the weekend of hoping. Hope. It's what the whole season is about, isn't it? It's why I like purses, too. A new purse is like the total girly package. Hope in a handbag. A promise of going places, doing things, getting yourself together— money, makeup and style. Of getting out there to work toward your dreams—and looking fab doing it. I decided to carry one of my new purses to my meeting with Chris the next day. After all, I still had a couple more resolutions to tie up before the New Year.
Chapter Eighteen Exactly one day shy of one year earlier, I had written in my journal: Next year I resolve to start my own business, own my own home, meet Mr. Right and find the perfect handbag. Back then it had sounded so hopeful. So possible. All I had to do was work hard, keep my mind focused, my eyes and heart open and believe. Easier resolved than done. I sniffed and laid my head on my folded arms on top of the table at the back of the Not by Bread Alone Bakery. Or, as it would be called as of January first, This Building for Sale.
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"Dear Lord," I prayed. "After a lifetime of being dependent on the mercy of others for housing, work and even love, all I wanted was…" I shut my eyes. A tear fell onto my soft pink sweater sleeve. "I mean, my grandfather was a good man but he wasn't…" I took a deep breath. Even though I'd closed the shop door twenty minutes earlier, the aroma of rolls and coffee still hung moist in the air. "Nobody ever loved me unconditionally but You, Lord. Nobody ever trusted me to think and work and create my own life, to learn as much from my failures as I did from my successes." And Chris was no different. "The bank isn't going to approve a home loan for you, Finnie," Chris had said. "I thought, given our history, it would be best if you heard from me. I know you have a lot of money in this bank but since you can't touch any of it for five more years, that doesn't really come into play." I started to correct him. To explain about the stipulations in my grandfather's will regarding the trust fund for if I married or started my own business but what was the point, really? The man managed the account, numbers and bottom lines, period. He'd said it once before: it was his job to tell me "no"—to keep me from frittering away my grandfather's estate. If I doubted it, he made it perfectly clear when he cleared his throat, closed the file and added, "On a personal note, I—" "You don't have to say it." He'd already said it, hadn't he? With his coolness. With his demeanor. "You and I have a business relationship. No room in that for anything…more." I held it together even after l rushed out of the bank. In fact, I thought I had been handling everything pretty well until I got the word from the bakery owners that they were throwing in the towel. "I'm going to leave this all in your hands, Lord. But I can't help asking, is it so wrong to want a little love and security?" I sighed and looked up. "And a cute purse?"
Chapter Nineteen It was the eve of New Year's Eve. I popped a tray of cream puffs into the oven. I was only filling prepaid orders at the bakery that day. Wasn't even going through the pretense of opening up for business. Much to the dismay of whoever was banging on the front door. "We're closed today! And tomorrow…and every day after that," I called out. The knocking persisted. I wiped my hands on my apron and hit the swinging doors from the kitchen. They creaked then fell closed behind me with a thump. I whisked off my baker's cap and wadded it into a ball, which I threw into the glass display case by the cash register. Despite the sweet aroma in the air, I was ready to bite the head off of the would-be customer who couldn't take no for an ans— "No," I whispered. Not just one customer. A dozen, easily. Hard to tell just who with their thick coats and winter hats and scarves that hid their mouths and noses—but a crowd nonetheless. And at the head of the pack?
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Lollie Mulldoon pressed her plump, wrinkled face to the glass. "We heard a rumor, Finola." Heard one, Lollie? Or started one? I held my tongue and my ground, staying put in the dim dining area of my soon-to-be former place of employment. "Is it true they're going to close the bakery?" Lollie spoke loud and slow like she wasn't sure I could hear her—or perhaps that I wouldn't understand her. I opened the door and poked out my head. "No. They are not going to close the bakery." Her big round shoulders relaxed. A murmur rippled through the knot of onlookers. "They already have closed it," I all but shouted. That's when everybody started talking at once. "They can't…" "This place is a landmark!" "Where will I get my…" "Can't we do something?" "Calm down, everyone. We can do something. And we will." I heard him before I saw him. Then there he was, pushing his way to the front of the crowd, his eyes kind but wary and his black hair wind-whipped. It was Chris. "Hey, Finnie," he said softly. "Think there's enough room in there for a few good friends who want to see what they can do to help?" He had a box under one arm—the gift I had given him, now unwrapped—and his briefcase in one hand. His wool coat hung open to reveal a rumpled dress shirt and tie loosened at the neck, as if he'd been up all night and gone to work in the clothes he'd worn the day before. I don't think I'd ever seen a man look more worn down—or more gorgeous—in my entire life.
Chapter Twenty It was New Year's Eve. My deadline. And there I stood, in the bakery surrounded by the warmth and moisture of the last of the pre-orders, waiting. Not for midnight, but for closing hour at the bank when Chris would be free to come over and tell me the rest of his plan. "I came to thank you for the gift," he had said. "Did you get it—the meaning behind it?" "Let's see, it was a manger set, so aside from the obvious Christmas connection, I'm guessing…no room in the inn?"
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"Yeah. No room in the inn, but always room for love," I softly added the little speech I had practiced but had never had the chance to give him. "Love?" He searched my gaze. I held my breath and nodded. "No pressure, though. No expectations." He had brushed back my hair. The crowd had given a collective "Aww." "Why doesn't one of you make some coffee?" Chris had suggested, never taking his eyes from mine. "And we'll get down to our meeting about how we can save this shop." Brainstorming. A lot of great ideas but nothing concrete. Nothing you could take to the bank, literally. At one point I'd made a speech about how we had to grow and change. I even likened a business to a handbag—grabbing up old slouchy, which I'd already reverted to from the sleek new one—and made a pronouncement worthy of fife music in the background. "It's like what I look for in a purse. You have to give me what I always like—the functional and familiar. And you've got to give me something I can't get with something else—I have a wallet. I don't need slots in my purse for credit cards, you know? That's the way it has to be with this business. You can't quit doing what made it stay in business for 30 years, but you have to give people something that no place else in town does. Like a place to get a bite to eat after 6:00 p.m. To make a go of it, this place needs to take some advice from its own name—people don't live by bread alone." People clapped and cheered, but when it came time to solicited investors only Lollie Mulldoon volunteered. Yikes! Lollie as a business partner? The hot spot where people came to start their mornings with a cup of coffee and a shared confidence? Then Chris said he had gotten an idea, but that he couldn't share with me until we met the following day. I thanked Lollie and decided to wait for Chris. *** "Come in." I unlatched the bakery's door lock and let him in. "And…" He kissed me. Nothing hot and passionate—just a quick, sweet kiss that warmed me to the center of my being. "I hope that means you have good news?" I asked, shutting the door and taking his hand in mine. "Depends on your definition of good news." He took my free hand in his. "Did you find an investor? Convince the bank to make a business loan?" "Not exactly." "Then what, exactly, did you do?"
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"I quit." "You quit your job?' "No, I quit as the manager of your trust fund." "Why? You're the best at what you do. Why can't you manage my trust?" "Can't." He shook his head. "Conflict of interest." Huh? I frowned a minute—then the lightbulb went off. "Because you're going to be my business partner and invest in the bakery?" "Partner, yes. Business?" He glanced down at our clasped hands, then into my eyes. "Marry me, Finnie." "What?" "I've been crazy about you since the first day you walked into my office pushing a harebrained business scheme to open a vintage-purse store." Okay, I should have been insulted. At least a little. But the man—the man I had dreamed of since that same harebrained day—had just proposed. I threw my arms around him. "Yes! Yes, I'll marry you, Chris!" I kissed him so long and so passionately that only the oven timer's untimely "ding" to warn me that my buns were burning (like I didn't already know that!) could pull us apart. And as I dashed into the kitchen I called out, "Can you believe it? I did it. I made good on all my resolutions and with almost ten hours to spare!" "All?" He followed behind me, his hand up to count on his fingers. "The purse; Mr. Right; a home— presuming you plan to move into mine after the wedding." "Yep. Yep. And yep." "But we still don't have the funding for the business ironed out." I looked at the man who was going to be my husband and decided to wait for another day to tell him about the provision that said getting married would hand me my trust fund. Maybe the next day when we made our new resolutions—the ones we'd work toward as husband and wife.
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To the Edge by Loreth Anne White Canadian RCMP Constable Annie Lavalle has searched for her biological family all her life. So when a mysterious call comes from a man claiming to be her grandfather, she is compelled to travel to the remote Alaskan Bush to meet him. But when she gets there, she’s greeted by the threat of an impending snow storm and an ominous, eerily quiet landscape. Not by her grandfather. Or anyone else. And when she enters her grandfather’s hunting lodge, what she finds will take her into a deadly battle with a notorious Cold War assassin, to the crucible of her darkest fears…and into the arms of the equally dangerous mercenary Joshua Kane….
Chapter One Constable Annie Lavalle hefted her duffel bag onto her shoulder, slightly unsteady on the tippy wooden dock. “So, you’ll be back to fetch me in two weeks?” The Alaskan bush pilot jutted his chin toward a bank of black clouds that hovered over the distant glacier-capped mountains. “If that front humps over the ridge and brings early snow, we could get socked in for a while.” “And then?” “Then, you wait.” His craggy face cracked into a grin. “Until it clears and I can get this bird back in.” In spite of the storm looming over the distant ridge, the sky directly above remained a brilliant eggshell blue. Annie watched the floatplane taxi back out into the lake. She heard the engine power up to a whine. The plane squatted into the water, churning froth, then suddenly lifted light as a bird into the headwind, circling, circling, as it climbed ever upward until it disappeared, a tiny fading buzz, a shimmering speck against the vast dome of sky and massive peaks. As it vanished, a great, cold, brooding isolation descended over the wilderness—the only sounds the crackling of dead leaves in the fall breeze, the faint thrum of a grouse. Annie uneasily negotiated the gangplank. It wasn’t that she was unfamiliar with wilderness. She was taking time out from her rookie RCMP posting in Black Arrow Falls in Canada’s Yukon. But now she was in Alaska. The rugged Bush region. The last frontier of the Last Frontier, as it was known—no roads, totally off grid, incredibly wild country where one was stripped to his—or her—basics in order to survive. A land as hostile and unforgiving as it was dramatically beautiful. And she was well out of her jurisdiction as a Mountie. But she hadn’t come as a cop. Annie had come because the owner of this isolated hunting lodge, Jack Marais, had written out of the blue claiming to be her grandfather. He’d said he was nearing the end of his days, that he wanted to meet Annie and give her a diary that she— and the rest of the world—would want to read. A diary he’d kept up-to-date and hidden in a safe behind his library walls for seventeen years.
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He’d said he needed to tell his story now, in order to make peace with his God. It was a strangely mysterious call that Annie, an orphan constantly in search of her heritage, had been compelled to answer. She’d done some investigating of her own before coming out here, but all she’d managed to learn about Jack Marais was that he was in his late 70s, and that locally he was referred to as the Old Man. He apparently hailed from Europe, and had lived in the Alaskan Bush for close on twenty years, running this lodge. No one seemed to know much else about him. And he hadn’t come out to greet her. No one had. The Old Man had told her a skeleton staff of three would still be at the lodge when she arrived, closing a few things up after the hunting season before leaving him to live there alone through the winter. But the place felt desolate, disquieting. Annie approached the building. The hulking shape of weatherworn logs, stone chimney and porch squatted dark and ominous in the dense, dry willow brush, its windows watching her like silent, hooded eyes. Bleached moose antlers hung over a screen door that banged gently in the chill breeze, the green paint around the door’s edges peeling. An involuntary shiver rippled over her skin. She inched open the door. “Hello! Anybody here?” She stepped into the dim room, eyes adjusting. The place was in disarray, drawers pulled out, their contents spilled. In the middle of it all, in a bent willow rocking chair, sat a man. He was stone-still, staring directly at her. But Annie knew in her heart—she could feel it with every sense in her body—that he saw nothing. Unsheathing her hunting knife, she stepped cautiously forward. A board creaked. She stilled, heart thudding as her mind tried to process what she was seeing. Blood, lots of it, drenched the man’s shirt, pooled gelatinous at his feet. It came from a dark, ragged cut across his throat. Murdered. Her brain raced. It wasn’t the Old Man—he’d sent her a photo… So who…? Then she heard the rack of a round being chambered into a gun. She froze, turning very, very slowly. A rifle muzzle was pointed dead at her face. And sighting down the barrel was a pair of cool, cobalt-blue eyes that turned her heart to solid ice. “Don’t move,” he said in a slow drawl, finger curling around the trigger. “Or I will kill you.”
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Chapter Two The man with the gun appraised Annie like a practiced hunter: predatory, cold, calm. Too calm. She sensed something lurking in him that went beyond dangerous. Perspiration prickled over her brow. Think fast, Annie, buy time. “What do you want?” she said, struggling to keep her voice level. “To know who you are.” “This…this is my grandfather’s lodge. I’ve come to see him, the Old Man.” He studied her quietly and long. The door banged louder in the mounting wind. It hit her that the entire lodge was freezing—no heat. Likely off for a while. A whisper of fear encircled her heart. “Who is this man?” she said, her voice coming out hoarse. “Why’d you do this to him?” He lowered his rifle slowly, but she felt no less in the crosshairs as his blue eyes lasered hers, pinning her. Assessing. He was well over six feet tall with dark blond hair that could use a trim and a rugged fierceness to his features that brooked no argument. His bearing appeared military. An urge to flee tore at Annie. Her gaze flicked through the disheveled room. She saw a phone on a table near a door. “He’s the lodge caretaker,” the man said. “And I didn’t kill him.” “Who did, then?” she demanded. He lowered his gaze to the knife clutched tight in her hand. “Maybe you did. You looking for something, sunshine?” Annie backed toward the phone, her throat thick. “I…I’m calling the police,” she whispered. “If you didn’t do this, you won’t mind, right?” She reached for the handset. “No can do, sweetheart. Line’s been cut. No radios. Nothing. Just you and me and the wind. And dead guy here. So why don’t you give me that knife and tell me your name?” He held out his hand. She tightened her grip on the hilt. “Where’s my grandfather?” He said nothing. The door banged. “There’s also supposed to be a hunting guide, and a chef—“ “Give me that knife, sunshine, and tell me your name.” He came closer. Annie’s eyes darted to a gun rack on the wall near a mounted deer head. It held rifles, a shotgun. “My name is Annie,” she said, inching toward the rack. “Annie Lavalle.” A lazy amusement danced in his eyes in spite of his animal-like alertness. “Your accent, it’s French Canadian. Tres sexy. “ Nerves shimmered. “I’ve told you who I am. Your turn. What in hell happened here?”
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A smile ghosted the corners of his mouth. “I’m Joshua Kane, lodge chef. I found the caretaker like this right about the time you came in that door. I just got back from hunting,” he said, watching her closely. Reading her. Suddenly she lunged for a rifle on the rack. But he grabbed her arm and spun her around, the knife skittering across the wooden floor. Annie reacted fast and violently, as she’d been trained by a top Israeli martial-arts instructor in Depot Division who’d taught her the merits of skill over brute strength. Annie had nailed many male RCMP recruits in training, and she now rammed her elbow back into his gut, spinning— But this man was not like them. He was quicker, more skilled, infinitely more powerful, and he had her slammed up against the wall, breathing hard, before she could even think. Just a breath away from her face, pressed hard against her body, he was even more intimidating, his eyes more mesmerizing. His aura sucked her in and she could smell aftershave, which surprised her. “Try that again, my little Rambo,” he whispered near her mouth, “and next time I might hurt you.” He paused, something shifting dangerously in his eyes. “By accident,” he added. “And I don’t like hurting girls.” She closed her eyes, heart jackhammering, a combatant energy lacing into her fear, into her adrenaline. And damned if his touch wasn’t…exciting. She didn’t want him to see that fact in her eyes. She was afraid of her own sudden physical reaction to him and to being roughed up like this. “I’m going to ask you one more time,” Annie said quietly, trying to match his tone, trying not to show weakness. “Where is my grandfather?” He put his mouth even closer to hers. “He’s dead, Lavalle.” Her brain stalled. “Like I said, it’s just you and me, sunshine, and this dead guy. We’re stranded. And if you didn’t do this, somewhere out there is the killer who did.”
Chapter Three Joshua watched shock flare in Annie’s face as she digested the news of her grandfather’s death. Then her eyes narrowed sharply, shifting to fierce disbelief. Prettiest damn eyes he’d ever seen, flashing with gold Acadian fire that turned him on in the most basic and fierce way. Sexy little gap between her teeth, too, and a fine smattering of freckles on creamy pale skin. And that Quebecois accent—hot. The whole package grabbed his lust by the throat. But there was more. Something about Annie’s reaction to murder that was far too calm, and far from normal. She was also a skilled fighter—she’d almost had him by surprise. She could be from Europe, working for them. The cute Quebecois thing might be a cover. He’d better watch his back. Although he’d prefer to watch her pretty little ass. “I don’t believe you,” she said through clenched teeth. “What have you done with the Old Man?”
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“You a cop or something, Lavalle?” She swallowed. “No.” He nodded slowly, eyes tunneling into hers. He knew a liar when he saw one, and she was lying. It made him even more wary. She could have done this, killed the caretaker. And the Old Man. “What’re you doing here, Annie Lavalle?” “I told you, I came to visit my grandfather. I—“ She hesitated. “I came to meet him.” “You don’t know him?” Her eyes flickered. “No.” He believed her this time—he could see it in the movement of her eyes. Joshua had lived along the fringes of society, in a murky mercenary underworld of shadows and lies for so long now, that reading people, making snap judgments based on gut instinct, had become a matter of survival. “Why now?” he said. “Because he wrote me now. Said he had things to tell me about…about my mother, about his past.” “Your mother?” “I’m adopted. I…I’ve never known who she is.” Curious. Very, very interesting, especially given the Old Man’s twisted and sinister history. “And he was just going to tell you…everything about his past?” “Would you let me go, please?” She was definitely hiding something. He was still holding her close, the swell of her breasts soft and warm against his chest. He could feel the thrum of her pulse under his fingers. Her scent was delicious. It heated him from the inside out. Joshua realized he was in a spot of interesting trouble here. She was the kind of woman who really did it for him physically—a dark-haired little spitfire who roused a hot sense of challenge in him. A woman who could hold her own and look damn sexy while doing it. Then again, he had to be careful. She could be the enemy. And even if she was who she claimed to be, there was no way he wanted to fall for a woman on the job, especially not in a situation like the one little orphan Annie Lavalle had just landed
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herself in—she’d walked slap-bang into a double-black CIA operation that had already gone wrong. If she was innocent. He whispered against her ear. “I’ll let you go, but if you try anything, Lavalle—“ “I won’t.” He released her and she cursed, rubbing her wrist. Eyes angry, wild. Provocative. And she was judging, weighing him, just as fast as he was her. Deciding whether to flee. “I wouldn’t try running, sunshine. Nowhere to go between those mountains out there and the Bering Sea. And like I said, if you didn’t cut this man’s throat, whoever did could still be out there. You’re safer with me.” “I highly doubt that,” she muttered in French. He smiled to himself, not letting on that he could speak the language fluently, along with five others. He moved toward the body and started hefting it off the chair. “What’re you doing!” “Getting the dead guy into the freezer.” Her pretty little mouth opened in shock. “You can’t—“ “You got a better idea, sweetness? State troopers, FBI, they’re going to want to see this, and burying him will bury evidence. Can’t leave him out here, either. Big brown Kodiak mothereffer in the region, saw her prints down in the lake mud this morning about a mile out from the lodge. That’s blood on this man’s shirt, and that bear is going to get wind of it before long. Need to clean this up.” Annie’s stomach somersaulted as the dead man’s head flopped back, making the jagged gash yawn into a wide red maw. A claw of claustrophobia suddenly hooked into her fear, catapulting her mind back to when she was fifteen years old. “You going to help, Lavalle, or you just going to stand there looking cute?”
Chapter Four The dead man was heavy. Annie had his feet, Joshua his upper body. The victim had bled out quickly through his carotid artery, so he wasn’t too messy. Joshua halted outside the meat locker, perspiring under his shirt. He reached for the door and pulled the metal handle. Freezer smoke fingered out in curling wisps around the door. “Put his feet down,” he ordered. “I’ll take him from here.” Annie’s gaze flicked between the door and Joshua. “No. I’ll help.” He crooked up a brow. “Why?”
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“Because I think you don’t want me to see what’s in there. And I do. That’s why.” He studied her a beat. “What did you say you did for a living, Annie?” “I didn’t.” He waited. “I’m in…human resources, okay?” He studied her for several seconds. “There are some carcasses—” “I’m holding a dead man’s feet. I think I can handle hunting meat.” “Your grandfather’s in there, Annie.” She blanched instantly. Eyes wide. “What?” “I found him in the woods early this morning. It looked like he had been shot—hunting accident, maybe.” She slowly lowered the dead man’s feet to the floor and wiped her brow with the back of her sleeve. Her hand was trembling. Joshua recognized the look on her face—the moment of realization that she really was trapped, and in serious crap. And he could see her fighting a growing fear and confusion. He felt a spurt of compassion. “There’s brandy in the kitchen,” he said softly. “I’ll take him—“ She gritted her jaw, drawing on fire buried somewhere deep within. She grabbed the feet. “Go.” “You don’t have to—“ “I do. I want to see him. He was the only living relative I’ve ever found. And someone has taken him from me before I could ever speak to him, before I could ever hear his voice, see his eyes. Before—“ her voiced hitched. “Before I could find out who in hell my parents were.” So that was it. That was what drove orphan Annie Lavalle. A need to find family. And through it, possibly herself. It told him a lot. Compassion drilled even deeper into Joshua, and with it a small coal of admiration began to flicker. Not only did she get to him physically, he suspected he could like this woman on other levels. And fast. Too fast. That made her dangerous. Because he was now inclined to believe her, and doing so could cost him if she was playing him with this convincing little speech. But if what she said was true, if she really didn’t know who her grandfather was, she sure wasn’t going to like it when she learned who she was related to, what dark line had sired her.
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Joshua decided to call his CIA handler tonight, have them check out her story while she was asleep. *** Annie stared at the body of the man who’d been her grandfather. Frozen, bluish-white and very lifeless now, he’d clearly been a robust man for his 78 years. Freezer frost already covered his beard and grizzled his thatch brows. His thick hair was covered in hoarfrost as well. His frozen eyes stared blindly at something only he had seen at the time of his death. The black hole in his temple was small. Close range. Small-caliber handgun. Joshua was watching her, she could feel him. “This was no hunting accident,” she said quietly, gazing at her grandfather’s face, trying to find her own features in his. “This was a pistol, up close and real personal. Contract or gang style.” She spun to face Joshua, glaring at him, her pretty cheeks and nose pink from the meat locker. “Who are you really, Joshua Kane?” “I told you—I’m the lodge chef. And I’m thinking that you know a little too much about guns and crime, Ms. Lavalle.” She swore under her breath and shoved past him, exiting the meat locker. She stomped her boots on the ground to warm her feet. But when Annie looked at him again, Joshua saw that she was battling something inside her. That compassion in him drilled deeper yet, that coal of admiration glowing a little hotter. “Come,” he said gently. “I’ll pour you a brandy.” It was getting dark out, the first flecks of snow flitting from a lowering gunmetal sky. The storm was blowing in much earlier and faster than expected. It would be a full blizzard in minutes. The Fox was probably long gone anyway, thought Joshua. He’d try and hunt the assassin once the weather abated—and once he had Annie figured out.
Chapter Five Joshua had softened his edge. He looked more renegade Alaskan cowboy than ex-military now. And he smiled a crooked, wickedly sexy smile as he handed her a rather substantial mug of brandy. Annie tried to keep her hands from trembling as she took it from him. “It’s getting cold,” she said, trying to explain her shivering. She hated fear in herself. More than she hated appearing female and weak. It was why she’d become a cop. To fight back, to fight the fear that had taken root when she was fifteen and had been trapped for days in a bank vault. Usually she could beat it back. But right now she couldn’t seem to knock it back down. This sense of being stranded, trapped, not in control, was plunging her back to that hostage incident at a Montreal bank all those years ago, making claustrophobia and panic stalk softly along the edges of her mind.
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“I’ll start a fire,” Joshua said. “Right after I’ve cleaned up some of this mess. Whoever did this was clearly looking for something.” “Do you suppose he found it?” Annie asked. “I have no idea what happened here.” She watched him. Her captor? Her savior? Could be anything. Maybe even her killer—a psychopath playing some sick game, picking people off in this lodge one by one and stashing them in the meat locker. Maybe he was saving her for later. Maybe he had other plans; she’d seen sexual interest in his eyes. Though, oddly, it had tingled her spine rather than scared her. Perhaps because she’d sensed a compassion, too. Annie took a quick and deep slug of brandy while he wasn’t looking. “There’s more where that came from,” he said, cracking a piece of kindling over his knee. “What? You got eyes in the back of your head?” “Just good instincts.” He crumpled newspaper, lit it, and the flames licked the wood to life. She moved closer in spite of herself. There was nothing else to do but wait this out, play his game one careful step at a time until she figured out what was going down. No one would even begin looking for her until a fortnight had passed. She was on her own. And that’s when she saw the handgun tucked into the back of his jeans, under his shirt—a Walther P22. “So, where’d you hone instinct like that, Joshua? The military?” He glanced up at her and the firelight caught his eyes, shocking a jolt to her stomach. She sipped her brandy, warmth spreading through her body along with a very dangerous physical attraction to this potentially lethal man. He got up, came close. “Hungry?” he whispered. Again, a ribbon of heat snaked through her. “Only for the truth.” He moved to the counter, held the brandy bottle out to her. “More?” She shook her head, and he poured a drink for himself. Annie noted that even though he was going through these motions—making a fire, taking a drink—something in him remained keenly aware, watchful. He might have softened his glacier edge, but he still didn’t trust her. And she certainly had no cause to trust him. “How long have you tried to find your mother, Annie?” he said, taking a swig. “You expect me to talk about myself, when you won’t tell me what in hell is going on here?” She pointed to the north end of the lodge. “You have two human bodes in a freezer with the
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skinned deer and moose, Joshua. One of them is my grandfather. With a bullet to the forehead. Up close and personal with a small-caliber pistol, like your Walther.” He shot her a sudden, hard look. “I…hunt, okay? I know guns—“ “You hunt with a small-caliber pistol, Annie?” No way was she letting on she was a cop. It might shift his behavior, make him aggressive, give him something to prove. “Look, I know a hunting accident when I see one—and that wasn’t one. I can also tell that his hands were bound. Before he died.” Joshua took another swallow of brandy, an ice-cold wariness creeping back into his eyes. Careful, Annie. He knows you are hiding something. Then it hit her—the diary. Maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s why the room had been tossed. Her grandfather had said the world would want to read it. Perhaps there was something in it, a secret. One that someone—like Joshua Kane—might kill for. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to find it and thought she might know where it was hidden, which is why he hadn’t hurt her. Yet. Annie had to force herself not to glance at the bookshelves. The Old Man had said the diary was in a safe behind the library walls. Wind clawed in a sudden gust at the shutters, moaned up in the beams. Outside, snow began to billow in waves under the porch light. “You should get some sleep, Annie.” Like hell. “You can take the first room. Lock the door.” His eyes held hers. I’d give you your knife back, Lavalle, except I’m worried you’ll use it. On me.”
Chapter Six Annie curled into the down feather bed as the wind ticked pellets of ice against the window and moaned in the trees. She clutched the fire poker from the wood-burning stove in her room. She wasn’t taking any chances, in spite of her unsettling physical attraction to him and the hint of compassion she’d glimpsed in his eyes. Annie knew the madness that could lurk behind the deceptive smile of a psychopath. It happened with the Bush Man in Black Arrow Falls. As a kid she’d always thought you’d be able to see it—evil—the darkness somehow lurking in the eyes. But she’d learned that wasn’t true. Was Joshua playing some similar game? As seductive as he was dangerous?
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Annie didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t control her startling physical attraction to him. She needed to be in control. She’d prefer it if he really was after the diary. It would be easier to deal with a man with a clear mercenary goal than it would be to deal with a sick predator playing a psychological game she couldn’t yet fathom. She resolved to look for the wall safe tomorrow, see if she could find her grandfather’s journal—without alerting Joshua Kane to the fact she was even looking. If that was his real name. *** Joshua paced his room by the quavering light of a candle, watching waves of white billow against his window, wondering again if the Fox might still be lurking out there. He doubted it. The old Stasi death-squad assassin had taken out his target and left his calling card on the body—a small gold fox. There was no reason for the notorious Cold War killer to lurk around further. Joshua figured the lodge caretaker had been collateral damage. He must have surprised the Fox and gotten his throat slit for the trouble. Joshua closed the shutters. Once this weather passed, the world would be a snowy white slate. They could get a chopper in, maybe find the assassin’s tracks from the air. But first he had to figure out Annie. Her story was compelling, but even so, she was no ordinary civilian, of that he was certain. And she was definitely hiding something from him. He needed to know what. Joshua opened his bedroom door, listened down the corridor. No sound came from Annie’s room. He wasn’t worried about her trying to escape in this blizzard. She knew there was nothing but miles and miles of hostile wilderness out there. He judged her to have a keen survival instinct; she’d stay put until morning. He hit a series of buttons on his sat phone and waited for his handler to pick up. The CIA should’ve run the check he’d asked for on Annie Lavalle by now. *** Annie heard a voice. Was it Joshua? Talking to someone else in the lodge? She sat up in bed straining to detect sounds over the moan of the wind and the swish of snow blowing against her window. Then she heard it again. A low bass mumble, possibly coming through the heating vent from a room down the corridor. Definitely a voice. Someone else was in the lodge? She peeled back her cover, padding in socks to the door. She unlocked her door, inched it open and crept down the cold hall, pausing as wood planks creaked gently under her weight. Another gust rattled the beams. She shivered in the icy draft, heart hammering as she came closer to Joshua’s door. A wedge of yellow light glimmered from underneath. She placed her hands on the wood, bringing her ear close. He was definitely talking to someone. Annie crouched down, peered through the crack along the hinge. He had a phone! Christ, he had communication and he hadn’t called in the murders? Her pulse quickened.
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She tried to get a better angle, peering intently through the crack. Her eyes began to water, suspicion building in her. He’d lied. Blatantly. They weren’t trapped, but he wanted her to think so. He was holding her prisoner. Why? She had to get her hands on that phone, call for help. He hung up suddenly, stilled, glanced sharply toward the door. God, he’d heard her! He started toward his door. For a nanosecond Annie froze. Then a gust hit the lodge and the whole building creaked and groaned. Under cover of the sound, she dashed against the wall as his door swung open into the corridor. “Annie!” She ducked back behind the deep doorjamb, damp with perspiration. And waited.
Chapter Seven Must have been the wind—the passage was empty. Joshua closed his door, mulling over what his handler had just told him. Sexy little Annie Lavalle was legit. And she was a cop, a rookie Canadian Mountie. She was also, indirectly, the reason the CIA had been tipped off as to where Jurgen Kraupfmann had been hiding all these years under the assumed identity of Jack Marais. Kraupfmann had been an infamous death-squad leader for the East German Secret Police, or Stasi. He’d operated outside of East Germany, and had personally ordered the assassinations of key political dissidents in both East and West Germany and around the world, including the United States. Hans Faulks, alias the Fox, had been Kraupfmann’s tool, an agent of death he had personally trained. The Fox had carried out a series of assassinations for Kraupfmann from 1976 to 1987; his debut kill believed to have been executed at age nineteen. That put him around the age of 33 now. Ironic, thought Joshua, that the protégé had now killed his master. According to Joshua’s handler, Kraupfmann had recently hired someone to search for his living relatives, and the private investigator’s poking around into the adoption records of Kraupfmann’s deceased daughter in Poland had alerted the old Stasi guard. Coded e-mails had been sent out to members, warning them that Kraupfmann was on the move. They must have been worried about their own identities being exposed, which is where the Fox had likely been brought in. The CIA, however, had been monitoring the e-mail channels, and had picked up the flurry of conversation, tracing Kraupfmann back to Alaska themselves. That’s when Joshua had been contracted by the CIA to bring Kraupfmann in, quietly and quickly without alerting any local authorities. Capturing Kraupfmann would’ve been a major coup because he’d been in a position to disclose names of the key death-squad members who’d fled Berlin after the Wall came down. Those members were apparently regrouping into what the CIA called the neo-Stasis. And according to early intel, they were forming a worrisome alliance with a large underground Russian group. It was beginning to look like the stirrings of a new Cold War, a new front for terror. Getting Kraupfmann would’ve dealt a major blow to that global threat.
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But Joshua had arrived at Kraupfmann’s lodge a day too late. The Fox had already been there, and Kraupfmann lay dead. And now that Joshua had informed the CIA that Annie had crashed their party, his new orders were to find out why Kraupfmann had summoned her, and what communication might have transpired between them. Up until Joshua’s phone call, the CIA had been unaware that Kraupfmann had actually contacted Annie. Joshua’s secondary mission was to capture the Fox, if he could. So he was a goddamn babysitter. He swore to himself, dragging his hand over his hair. Responsibility suddenly heavy. He didn’t want it, and it made him angry. Cold. Until now, there had been a possibility that Annie might be involved—one of the bad guys. But now Joshua was going to have to make sure she didn’t get hurt. And this was pressing him right into the kind of corner he’d fought bitterly to avoid for the past five years. If he allowed something to happen to a woman under his care again, it would kill him. And having a Canadian Mountie messed up in this op would cause an international incident. His mission was to keep things under the radar. Joshua had also learned from his handler who Kraupfmann’s daughter—Annie Lavalle’s mother—was. The CIA had followed the leads that Kraupfmann’s private investigator had opened up in Poland. Joshua cursed again. He now had the one thing she wanted: the truth—the name of her mother. And he was under orders not to give her any information she didn’t already have. *** Dawn glowed wan through frosted glass, and it was still snowing heavily, drifts piling against lower windows. Annie heard the shower go on and the water rumbling in the lodge pipes. She sneaked open her door, heart racing. She listened at his bathroom door. Confident Joshua was in there, she began to rummage through his gear, looking for his sat phone. She heard the water go off. Quick! He’d be out any minute. She found her knife, tucked it back into her belt sheath. Then she saw it—the phone! She grabbed it, spun round, and he was standing there—almost naked, a small white towel around his hips, his body like chiseled granite, blocking her exit. Damp hair fell in a lick over his brow and something in her melted even as fear rooted her to the ground. “Looking for something, Lavalle?” His gaze was cold, unblinking. She cleared her throat, mentally calculating how long it would take to grab her knife before he was on her. He held out his hand, his body steaming in the cold air of the room. Gorgeous. More powerful in his nakedness than in clothes. Not many men could carry that off. “Give me that phone.”
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She stepped back, trapped, clutching the phone like the lifeline it was.
Chapter Eight “You had a phone but you didn’t call the troopers after two murders,” she accused. “Annie, give me that phone—“ She whipped her knife from its sheath, adjusting her stance, planting her feet farther apart and centering her gravity, preparing for impact as she waved it slowly in front of her body. “Back off, or I will hurt you.” He smiled, slow and languid, but his eyes remained unblinking on hers. “I wouldn’t try that, Annie….“ He took another step closer. Joshua saw her eyes dip over his nearly naked body, saw the dark flicker of undeniable interest in her flashing gold eyes, even as she squared off to hurt him. It sent a sharp stab of pleasure into his groin. Challenge rose hot in his chest. But she had a knife, and she wasn’t afraid to use it. Joshua wasn’t going to underestimate her this time. Constable Annie Lavalle was a capable adversary—she’d nearly caught him off guard once already. It wasn’t going to happen again. He took a step closer, trying to intimidate her, back her into a corner. She swallowed, her eyes flicking hot and fast over his body again. It aroused him. Damn, he was male, he couldn’t help it. The blade glinted menacingly. “Why’d you lie? What do you want from me?” Oh, you don’t want to know what I want right now. He raised both hands, letting go of the towel—a dangerous move, but necessary to show he meant no harm. Damned, though, if his lower body wasn’t going to show her a threat of a completely different kind if his towel slipped. He didn’t want to do that to her. It was embarrassing, never mind threatening. And so damned wrong. If he had his pants on, it wouldn’t be a problem. He cursed softly. “Put that knife down, Annie.” She swiped at him as he moved closer. He jerked back, whistled. “You don’t need to do this— “ “Why not? I think you killed my grandfather. And the caretaker. And where is the hunting guide, eh? You kill him, too? Maybe I should take another look in that meat locker, non?” Her eyes were fierce, but the glow of perspiration on her lip, the racing pulse at her neck, gave her fear away. She moistened her lips—dryness. Another sign of fear. She figured she was trapped and that he was one bad-ass dude, but she was not going to go down without a fight. He had to admire that.
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He’d do the same. Then he saw that she was fingering the phone with her other hand, trying to figure out how to use it while holding him off with the knife. He couldn’t let that happen. Joshua lunged. She sliced at him, sharp across his abdomen, breaking a clean line of skin. He swore, his towel dropping as he sidestepped. Blood oozed warm down his naked belly. Annie blinked at his aroused nakedness. He used the moment of distraction to grab her wrist, squeezing hard as he twisted her hand up and behind her back, spinning her around. He hooked an arm around her neck, trapping her from behind. The knife clattered to the floor. She was breathing hard. Afraid. He had his groin pressed into her behind, and she felt damn good in his arms. Angry and embarrassed by his own sexual flare, Joshua tamped down his erection the one way he knew he could. He thought of his fiancée, of how she’d been tortured, brutally killed. Because of him, his job, because of how he’d been unable to protect her. And his attraction to Annie was corked, just like that. Instantly. Joshua never wanted to fall for a woman again, not in a substantive way. He was strictly a bed-‘em-and-leave-‘em sort now. And he never, ever wanted to put one in harm’s way. Christ, he didn’t even want to have to protect a woman, because he’d learned in the hardest way possible that he was capable of failure. And now Annie Lavalle had put him in a different kind of hard spot. She knew he had a phone, and now he had to give her a solid reason for why he hadn’t called the police. If he wanted her cooperation, he had to bring her fully into the operation. He made an executive decision—he was going to give her the truth. And she wasn’t going to like it. Neither were his employers. “Annie,” he said quietly against her ear, “I know you’re a cop.” She stilled, her body willowsupple against his naked frame. Strong and feminine. “And I know,” he whispered, “who your mother is.”
Chapter Nine “You’re a Mountie, Annie. His voice was warm, soft against her ear, chasing an involuntary tingle down her spine. “A constable from Black Arrow Falls Detachment in the Yukon.” She swallowed. “You come from northern Quebec, have four older brothers, none of whom are blood relatives. You were adopted from a Polish orphanage, brought to Canada where your adoptive father, a
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pilot, was killed in his plane when you were only eighteen months old. Your adoptive mother, Marie, eventually remarried widower Hank Lavalle, a farmer from Quebec who already had four older sons from his first marriage. Which, Annie, is how you became a Lavalle, the youngest child and only female in a family of big boys. No one in your family was related to you by blood—not Marie, who succumbed to breast cancer when you were fourteen, not Hank or his boys. Which makes me think you’ve always felt the outsider, the small girl with something to prove. And you know what else I think?” A sharp wave of emotion burned her eyes. “What?” she whispered, truly afraid now. “I think your search for your real mother has defined your life. And it’s the reason you are here right now, in the middle of my operation.” “What…operation?” She could feel his heartbeat against her body. She could feel his warmth, the heat from his groin. But the erection she’d seen earlier that had almost made her drop the knife was gone. He’d controlled it. He turned her around slowly and took her by the shoulders. Her heart somersaulted at the gentleness in his eyes. “A CIA operation,” he said. “A deep black one.” She blinked. “Which, Annie, is why I couldn’t tell you about my phone. I needed to be sure you weren’t working for them.” “For who?” “Your grandfather’s people.” She stared at him for a long while. He moved a lock of hair from her face. Tenderness ran like a current through her. She was tired. Hadn’t slept for days before coming here, and not a wink last night. She’d gone to bed on a glass of brandy, and she was drained. She suddenly wanted to cry, to just allow a stranger of all things to hold her. To comfort. A freaking naked stranger. What was wrong with her? He gently pried the phone loose from her fist and shut it off. “You’re CIA?” she said, feeling defeated. “Freelancer. I contract to them.” “A mercenary, then?” “In a word.” She nodded. She’d guessed from the instant she’d laid eyes on him that he was a man who lived in those kinds of shadows. “How…how do you know so much about me?”
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“The CIA accessed your RCMP file, which was detailed.” “Why did they do that?” “Because I asked them to check you out. It appears you are the reason the CIA found your grandfather—Jurgen Kraupfmann—in the first place. His private investigator in Poland started some ripples.” Confusion raced through her. “My grandfather’s name is not Jurgen…it’s Jack Marais.” “No. It’s not. Jack Marais is an alias.” “Why…should I believe you?” “You will. We have a lot to discuss.” He angled his head, that mischievous playfulness suddenly sneaking into his eyes again. “If you’d allow me to dress first?” She almost managed not to dip her gaze down over his incredibly honed, ripped, tanned, rugged body. Almost. Hot sensation ballooned through her chest as she saw the sensuous dark whorl of hair that ran from his navel and flared into the space between his very strong thighs. He was incredibly well hung. Gorgeous thighs. She was definitely a thigh girl. “Unless…you have other things in mind?” he said quietly. She flushed sharp and fast. “I…no!” He grinned, a slash of piratical white against his darker skin, and his eyes danced. She gathered herself quickly, unsure of…anything. “Seems you lost interest pretty quickly anyway.” “Didn’t think you noticed.” He reached for his towel, muscles moving under solid Mediterranean skin. “How could I not?” He laughed, a great warm sound from deep in his chest. “You’re still bleeding, Joshua. You should let me tend—” “I think, Annie, that having you touch me might be…dangerous.” She flushed deeper. Something raw showed in his eyes—a glimpse of an emotion Annie had not yet seen in him. Something so human and caring, so light and complex, but it was fleeting, quickly gone. Just as quickly his mouth flattened as if subjugated by a defiant act of sheer will, stuffing the lightness inside him back down somewhere dark.
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This man was fighting something inside himself. And she couldn’t help being intrigued.
Chapter Ten The storm still rattled at the shutters, minute crystals swirling to blanket, smother, deaden the world outside. Annie was sitting by the fire, unable to shake the chill from her bones as Joshua explained his mission to her. “So you’re saying my grandfather, Jurgen Kraupfmann, was a leader of one of those notorious Stasi death squads?” “Yes. He operated from outside of East Germany, mostly from Poland. When the Berlin Wall came down and Germany was reunified, he fled with the others. He’s been hiding in the Alaska Bush region, running this lodge under the name of Jack Marais, for the past seventeen years.” In the fireplace, the flames quivered as a sharp gust came down the stone flue. Annie rubbed her arms. “He killed people?” “He ordered their deaths.” Annie made a decision. Joshua had trusted her with this undoubtedly classified information. She could trust him. “He had a diary, Joshua.” Joshua stilled. “What?” “My grandfather told me he’d kept a journal for the last thirty years.” “If he did, Annie, if he named his collaborators, that would be explosive. It would be everything we need to take the neo-Stasi cell down. Man by man.” Urgency hummed about him. “Did he say where he kept it?” Annie lurched to her feet, paced agitatedly. “He told me about that diary for a reason, Joshua. He wanted it read. He wanted to come clean at the end of his days.” She whirled to face him. “He said he wanted to make peace with me, with his God.” Joshua remained silent, watching her. She scrubbed her face hard. She was defending a Nazi, a murderer—why? Because he was the father of her own mother? What did that make her? She was cop, a Mountie. A woman with a fierce moral compass and drive for justice. “Look, If my grandfather wanted to have his memoirs read, surely it follows that he wanted to expose the old Stasis? Perhaps he was against the resurrection of the organization and this alliance with the Russian underground movement?” “Perhaps,” Joshua said gently. “It could be the reason he was killed.”
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“Do you think they know about the diary, then?” “I don’t know how they could. Unless Kraupfmann told them himself. And I doubt that.” “Then why would they have sent someone to assassinate him if they didn’t know about the journal?” “Because they got wind he was stirring, and he knew too much.” “My grandfather’s hands were bound before he was shot, Joshua. You can tell by the bruising. Maybe information about the diary was coerced out of him before he was killed. Maybe the Fox assassinated him and then came back here to the lodge, looking for the diary. Which is when he surprised the caretaker and ransacked the lodge. Maybe the Fox is still out there. Waiting.” Joshua studied her in silence. “If that’s the case, Annie—” a gravity lay heavy in his voice “— he might return once the snow settles. Either way, after this storm, he’ll leave tracks. I’ll find him. But first I need to get you out of here.” His eyes narrowed. “Annie,” he said very quietly, “I think you know where that diary is.” She looked away. “You need to tell me.” *** They located the safe behind one of the bookshelves in the library. Joshua expertly cracked the lock, removing an old book bound in oxblood leather. He opened it to the last entry. “It’s dated a week ago,” he whispered. He flipped quickly through the book and glanced up. “This is big, Annie, you have no idea. It goes right back into the Stasi operations. It looks like it details names, dates, everything. We need to hand this over ASAP.” “Can…I read it?” Joshua hesitated. “Look, I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But it’s mine. He wanted me to have it. There could be something in there about my…my mother.” Tears burned into Annie’s eyes, and she glanced away sharply so he wouldn’t see. “I need to read it, Joshua.” He hooked a knuckle under her chin, turned her face back to his and pressed the old book into her hands. Silence stretched, just the wind outside audible. Then he leaned forward, his scent warm, masculine, and he feathered his strong lips ever so softly over hers. “It’s okay,” he whispered, wiping away a tear. “Even tough cops cry.” She sniffed, clutching the book tight. “Even mercenaries?” Something dark flitted over his feathers. “Yes, Annie. Even mercenaries.”
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He walked away quickly, and she felt a sudden sense of loss. But she could see a raw tension in his back, in his movements. His neck. And she knew—she just knew—that he was running from something that had happened to him. “Did you lose someone once, Joshua?” He stared out the windows. The wind rattled again. He remained silent for a long, long time. “It’s in the past,” he said eventually, quietly. It was a woman—Annie’s gut told her he’d lost a girlfriend, maybe a wife. A warm empathy unfurled in her, and she was compelled to go up, touch him, comfort him. But he turned suddenly, that ice-cool look back in his eyes, that harsh set back in his jaw. “Read the diary. We can talk more later.”
Chapter Eleven Annie wasn’t sure how many hours she’d been reading. Time felt endless with the blizzard raging outside. Joshua had brought her tea, but it was the firm, reassuring hand he’d placed on her shoulder that had made her feel less alone. She swiped angrily at a renegade tear. She wasn’t one for crying. Four big brothers had killed that impulse at a fairly young age. But reading the diary was stirring her down deep and visceral. Her grandfather’s entries included recent information gleaned by his private investigator in Poland. Jurgen Kraupfmann had apparently been seeking a living relative, one to whom he could bequeath his lodge—and diary. A path that had led him to Annie. As Annie read, she learned that her mother’s name was Joanna. She’d been single, unemployed and barely seventeen when she’d conceived Annie. Joanna’s own mother had never married. She’d been a mistress of Jurgen Kraupfmann’s. And, as Kraupfmann wrote in his strong cursive hand, his mistress never had any idea of his dual identity, or the fact he worked for the East Germans. Neither did Joanna. But the journal didn’t just talk about his family. Going further back in the book, she read that her grandfather had ordered the deaths of seventeen prominent political dissidents outside of Europe. Two on U.S. soil, which is likely what had really piqued intelligence interest in the U.S. All were carried out by one killer—an assassin named Hans Faulks, a.k.a. the Fox—a man her grandfather had trained, and who’d done his debut killing as a mere teenager. Annie looked up at the windows, wondering about the Fox, how he came to be what he was. A seed grew where it fell. How much choice did a child really have in what ultimately shaped his destiny? Conflicting emotions warred through her. She touched the words on the page, her grandfather’s firm strokes written in fountain pen, which Annie found quaint. She tried to imagine the movement of his hand, tried to align him in her mind—the owner of this lodge and a noxious death-squad leader, now dead in the freezer. She came to the final pages and what she read blurred her vision with tears of hot emotion that spilled down her cheeks. Both her mother and grandmother had only recently been killed
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in a car accident during a holiday to France. Leaving Annie as Kraupfmann’s only remaining blood relative. From the kitchen, Joshua, who’d been watching her like a hawk as he chopped vegetables and stirred a steaming pot, came to her side. He sat beside her on the stone hearth in front of the fire. “What is it, Annie?” She swiped a mess of emotion from her face and looked up into his eyes. Joshua’s heart clenched so hard and fast that he almost took her in his arms. But he refrained from touching her, from being an idiot again. “Talk to me,” he said softly. “My mother died only last year,” she whispered to him. “I could have known her, Joshua. I…I could have met her.” He didn’t know what to say. Platitudes weren’t his thing. Once more he tamped down an urge to physically comfort Annie. “She made good, Joshua. She married, opened a small flower shop…and…” The tears came again, big racking ones. This time he did take her in his arms, and she leaned in close, her slight frame sobbing against his body. He stroked her silky dark hair and just held her, feeling her breasts against his chest, drinking in her scent, the sensation of her skin against his. And he felt his heart cracking wide open—a raw, horrible, rushing emotion that made him feel naked and afraid. And that’s when Joshua knew he was sunk. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to bottle it all up again. And that made him angry. He stood up quickly, swearing to himself, and stalked back to the kitchen. Annie sat forward, hurt flaring in her eyes. Confusion in her features. Looking lost. Looking vulnerable…like the only woman he’d ever wanted in his life. And every molecule in his body screamed to go to her. And he couldn’t. He could not make himself cross that line. He turned his attention to the food, stirring viciously. He’d never wanted to come to this juncture again. God-freaking-dammit! He slammed the wooden spoon into the sink, braced his hands on the counter. Annie got up, shot him a sharp, hurtful glance and marched toward the front door. She yanked it open and stepped out into the cold, under the cover of the porch. She allowed the door to slam shut behind her. Joshua fought with himself, holding himself back from rushing after her. *** Hidden by snow-covered forest, Hans Faulks watched as the woman came outside—the woman the Old Man had said would be his grandchild. She was holding a book. The book.
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He snuggled down into the snowdrift, resting his cheek against his cold rifle stock. He breathed in slowly, and on his exhalation, began to squeeze the trigger….
Chapter Twelve “Annie?” She stiffened under Joshua’s touch, not wanting to look at him. “It’s cold out,” he said gently. “Come inside. Please.” She allowed him to put his arm around her, take her back into the enveloping warmth of the lodge. Joshua glanced back into the trees, sensing something. He shut the door, locked it. *** The sniper released his tension on the trigger, heart beating softly in the cold. He’d come to kill the Old Man. There were no roads in or out of the remote area, excluding travel by an all-terrain vehicle. Air was the only way in. So he’d been dropped off on a lake to the north via private floatplane, and hiked in quietly on foot. In winter, one could travel through the woods and along the river via snowmobile—but it wasn’t supposed to be winter yet. He wiped snow from his eyes. He had not anticipated this snow. The Stasi had learned that a private investigator had been asking questions about Kraupfmann’s mistress and daughter, digging into their records, and in turn, they’d discovered Kraupfmann was living in Alaska. Stirring. After decades of silence. They’d sent the Fox to keep that silence. After taking care of the P.I., Hans had come directly here. And he’d quickly carried out his contract. But there remained a problem. Before he’d shot the Old Man he’d made him talk, and Hans had learned of a granddaughter—and a diary. A diary that could expose him and the entire old guard. Faulks had gone straight to the lodge to look for it. He’d already eliminated Kraupfmann’s hunting guide before hauling Kraupfmann himself into the woods to torture and kill him. Collateral damage, unfortunately. But as he’d started to search the lodge for the diary, the caretaker had surprised him. More collateral damage. On top of that, just after Hans had slit the caretaker’s throat, a third man appeared, bringing Kraupfmann’s body back to the lodge on a makeshift sled of branches.
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Faulks had cut communication lines to the lodge, and waited to shoot the man. But the newcomer’s reactions to the sight of the caretaker’s corpse were interesting, not that of an ordinary civilian. He had calmly ascertained that the caretaker was dead, then coldly examined the room, as if trying to figure out what Faulks had been searching for. That’s when Faulks decided to wait before killing him, to see if he’d lead him to the book. The man had then put Kraupfmann in the freezer. While he was still in there, Faulks heard a plane landing on the lake. The man had come back for the caretaker’s corpse—presumably to cart him into the freezer, too—when the woman arrived, possibly the granddaughter the Old Man had mentioned. Faulks decided at that point to watch them both. Her reactions were not those of a normal civilian, either. They might be working for someone. It would be helpful to know who. And watching them might lead him to the book. And it had. He’d seen it in the woman’s hand. The lodge door closed behind them. He shifted in the snow. He had time. And patience. It was his art. The art of a predator. And he always made his kill. *** Joshua was strung like a wire, furious with himself for having touched Annie at all, for allowing compassion in himself. For wanting more. There was something about Annie—about this particular woman at this juncture of his life—that had breached his armor, cracked through the dispassion, the heartlessness that had kept him safe, functional, since Kara had died. Now the big bad merc was afraid of a pretty little dark-haired Mountie with gold eyes, freckles and a gap between her teeth. Hell yeah, he was afraid. She could do him more damage than any bullet or knife out there. Because suddenly she’d given him something to live for again. Crap. He set a bottle of red wine on the counter, outwardly calm, but even more angry for now having put hurt into her eyes. He aggressively uncorked the red vintage he’d taken from the lodge cellar. “What are you thinking?” she said as he poured. She’d been watching him, and Joshua had a weird sensation that maybe she could read his mind. He forced a smile. “Nothing, apart from how this ’84 cabernet should go very well with the venison stew.” She cast her eyes down, and he knew he’d turned her thoughts to the meat locker. “Hey, don’t worry. Once this storm clears we’ll get you out of here.”
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“And you?” “Here, try this.” He handed her a glass and a plate. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she said after tasting. “You really can cook.” “Said I was the chef, didn’t I?” He winked. She stilled. The moment grew heavy, mutual attraction raw and simmering between them. She swallowed slowly as a slight flush crept up her neck and into her cheeks. It heated him in the groin. He had to change the subject fast. He cleared his throat. “So, why’d you become a cop, Annie?” She laughed huskily. “I had four big brothers and something to prove.” He studied her for a beat. “Seriously. Why?”
Chapter Thirteen “I was a hostage in a bank robbery in Montreal when I was fifteen,” she said, lifting her glass, sipping. “It went wrong, lasted days. People died. I had to watch them being shot. One by one.” She paused. “I was so terrorized that when I came out, alive, I promised myself I would never, ever feel fear, feel trapped like that again in my life. I would take control.” Annie set her glass down, twisted it, watching the liquid swirl. “Guess I thought getting a badge and a gun would help me do that.” “Did it?” She smiled wryly. “I discovered I actually thrive on a degree of fear, the adrenaline that comes with it. Just not being trapped in small spaces.” Her features tightened. “I still have serious claustrophobia issues. That hasn’t gone away.” “That adrenaline you mention, it can be addictive.” “Is that how it is with you?” “Yeah, I’d say.” She paused, watching him intently. “Do you ever get scared, Joshua?” “Me?” He laughed and got up, putting the plates in the sink. “That’s how you deal with it, isn’t it? You become flippant, you treat the situation as amusing, irrelevant.” He stilled. This woman had a way of seeing right into him, unraveling him. And his growing feelings for her were beginning to spook the crap out of him. Funny, he didn’t feel like laughing about that right now. He felt like running. And there was no place to go.
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“Do you have family, Joshua?” “Men like me don’t get to have family, Annie.” “You mean men who live and work in the shadows of society? Who do the dark work so the rest of us sleep safe?” He snorted. “Pretty much.” She leaned forward, a burgundy tint from the wine on her lips. And all he wanted was to taste her mouth. “What about relationships, Joshua?” she said quietly. “You have those?” He couldn’t think straight, heat thrumming low in his gut. “Superficial.” “But there was one special person, wasn’t there?” she whispered. His vision narrowed. “I’m right, aren’t I, Joshua? She’s the one you lost.” “Her name was Kara Smith,” he said finally, quietly. “She was a Red Cross nurse working in an Afghan refugee camp on the outskirts of Kabul. She was good and innocent and beautiful, and…and I should never have loved her—” “But you did.” He walked over to the fire and sat on the stone hearth. Distance—he needed it. Damn, he wanted a cigarette, too. Times like this, he needed to smoke. He hadn’t had a drag in a long while. She was doing this to him. Annie stood and went to him, sitting close. Too close. He could feel her warmth, and he wanted to hold a human being, a woman—her—close. He wanted her bad. She touched the side of his face and shock rocketed through him. “Was she killed?” He nodded. “Because of me. Because of who I am, and what I do. I was working as a bodyguard for a top UN politician, and because I was focused on protecting my asset, I lost the one thing I cared about in life.” Hot emotion crackled into his eyes. “They took her, Annie. They tortured her. To get at me. And she died before I could rescue her.” To Annie’s credit she didn’t say a word. Not one. She just leaned her body against him, handed him his glass. Maybe it was because she was a cop, or because she had four big alpha-dog brothers and no mother and she understood men. Whatever, it made him comfortable. Damned if it didn’t make him want her even more. He could live with a woman like this. Jeez, he’d promised himself never to allow this thoughts to go there. He’d meant what he’d said about family and relationships—he had no right to have them. Hell, he’d lived in so many countries under so many aliases, sometimes he didn’t even know who he was anymore. He swigged his wine, ferocity burning with the lust in him now, a hunger ravenous for a connection in this world. In his world of shadows, he craved something real. Like Annie. She lifted her face to him, the invitation, the need in her own eyes… There was no way he could turn his back now, no matter how hard he was trying.
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“We’re two of a kind, you and I, Annie,” he whispered hoarsely, lowering his mouth to hers. “How…so?” she murmured, her breath like a warm feather on his lips. “I think—” he slid his hand down her waist, feeling the soft flannel of her shirt “—that you like to walk the edge as much as I do.”
Chapter Fourteen “You know what I think?” she murmured, warm against his mouth. “I think you dare the world to kill you, Joshua Kane.” Molten heat exploded low in his belly, rushed out to his extremities like wildfire, making his pulse race, his consciousness narrow. “Maybe you do it—” she unbuttoned his shirt, slid her hands onto his chest “—because you think you need to pay for what happened.” He yanked her body hard against his, felt her breasts press against his chest, felt hard nipples under her shirt. It excited him. All he wanted to do right now was live. To the fullest. Not die. He wanted to make love to her. He wanted her. It spiked the pressure between his legs. He’d never wanted anyone so much. He hadn’t had a woman in this way for years, not with real kindred affection burning into the heat of his lust. It was heady, delirious. At the same time he knew there could be no turning back. He shouldn’t do this. He was making a mistake. He felt her hand move down his abs, to his belt. She removed his Walther, setting it on the hearth. He trusted her with it. She was a cop. He liked that. He liked too many things… “Make love to me, Joshua,” she whispered against his mouth, her tongue seeking his. His vision blurred. He fumbled with her buttons, unclasped her bra, secretly thrilled to find his feisty cop wearing lace. A small moan of pleasure escaped her as he cupped her breast, hard. He moved faster, unable to restrain a moment longer, and she met him with equal fervor—just as hungry, just as fierce. She fumbled for his zipper, tongue tangling with his as he hooked her leg over his thigh. No thought now. No logic. Only sensation. He peeled her shirt back from her shoulders, lowering her to the bearskin rug on the floor in front of the raw flames. She lifted her hips, and he yanked her jeans down. Annie wriggled out of them and kissed him deeper, relishing the sensation of muscle, of rough chest hair against the swollen, tender skin of her breasts. He parted her legs and she felt his mouth, his tongue slick between her thighs, and pressure built like a bomb in her chest. She drew his head back up to her mouth, not wanting to come
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yet, but he forced her thighs wider with his knees until she was almost shaking with need for him. “Wait,” he said hoarsely. He went to the lodge medical cabinet, found a condom. And then he entered her, the smooth tip of his erection hot. He gripped her hips and she arched into him, wild. With one hard thrust he was in to the hilt. Annie gasped. She drew him closer, deeper inside her, moving her hips under him, heightening the sensation of his pelvis pressed to hers. He moved faster, hotter. Angrier, hungrier—two bodies digging deep for something they were unable to define. She dug her nails into his back, suddenly still. He stopped moving, looked into her eyes. She jerked, releasing with a sharp cry. He came almost simultaneously, unable to hold back with the exquisite sensation of her muscles undulating around him. Joshua took her into his arms—held her, touched her, stroked her skin, her hair, felt her warmth as the storm rattled at the doors. They made love again, slow and languorous this time, naked and primal on a rug shot by some hunter. And they sank again into the fur, sated, glowing with perspiration. But soon Joshua felt the cold creep in. What had he done? Remorse and guilt began to build inside him. He sat up sharply. “Joshua?” Concern softened Annie’s eyes, dark silky hair falling over naked shoulders—so beautiful. So athletic, strong. Yet so fragile. “What is it?” she asked. He got up, punched his arms into his shirtsleeves, pulled on his jeans, stoked the fire. He had to step back. He had to get Annie the hell out of his life before he mucked up hers. Their jobs were not compatible. Their countries… Christ! No way could he have her, not like he wanted her—long-term. When had Joshua Kane ever thought of the future? Not once in five years. Why in hell was his brain even heading down this road? “You should get some sleep,” he snapped. “This storm should be blown through by morning.” She reached for her clothes. “And then?” “Then I get a plane in, have them fly you home.” “Home.” He glanced at her—the way she said it. And he understood. She’d been searching for home, a real sense of belonging, all her life. The closest she’d come to her heritage was this isolated lodge and a dead grandfather in a meat locker with a bullet in his skull. And Joshua’s heart crumpled in on itself. As much as he had to send her away, he didn’t want to. He wanted to help her. Be there for her.
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And he couldn’t. He couldn’t even be there for his goddamn self. Let alone offer her a home. “Go get some sleep, Annie.”
Chapter Fifteen Annie lay—alone—in her feather bed. As the storm abated, she felt an incredible silence descend on the night, along with an insidious chill that crawled deep into her bones. Her eyes were wet with emotion. Joshua had bored a hole in her soul. He’d made her hungry for more—to hold, to be held. But after he’d had sex with her he’d shut down. Like the flick of a goddamn switch. He’d gone to his own room. She swore softly. Men. Especially a man like him—a mercenary who’d forgotten who he was, who’d even told her his relationships were all superficial. She was such a damn fool to think she’d glimpsed more to him. Such an ass to have even cared. What in hell had she been thinking, anyway? Nothing, that’s what. Stress, fatigue, fear…throw in some wine and a man with a body to die for… That’s all it was. And, yeah, the sex was freaking good. It was about time she’d had something that hot-damn good. Get over it, Annie. She punched her pillow, curled into a ball. She’d gotten what she came for—her mother’s name. She was so outta here tomorrow. *** Annie was crunching through knee-deep snow before the sun had even shone over the distant mountains. Her breath misted in puffs, and the sky was a pearly slate with no clouds. One fading star still lingered on the horizon. A bitterly cold wind scoured over the lake. Hoarfrost had started to grow on top of the snow crystals, and they shimmered like diamonds as she moved toward the dock. She wanted to see where a plane might land. She had her doubts Joshua would be able to get one in under these conditions. The water itself wasn’t an option; a thin layer of ice had formed. And the trees, willow and berry scrub tangled right up to the shore. It clearly wasn’t a place that invited anyone in winter. And winter had apparently come early. She just wanted to get away from here. Go back to Black Arrow Falls—which would probably be twice as cold and even deeper into winter as it was farther north—but she had friends there like Sergeant Caruso, Silver, Constable Donovan, Rosie in the office… They were the only family she really felt were hers now. She tucked her hands deep into her down jacket. But as she was about to turn and trudge back up to the lodge, an odd color beneath the ice snared her attention. Annie bent forward and blinked in horror.
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Trapped beneath a sheet of wind-sheared ice was a human face. Frozen eyes stared up from the glassy tomb. Her pulse quickened. She glanced up, her gaze sweeping the surrounding bush, suddenly afraid. She could see and hear nothing. Just the whoosh of Arctic wind on frozen land. Yet she didn’t feel alone. Something moved suddenly in the trees, and she almost screamed as a snowshoe hare bounded out, still brown on his feet. Heart thudding, Annie was instantly cognizant of her knife strapped under her jacket. She threw another look at the woods, then crouched down to take a better look at the body. It was a man. His throat had been slit—a bloodless gaping maw. Probably bled out into the water before he froze. He wore camouflage gear. The missing hunting guide. Annie heard a crunch behind her. She swung up with her knife, tense as wire. “Joshua!” she gasped when she saw who it was. “Christ, why’d you sneak up like that?” “Why didn’t you tell me you were going outside?” he snapped. He was livid, stomping down to the dock through the snow, rifle in hand. Because you rejected me, because I still want you and need to get the hell away from here. From you. “I think you should see this,” she said quietly. “This confirms it,” he whispered, staring at the entombed body. “The Fox must have killed the guide when he went after Kraupfmann. But we’ve got something even more serious—” He took her arm brusquely, his gaze strafing forest and bush. “There are fresh prints in the snow on the other side of the lodge. He’s still here, Annie. He’s not done.” “The diary?” “That would be my guess. And if he figures we know what’s in it, it makes us both targets. He’s still hunting. And this time it’s us.” Joshua marched Annie back to the lodge, all too aware that he’d just been forced headlong into his worst possible nightmare—a woman he was coming to care for deeply, in spite of his best effort, was now in danger. And he had to protect her.
Chapter Sixteen From the fresh tracks in the new snow, Joshua was now convinced that one of the most notorious assassins to come out of the Cold War era was circling the lodge. Hunting them. He handed Annie a rifle. “Take this, and this, too.“ He gave her his Walther and a spare clip. “Keep watch from that window. And don’t you dare go anywhere without telling me.” He picked up the gas cans he’d retrieved from the storeroom. “Where are you going?” she said, taking up position at a living room window that looked out over the approach to the lodge.
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“There are two snowmobiles in the shed out back. We’ll never get a plane in here now. I tried calling for a chopper but the storm has moved south. It will be some hours before anyone close enough can get a bird into the sky. But with the amount of snow we got last night, we can use those snowmobiles. I’m going to fuel them up, come back for you and a few supplies.” His eyes held hers. “Be ready. Keep watch out front.” “Wait,” she said suddenly. “What about this man—the Fox? Isn’t it your mission to get him, not run from him?” “I have a higher priority now. You.” “You’ll fail a major mission, Joshua. This is an opportunity that may never present itself again. That man is an assassin wanted worldwide. He…he killed my grandfather.” “We have the diary, Annie. It’s enough. Now I’m going to get you out of here. Alive.” Because if I save you, Annie Lavalle, I will save myself. No job, no career, no life is worth living if I can’t do this. He’d honestly give it all up if it meant keeping her safe. Because now it wasn’t only her life at stake, it was his, too. For the first time in five years, he actually wanted a future. And he wanted it with her. Sure, there would be risks; it may hurt like hell and it might not work, but at least he’d be living. He’d been the walking dead for long enough. *** Annie tucked the diary under her jacket and sighted down the barrel toward the snow-covered forest while Joshua ran though the drifts and ducked into the shed. The lodge fell incredibly silent. Then, abruptly, a noise distracted her, a clatter down the far north end of the building. She spun. The killer was inside! She set the rifle down, chambered a round in the Walther and crept slowly down the long dark passage toward the meat locker, heart thumping. The freezer door was ajar. She edged along the wall, spun inside the meat locker, gun leading. One of the carcasses was swaying. He’d been here…maybe still was. She should have waited for Joshua. But before Annie could move or think, the freezer door thudded shut behind her. Horrified, she lunged for the reinforced metal door and yanked the handle. It was locked.
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Panic clawed at her. Her claustrophobia began to consume her, stealing all rational thought as she was plunged all the way back to the hostage terror at the bank. Annie was suddenly fifteen years old again. She wrenched the handle again, slamming the door with her fist, tears streaming down her face. “Help! Let me out!” Then she heard something. A soft, ominous crackling. She felt the door—it was hot. Fire! He’d set fire to the lodge, and she was trapped with the carcasses and bodies in the meat locker with no air. Panic roared like the flames outside. She was going to die. Strangely, the thought didn’t make her more afraid. Instead, an incredible sense of acceptance, of calm, overcame her, beating down her panic. That old fear that had been with her since she was fifteen no longer consumed her. She was in control. She pulled out her gun. *** The Fox positioned himself in a hollowed-out snowdrift, the tip of his rifle the only thing visible. He lay dead-still, as still as the frozen forest. Just the soft shush of wind moved over the snow, punctuated by an intermittent thud as a branch released its burden of white. But soon he could hear the hot roar of orange fire crackling, and see swirling black smoke billowing acrid into the frigid air. He curled his finger through the trigger guard and waited. He’d gone inside to look for the diary, thinking both the man and woman were out back. But the woman had surprised him. He’d trapped her and set fire to the entire place, burning the diary with it. If they got free and fled out front, he’d pick them off like birds. If they escaped out back, the snow would make it easy to track and hunt them down later. No one could move through a blanket of storm snow without leaving a trail. Not even him. And patience was his art. Besides, it felt right—the symmetry, the symbolism of fire, of burning Jurgen Kraupfmann’s home to the ground with him inside, in his tomb. His granddaughter with him. The end of his bloodline. The end of the man that had made Hans a killer.
Chapter Seventeen An explosion roared, shattering a window. Choking smoke roiled out at Joshua as he yanked open the back door. “Annie!” Just crackling flame.
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He ran in a crouch into the bathroom, doused some towels and covered his head, running down through the hall, the heat increasing. “Annie! Where are you!” Another explosion whooshed as flames licked through the storeroom, finding chemicals. He coughed, growing desperate. Then he heard it—a gunshot! And another. He spun around. He could have sworn it came from inside the freezer. That’s when he saw the handle had been jammed shut with a massive crowbar—from the outside. Trapped. She must be trying to shoot at the lock, but it wasn’t going to help with the handle jammed like this. Flames licked outside the iron-hot metal door. “Annie! Can you hear me?” He choked a racking cough. Eyes watering, searing, blurring. Then he heard a banging from inside. Faint. She was in there. “Hold on, Annie! I’m coming. Hold your fire, okay!” He raced back to the kitchen, grabbed the extinguisher and aimed foam around the freezer door. Then he wrapped one of the towels around his right hand, dislodging the metal crowbar that had been wedged under the handle. But the towel burned and the heat seared his skin as he grabbed the metal handle and yanked. Pain he could handle, failing Annie he could not. She suffered from claustrophobia; she’d be in a blind panic. Joshua flung open the door. Heat rushed in after him, hungry for fresh air. Annie moved toward him, afraid but looking surprisingly in control. Never had he felt such relief. He thrust her a wet towel. “Cover your head! Come!” Her eyes darted to her frozen grandfather. Yellow light danced eerily over him, making it appear as if his eyes were alive, watching as his corpse came to life with the warmth. It would be her last look… “Annie—” he grabbed her arm “—we’ve got to move. Fast! I have one of the snowmobiles waiting but we need to use the front door. The entire back end of the lodge is catching fire.” But as they burst out the front, a bullet buzzed like an angry hornet so close to Joshua’s ear he felt the wind. Christ. He slammed to the ground behind a drift that had piled along the porch railing, bringing Annie down with him. “He’s out there,” he whispered, jerking his head toward the tree line. “Waiting to pick us off. We need to go back inside and out the back. I managed to bring a snowmobile from the shed before I saw the fire. We can double up on that one, okay?” Annie glanced at the fire burning in the hall. A beam crunched down in an explosion of red sparks. Fear raced inside her—not panic, but the good kind of fear that dumped adrenaline into your blood and fueled a fight for life. Somehow, back in that meat locker, with those frozen carcasses, she’d been forced across a line. She’d looked into the eyes of death, and death blinked first. Because there was Joshua, banging open the door, liberating her.
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But Annie hadn’t only been liberated from the locker. Something deep inside had been freed, too. In more ways than one. She’d gone back into the crucible and faced down her worst demon, and she knew it was never going to conquer her again. And she’d found her heritage. Even though it wasn’t one she was proud to own, it had freed her from the constant searching that had ruled her life. Knowledge was incredible power. She had that now. And her taste for adventure was fierce. This man beside her, no matter if she never saw him again after this, had helped her find herself more than that cop badge ever had. “He’ll kill us if we don’t move, Annie.” “I’m ready.” They rushed through the burning lodge, the structure crumbling and crashing and spitting and popping around them. A piece of beam cracked down, glancing off Joshua’s head. He stumbled. He could feel blood wetting his collar, but he ignored it. They soaked more towels, and with an exhilarated sense of raw, wild freedom, they smashed out the back and stumbled through the snow to the waiting snowmobile. The skin on Joshua’s right hand was a blistering, raw mess of flesh, but he grabbed the handlebars of the snowmobile, revved it and goosed the engine, doing something he’d never done before—flee the scene.
Chapter Eighteen Joshua had never run from anything in his life. And not once had he bailed on a mission. Ever. But he told himself he wasn’t fleeing. He was going toward something. With Annie. He was going to make changes in his life. He was going to find a way to make something work with Annie, if she’d have him. They could send someone else after the Fox. Now that they had the diary, they’d likely be able to track him down again. Joshua would call in as soon as they got somewhere safe. Dammit, he could do this. He could start. He could try. And, yeah, he might fail. But what he’d been feeling these last few hours was better than he’d felt in years. With a fierce lightness in his chest he torqued the machine, sending up a rooster-spray of snow. He felt Annie’s arms around his waist, her legs straddling his. His eyes teared in the biting wind. But he’d never felt more alive, more wild, more free. ***
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Darkness was coming earlier each day at this latitude, and the sky was already a deep purple, the northern lights billowing eerily in silence. Joshua punched the machine through deepening snow into dense forest, following the banks of a river. He pulled in under a protected knoll speared with dark conifers. He checked the GPS on his watch. That’s when they heard it—the faint, buzzing whine of another snowmobile in the distant dusk. Growing closer. They exchanged a quick look. “You think it’s him?” He nodded. “Must’ve taken the other machine. I was busy gassing it up for you, but I didn’t have time to finish and get it out of the shed when I saw the fire. Our trail will be like a beacon.” They had two weapons between them. A rifle and his Walther P22. Annie had already squeezed off two shots in the freezer, but he’d given her an extra clip. “How far off is he, d’you think?” Annie said. “Hard to say with the way sound carries over ice. He should slow down when it gets dark.” “Do we outrun him?” “He’s going to be lighter—” “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered as she caught sight of his hand. “Let me look at that.” “It’s nothing.” “Bull,” she said. “You’re losing all the skin on your palm.” She looked up into his eyes. In this light they were green, vulnerable, his features tight and showing great pain. Then she saw blood saturating his collar, under his jacket. “Oh, God,” she whispered. “You cut your head?” “It’ll be fine.” But she could see it wasn’t. He was weakening. “Where is the nearest town, Joshua?” “Two days out, I think. We won’t have enough gas, though.” Panic whispered. Again Annie calmly channeled it, using it for energy instead of allowing it to ride the logic center of her brain. Just like in the meat locker, she felt a stab of empowerment. That hostage incident might have led her to become a cop, but it had taken until now for her to use her skills and fully seize control. Annie lifted the snowmobile seat and found a small first-aid kit in the storage compartment amid some spare gear, including a hunter’s hat and a few tools. She applied a thin layer of
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antiseptic ointment to his hand and wrapped it lightly in gauze. It was going to need treatment. It was swelling, infection becoming a real worry. Then she looked at the cut on his head. She applied a butterfly suture as best she could, but the gash was deep, hidden under his hair, and the amount of blood he appeared to have lost troubled Annie. He caught her eye and they exchanged another look—a mutual, unspoken, deep bond, a whispering fragile sense of a future shimmering between them. He kissed her. “Annie, I don’t want you to—” “We need to ambush him. See that ridge a few miles out? If we can get there before full dark—” “He’ll anticipate we’ll hole up there.” “Then we’ll be where he doesn’t expect us.” She swung her leg over the machine, took the handles. “I’m driving. Rest your hand.” “Annie—” She shot him a firm look. “I grew up in northern Quebec, Joshua. I work in Black Arrow Falls, about as close to the Arctic Circle as you’re gonna find an RCMP detachment. I can handle a snowmobile, okay?” A smile cracked Joshua’s mouth. He looked tired, rough. “I don’t doubt it.” He straddled the small cop, wrapping his arms around her. “I think I could love you, Constable Annie Lavalle,” he whispered into her hair. She smiled into the dusk and torqued the revs, feeling his strong arms surround her.
Chapter Nineteen The headlights of Hans Faulks’s snowmobile bored a yellow tunnel into the increasing darkness. He was growing tired, cold, sensations he forced to the back of his consciousness. He came to the place his targets had stopped. He got off, examined the prints with his flashlight. Blood. One of them was injured. It put fresh fire into his belly. His fuel would outlast theirs. He was a lighter load, and he carried a spare can of gas. The moon rose, casting a ghostly platinum over the landscape of ice and snow, black trees knifing the sky in ragged ridges as he followed his targets’ trail to the southwest. The Fox had to go slower as he entered denser forest, shadows leering at him, as if embodying the mad voices in his head, the ghosts of his victims that began haunting him whenever fatigue consumed him. He saw a rock ridge ahead, and the trail led straight to it. It was the one place they could hole up for the night and wait for him.
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He shut off his engine, left his machine and quietly ducked into the woods on foot, weapon in hand, approaching the ridge from the east. Suddenly he caught the glint of a rifle barrel in the moonlight. Flattening himself onto the snow, he regulated his breathing, lining his sights up with the top of the hat of the man lying in wait. Slowly, he squeezed the trigger…. *** Joshua and Annie lay still, frozen in the night landscape. They’d rode the snowmobile up onto the ridge, tucked it behind a rock outcrop and perched the hunting hat Annie had found in the snowmobile on a stick. Joshua had then balanced a shiny spanner tool on the rock, making it look as if a sniper waited, just the tip of his weapon and hat showing. Then they’d retreated to an outcrop to the west of the ridge. Joshua was now fading to the edge of consciousness, blood loss and concussion taking their toll. Annie was the one thing holding him from slipping into warm, welcome blackness. She touched his arm. “Give me the rifle, Joshua.” “I’m a good shot.” “With your hand injured, I’m a better one.” Her face was so close, moonlight making her appear wan, vulnerable. His heart squeezed. “No,” he whispered. “We work as a team here. When he shows us his position—” “I go down and come up behind him.” “But you’ve got to get close, Annie. Your caliber—” She scowled. “You forget, Mr. Special Agent Mercenary, I’m a cop.” He closed his eyes for a moment. He just didn’t want to let her go. He wanted to do this by himself. “You can’t do this alone, Joshua. You have to trust me.” He’d never worked with someone—always alone, that was his thing. Especially during the last five years. “Only,” he whispered, “if you promise to come back.” “As long as you’re here waiting—” she grinned in the dark “—I’m coming back.” A fierceness welled in his heart, and he could only define it as love. Silence lay brittle as the temperature plunged well below freezing. Annie’s limbs felt dead. She began to fear she wouldn’t be able to use the gun when the time came. Then out of the great frozen stillness came the shot. With a crack, the top of the hat blew off. The Fox had exposed his position.
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Immediately, Annie scrambled through the snow in a crouch as Joshua squeezed off an answering shot. Rolling, falling, tumbling like a rag doll, she made her way down a hidden bank and scurried into the black forest, using the cover of returning fire. Heart racing, thankful that the texture of the snow wasn’t making noise, she came up behind the Fox. Annie lay flat, splayed her legs, toes digging into the snow. And aimed. But her hands shook. She’d never killed a man. An RCMP officer’s duty was to prevent loss of life. She swore, telling herself that’s what she was doing. But the hesitation cost Annie. The Fox sensed her presence, spun onto his back and aimed the rifle dead at her. She fired instantly. So did he. But her shot hit first. She pulled the trigger again and again, his body jerking slightly with each impact. Then he stilled, shuddered and lay quiet. It was a long, long time before Annie could move again. Joshua touched her shoulder and she almost screamed. “It’s okay,” he whispered. He went to the body, felt for a pulse and looked up at her. “Lavalle,” he said quietly. “You’ve just taken down one of the most wanted Stasi assassins this side of the Cold War.” Tears of release flowed down her face, and she let them. He held her tight. “We make a good team,” he whispered.
Chapter Twenty Four months passed. Annie had been through protracted debriefings with the RCMP and CSIS—Canada’s intelligence agency—in Ottawa, and with the CIA in Washington, and she’d finally finished the last of the bunch with an understanding that she would never leak what had happened in the Alaskan Bush. The Canadians didn’t want involvement, even implied. And the CIA wanted full credit for taking down Jurgen Kraupfmann and the Fox. Annie didn’t care. She’d gotten exactly what she’d gone to Alaska for. Even though the CIA had seized her grandfather’s diary and would now, in connection with European agencies, be using it to hunt down the men he’d named, Annie had what she wanted from the journal—her mother’s story. However diabolical her grandfather had been, however extreme his political leanings were, Annie had been somehow rooted in the world. And she now knew that whatever path she chose to follow, it would be her own. The winter wind off the river was cool, and she tucked her hands into her pockets. Small flecks of snow were crystallizing in the air as she began to flag down a cab. Suddenly she saw him. A tall, solitary figure in a long wool coat and scarf, crossing the road. He waved. She stilled, her heart doing a slow, silly free fall through her chest at the sight of him.
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“God, it’s good to see you, Annie.” He took her by the shoulders in his powerful grip. He looked beautiful—he’d shaved, got a hair cut. Gone was the renegade Alaskan cowboy with cold, calculating eyes. In his place was a man with warmth. Sophistication, even. “What?” he said at the look on her face. “I…” She wanted to say I love you. But she was nervous. She’d barely seen him since they’d escaped Alaska. He’d gone through his own debriefings, then she’d gotten word he’d been deployed somewhere urgent. Meanwhile she’d remained under observation as U.S., Canadian and German authorities wrangled over process. “You look like you’ve been posted to the Senate or something. What happened to my merc?” He laughed, deep and hearty, and then he kissed her. God, she loved him. Everything about him. He was utterly handsome, all male power. And there was more—they’d shared a deep and visceral connection. But she’d thought about their relationship a lot, and it was futile. “Annie—“ he said suddenly, and very seriously. Her pulse quickened. This was it. This was goodbye. She knew it. “I have—“ he grinned “—a proposition.” “A proposition?” “Well…” Nerves suddenly showed in his features, sending a chill of foreboding through her. “It’s a proposal, really. I want you to be with me. As in forever.” Speechless, rocked, she opened her mouth to reply. “Wait.” He placed gloved fingers on her cold lips. “Before you answer, hear me out. We can take our time, no hurry. I just want to know if you think you might be able to spend the rest of your life with me.” Her throat choked with emotion. “Joshua…I…our lives are so incompatible. Your job…my job…we…different countries…” “I’m not done. Listen.” He smiled, taking her arm. “You can tell a lot about a person under pressure, Annie,” he said as they walked, the snow coming down soft as white confetti, settling on his coat, on her hair. “In Alaska you showed that you like to walk the edge as much as I do, that we could make a good team.” “But, Josh—” “Hey, let me finish, okay? The CIA is setting up a new international task force that has a CSIS component. The intelligence agencies have agreed to cooperate on certain security ventures. And they’re going to need some Canadians on that force, Annie. I put your name forward.”
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“What?” “Along with mine. Specifically they’re looking for operatives who could partner up, go undercover, that sort of thing.” Annie stopped, excitement rippling through her. “Are you serious?” “Think about it, Constable Lavalle. We could walk that edge together. One day at a time. Who knows, things might work out. Long-term.” Love surged through her and glistened in her eyes. He cupped her cheek. “You showed me I wanted to live again, Annie. And I’m prepared to try. With you. What d’you say?” She couldn’t say a damn thing. Tears streamed down her face—release, relief. Happiness. It all came out. “Would that be a yes?” She nodded violently, and he leaned down, taking her into his arms as he kissed her in the swirling Washington snow.
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Seduced by the Season by Merline Lovelace It’s been a long time since Sophie Hawthorne has been seduced by anything—or anyone. Winters in Dublin, Ireland, are cold and dreary, and without family, the holidays are bleak and lonely. This year’s looking to be no different—it’s five days before Christmas and Sophie is still slinging drinks at the local pub and dreading going home to an empty flat, and an even emptier bed. For FBI agent Clint Walker, things are heating up. He’s hot on the trail of a prehistoric-art thief who will be the key to bringing down a notorious drug czar. And he just caught a glimpse of the sexy blond waitress at the bar. Who just happens to be an art student at Trinity College and an expert in Mesolithic structures. It’s the perfect excuse to mix business with pleasure. And Clint is determined to nail both his quarries….
Chapter One Dublin, Ireland Balancing a tray of empty beer glasses, Sophie Hawthorne wove her way to a small booth wedged into a corner of the Bull and Crown. Located in the heart of Dublin, just a short walk from the campus of Trinity College, the pub featured a centuries-old oak bar that ran the length of the establishment and a selection of libations that made it popular with students, locals and tourists alike. Although it was just midafternoon, the pub was jammed with students celebrating the completion of exam week and their imminent departure for Christmas break. Their noisy chatter and laughter swirled around Sophie as she paused beside the corner booth. Its occupant was bent over a guidebook, affording Sophie a view of neatly trimmed black hair and wide shoulders encased in tweed. He was busy scribbling notes on a sheet of yellow, lined paper. One of those notes caught Sophie’s eye. “That should be thirty-two hundred B.C.,” she commented, switching the heavy tray to her other hip. The customer glanced up, and a jolt went through Sophie. Sweet Molly Malone! Despite the guidebook and the nerdy black-framed glasses, this fella sure didn’t look like a typical tourist. With those broad shoulders, strong, square chin and bedroom-blue eyes, he had all the makings of a world-class hunk. “I’m sorry.” He cocked his head to hear her over the din. “What did you say?” His accent immediately identified him as a fellow American. Sophie herself was solidly Midwestern, but she’d acquired a definite lilt during her years in Dublin.
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“The passage tomb at Newgrange was constructed circa three thousand B.C.,” she said cheerfully, “not two thousand.” The customer consulted his book and hooked a brow. “You’re right.” She had to grin at his surprise. “Irish prehistory is my specialty, y’see.” Clint Walker blinked behind his fake glasses. He’d been so absorbed in his prep work that he’d barely noticed the waitress when she’d approached his table. But she had his full attention now! With a shaft of sheer male appreciation, he took in her tumble of tawny curls, laughing green eyes and mile-long legs encased in black tights beneath a short cherry-red skirt. The enticing combination almost made Clint forget the dangerous assignment that had brought him to Dublin. Almost. “You’re a student?” he got out, recovering. “A doctoral candidate at Trinity College. What can I bring you?” “I’ll have a pint.” “Original, draft, extra stout, smooth or red?” “Draft.” “Righto.” While the blonde wove her way back to the bar, the interest she stirred in Clint took a sharp turn from personal to professional. He was on the trail of an art thief who specialized in obtaining prehistoric artifacts for a shadowy Miami-based drug lord with discriminating and extremely expensive tastes. Two days ago, the FBI’s Art Crimes Division had received a tip that the thief might be one of the handful of spectators who were allowed into the megalithic Newgrange tomb at sunrise on December 22. On that day—and only that day—the rising sun would align at precisely the right angle to illuminate the tomb’s inner chamber. Despite the fact that art theft ranked fourth in major international crimes after drugs, people trafficking and arms, most law-enforcement agencies—including the FBI—had only limited resources to devote to it. Hence why he was the only agent assigned to the case. Plus, his superiors hadn’t been impressed by the vagueness of the tip. Nevertheless, Clint had jumped on a plane the very next afternoon and landed in Dublin just a few hours ago. Problem was, what he knew about Stone Age tombs wouldn’t fill even one of the beer glasses on the sexy waitress’s tray. He was counter-narcotics, for God’s sake! But this as-yetunidentified art thief was the Bureau’s best hope of nailing Rafael Mendoza. The drug czar had ruined hundreds of lives—Clint’s teenage nephew among them. One way or another, the bastard was going down.
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A contact in Ireland’s Arts and Antiquities Division had arranged Clint’s entrée into the exclusive group that would watch the sun light up the inner chamber tomorrow. He had until then to transform himself into a prehistoric art enthusiast. Like the alluring waitress… His gaze tracked the tawny-haired girl as she delivered a round of drinks to a group of boisterous young males. When she bent to place their order on the table, one of them reached out and fondled her rear. She stiffened, then smiled sweetly and dumped a pint of foaming stout over the jerk’s head. He leaped to his feet with an outraged bellow. His chair toppled backward, crashed into a gent at the next table and brought him to his feet. Fists bunched, the two looked ready to lay into each other…with the waitress caught between them. Clint came out of his booth and had started across the room when the blonde slapped a palm against each combatant’s chest. “Behave yerselves, lads! It’s Christmas, doncha know!” Green eyes flashing, she gave the one who’d groped her ass a bruising thump. “And as for you, Michael Quinn, yer a bleedin’ eejit. Lay a hand on me again, and I swear I’ll reef y’proper!” Clint had no idea what dire punishment she’d just threatened, but the hulking young male swiped a hand across his dripping chin and muttered a shamefaced apology. The tumult had subsided and the noise levels were back to ear-numbing levels when the waitress delivered Clint’s pint. “That’ll be five euros,” she said with a breezy smile, as if the fracas had never happened. “Or do y’want to run a tab?” “I’ll run a tab.” He leaned against the oak-backed booth and regarded her with a speculative look. “What’s your name?” “Sophie Hawthorne. And yours?” “Clint Walker. Listen, I was wondering—what time do you get off work?” “And why would y’be askin’, Clint Walker?” “I have a proposition for you.” She went stiff, and he added hastily, “A business proposition.”
Chapter Two “You’re going to be allowed inside Newgrange? At sunrise tomorrow?” Sophie’s voice spiraled to a near-squeak. At the man’s request, she’d dropped onto the bench opposite his to hear his “business” proposition. At his pronouncement about Newgrange, sheer excitement almost brought her off of it again.
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She couldn’t believe he’d won that coveted prize. Twenty thousand nature worshippers, scientists and history buffs—Sophie among them—put their names in every year for the Newgrange lottery. Now here was this fella, this Clint Walker, calmly announcing he’d scored one of the greatest coups in Ireland! “How in the world did you get so lucky?” Instead of answering her eager question, he gave her a considering, almost suspicious look. “What happened to your accent?” “Oh. That.” Grinning, she flapped a hand. “I’m a Yank, like you. Born and raised in Des Plaines, Illinois. I did most of my undergraduate and master’s program at Northwestern, but got a scholarship to work on a doctorate here at Trinity. Two years in Dublin have given me a wee bit of the brogue, doncha know?” His blue eyes narrowing, he skimmed a glance over her well-worn red jumper and beerstained apron. “You say you’re on scholarship?” “I am.” “Doesn’t it provide living expenses?” “It does, but…well…there are bills. You know how it is.” His eyes held hers. “Tell me.” Sophie bit her lip. She rarely talked about her personal circumstances. She considered them no one’s business but her own. Yet this man’s steady gaze drew a reluctant response from her. “I was raised by my grandmother. Gran didn’t have a lot, only a widow’s pension, but she gave me so much love I never realized we were poor as church mice. She died during her hipreplacement surgery three years ago.” Pain splintered through Sophie. Three years, and the loss of her only living relative still sent a lance straight into her heart. “I’m almost finished paying off the hospital and funeral bills,” she said with a shrug that made light of the crippling debts she’d worked two and three part-time jobs to pay off while struggling to complete her studies. The offer of a scholarship to Trinity College had come at just the right time. Sophie had jumped at it, hoping a change in scenery would heal the gaping hole in her heart. Ireland had eased some of the pain, but the holidays always hit hard. Very hard. Especially Christmas, when the campus emptied and everyone went home to their families. Trying not to think about the bleak days ahead, Sophie finished with a deliberate change of subject. “Waitressing at the Bull and Crown pays for life’s little extras. Now tell me about this business proposition you mentioned.”
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Clint leaned his shoulders against the high-backed oak booth. Despite the relaxed posture, he was still highly attuned to the instincts that had kept him alive through years of undercover work. Those instincts had gone on red alert when the tumble-haired waitress suddenly lost her Irish accent. Even after her explanation, he was still suspicious, so he decided to make a few calls when he got back to his hotel. If she checked out and she was who she said she was, he could sure as hell use her expertise. “I want to make the most of my visit to Newgrange,” he said slowly. That was certainly true. With any luck, the early-morning excursion would bag an international art thief and, through him, the drug czar Clint was determined to put away. To pull it off, though, he would need to sound at least semiarticulate about megalithic art. Which meant he needed an expert. “I want to understand the tomb’s history and that of the people who constructed it. If you have time after you get off work, perhaps you could instruct me. I’ll pay whatever the going rate is at Trinity for private tutoring.” “Would y’now?” She considered the offer, her lips pursed. Clint caught himself wondering how they’d taste. How she would taste. A sudden tightening below his belt had him rethinking his offer at the same moment she accepted it. “As it happens, I finish up at six this evening. We could work here at the pub. Or…” Frowning, she glanced around the jam-packed establishment. “Or at the library at Trinity College. It’s just a few blocks from here and it stays open until midnight, even during the holiday break.” “Sounds good.” “All right, then. Meet me in the small reading room in the Library for Ancient Books and Manuscripts. Six-thirty.” When she rose and made her way back to the bar, Clint pulled his gaze from her swaying hips and told himself it was possible for him to stay focused. Ignore this woman’s lithe curves. Tune out her musical lilt and blind himself to her full red lips. *** Or not. Clint realized his mistake shortly after they reconvened in a secluded alcove tucked away in a corner of the book-lined reading room some hours later. Clint had used the intervening time to check out Sophie’s story. Hadn’t taken long. Sophia Hawthorne’s life was easily traceable through the FBI’s access to public databases. Thanks to academic databases, he’d also skimmed a short summary of her master’s thesis. He was prepared for a session with an acknowledged scholar.
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He wasn’t prepared for the punch to his gut when she breezed in with a stack of books in her arms, her cheeks pink from the cold. Or the hip-hugging jeans and clingy sweater she revealed when she shed her well-worn pea jacket. Or the distracting way she hooked her hair behind one ear, leaving only a loose tendril to feather her cheek when they delved into the books. Worse—much worse—were her ready smile and sparkling green eyes. The woman’s engaging personality proved every bit as seductive as her trim curves and astounding knowledge of the great stone megaliths that dated back to one of the earliest eras of human history. Ireland and Britain were rife with these monuments, Clint learned as Sophie dived eagerly into the subject. Huge tombs, massive altars, mysterious circles such as Stonehenge and the Stones of Stenness in Scotland—many decorated with symbols and carvings that had to be protected against vandals and souvenir collectors. “You wouldn’t believe how these idiots chip away at history,” Sophie huffed. “I caught two of them myself. They got into the ancient documents section here at the library by passing themselves off as visiting scholars. Took me all of thirty seconds to realize how little the goms knew of eighth-century illuminated manuscripts. Another thirty to figure out they planned to rip off a page for a personal trophy!” At that point, two thoughts battled for supremacy in Clint’s head. The first was that Sophie Hawthorne already had more experience nailing would-be antiquities thieves than he did. The second… Dammit! Did the woman have any idea how enticing she looked with her emerald eyes so indignant and her mouth all pouty like that? Hunger for her hit like a punch to the gut. Gritting his teeth, Clint ignored it and forced himself to focus on a drawing depicting the layout of the tomb. “Don’t you need those?” Sophie asked, nodding to the glasses tucked in his jacket pocket. Well, hell! He’d been so distracted by the woman he’d forgotten his cover. “Only for fine print,” he lied. She shrugged and went back to the task at hand. Clint took in the facts and dates and dimensions…until Sophie leaned closer to point out a prehistoric spiral design in one of her books. Her breast pressed his arm. Her hips nudged his. “This is the triple spiral you’ll see at Newgrange.” When he didn’t respond, she glanced up. Clint heard the little hitch in her breath, couldn’t miss the awareness that flared in her eyes. She felt it, too, he saw with a stab of fierce male satisfaction. The electricity. The heat. Giving in to the need that had grown steadily since their first meeting at the pub, he slid a hand under her hair and cupped the warm skin of her nape.
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Her eyes went wide. Her mouth parted. Clint gave her time to pull back, expecting she would, hoping she wouldn’t. When she didn’t, he bent and brushed his lips over hers.
Chapter Three Sophie couldn’t believe it! She’d indulged in only one rather tepid affair during her years in Dublin. Now, after less than three hours with Clint Walker, one taste of him made her want more. Much more. She tilted her head to give him a better angle and opened her lips under his. With a little grunt, he shifted in his chair, propped the back of her head in his palm and found her tongue. Jaysus, Mary and Joseph! The man was wicked with that mouth. Sparks ignited at flash points throughout Sophie’s body. Heat speared into her belly, her breasts… When she drew back, her breath came in hard, fast pants. So did his, thank heavens. She would have been mortified if she had been the only one who’d almost come unraveled. “Sorry.” Frowning, Clint shook his head. “That was…” Amazing. Unbelievable. Incredibly stupid! The adjectives raced through Clint’s mind as he willed his rebellious body into submission. Every part of him wanted to sweep this woman out of the alcove and take her back to his hotel room. Stretch her out in front of the fire and make love to her until she gasped and writhed in pleasure. Right! Like that was going to happen with all he had going down in just a few hours. “I’m sorry,” he said again, raking a hand through his hair. “Are y’now?” Her grin slipped out, as rueful and mischievous as her brogue. “I’m not. ’Tis been a while since I’ve been kissed like that.” Clint knew he had to end this. Right here, right now. She looked too tempting, too seductive. And he would have ended it. He was almost certain of that. If he hadn’t dropped his arm too abruptly and knocked his stack of notes off the table. Cursing himself for his clumsiness, he went down on one knee to retrieve them. Sophie knelt beside him. “Here, let me help you. We can put them in order easily enough if—” She broke off with a gasp. Clint glanced down and cursed again when he saw her staring at the holster strapped to his ankle. “It’s legal,” he said quickly.
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She scrambled up, uncertainty and a touch of fear on her face. “Who are you? Why are y’carryin’ a gun?” She looked ready to bolt for the nearest exit. Clint had only a moment to weigh his options. Should he let her go? Or trust her? The instincts that had saved his life on more than one occasion kicked in and he came to a swift decision. “I’m an agent with the FBI.” “What!” He reached into his pocket and produced his credentials. She studied them for several disbelieving moments. “What business does the FBI have in Ireland?” Thankful for the privacy of the small alcove, Clint gestured for her to take a seat and pulled his chair close to hers. “I’m part of a counter-narcotics task force targeting a major drug lord in Miami. The agency knows who he is, but we haven’t been able to get into his circle to collect the hard evidence we need to nail him. But he does have an Achilles’ heel, which is why I’m in Dublin. The man is an avid connoisseur of prehistoric art.” “And he’s going to be at Newgrange tomorrow?” she gasped. “No, but we got a tip that the person who supplies him with stolen artifacts may be there. If so, I want to catch that person and put the squeeze on him.” He paused, probing her shocked expression, giving her time to absorb his startling revelations. “Well,” she said slowly, “I wish you luck. But you’ll have a devil of a time taggin’ anyone in that crowd.” “Crowd? I thought access was restricted.” “Only fifty people can go inside the tomb, but hundreds gather outside. You’ll have to wade through news crews, hordes of scientists, modern-day Druids, wiccans celebrating the end of winter and rebirth of the sun, all sorts of locals and tourists alike.” Well, hell! He hadn’t counted on that. His contact in Ireland’s Arts and Antiquities Division had said he’d meet Clint at the site and had promised to alert the local constabulary who covered the event. He’d neglected to mention huge crowds, however. “I could… I could go with you tomorrow,” Sophie said hesitantly. “If you think I could help.” He paused, considering the proposal. The need to get to Mendoza had driven him across an ocean. He’d be a fool to turn down any offer of assistance. “It wouldn’t hurt to have another set of eyes and ears,” he conceded. “Someone to mingle with the crowd outside while I’m inside. Someone who knows this megalithic stuff as well as the dealer I’m looking for.”
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She blinked at hearing her life’s passion described as “stuff,” but nodded when he asked if she was sure she wanted to get involved. “I’m sure.” A sudden thought rippled across her expressive face. “Unless…uh… This person you’re looking for? He won’t come armed, too, will he?” “If he does, he won’t get far. My counterpart on the Arts and Antiquities Division says everyone has to pass through a metal detector before they’re allowed out to the site.” “That’s right. They do.” Her momentary concern allayed, she gave him one of those brilliant smiles that made Clint’s heart stutter. “Count me in, then.” “Good. If you’ll give me your address, I’ll pick you up at five-thirty tomorrow morning.” They left the library just before it closed. Clint trudged back to his hotel through lightly falling snow, trying to convince himself he’d agreed to her offer for purely professional reasons. But that didn’t explain why he spent the next hour with his arms crossed behind his head, staring up into the darkness and thinking about ways to get the delectable Ms. Sophie Hawthorne into bed.
Chapter Four Sophie and Clint arrived at the Brú na Bóinne visitor center well before dawn on the longest night of the year. The visitor center controlled access to the three ancient tombs set on a high plain overlooking the River Boyne. Bundled in the thick pea jacket she’d purchased at a secondhand store and a wool muffler wrapped around her throat, Sophie was prepared for the biting cold. So was Clint. In a camelhair overcoat, a wool driving cap and the black-framed glasses she suspected he didn’t really need, he looked very much the eager tourist about to experience a once-in-a-lifetime event. Although the sun wouldn’t top the ridge to the east for another three hours, huge crowds were already waiting in line for transport out to the tombs. Sophie tucked her gloved hands in her pockets while Clint met his Irish contact from the Arts and Antiquities Division. Brisk and businesslike, Inspector Dennis Fitzgerald whisked them around the security checkpoint and onto a minibus. Their destination was the largest of the site’s three passage tombs—so called because of the shadowed, narrow inner passages that led to the burial chambers. There were hundreds of such tombs scattered across Ireland, including one on the magnificent Hill of Tara, which later became the seat of the Celtic kings of Ireland. But most scholars, Sophie among them, considered Newgrange the granddaddy of them all. Five hundred years older than the pyramids at Giza and a thousand years older than Stonehenge, the tomb dominated a high hill above the river. Inspector Fitzgerald got off the bus first to coordinate with the local constabulary. As they stepped onto the hill, Clint kept Sophie tucked against his side to shield her from the icy wind.
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Sophie’s breath caught at the sight of the massive cairn illuminated by floodlights. Two hundred thousand tons of grass-covered earth formed the rounded roof. Beneath the roof was an upper ring of white quartz “pebbles,” polished to a lustrous sheen by centuries of river water before being gathered by the ancient tomb builders. Beneath the glistening quartz ring stood the base, consisting of ninety-seven monstrous curbstones weighing five or more tons apiece, silent sentinels to man’s determination. As Sophie well knew, Newgrange was much more than a burial site. It was a holy place that housed the spirits of the ancestors and thus provided a link to the gods. Religious rituals such as the one taking place this morning had been held at the site for millennia. “Just think,” she murmured to Clint, “the people who built this tomb had no clock, no watches, no calendars. Yet every winter solstice for more than five thousand years, the rising sun shines through that box.” She pointed to a square opening directly above the tomb’s entrance. “Sunlight inches its way along the blackness of the passage and illuminates the inner burial chamber for fifteen or twenty minutes. As brief as it is, that phenomenon signals the end of the long, dark winter and the coming of spring. In a more mystical sense, it celebrates the rebirth of the earth and of the king, who the ancient builders believed would lead them again in the afterlife.” “Like Christians celebrating the birth of Christ,” Clint murmured. “Exactly.” She smiled up at him, pleased he’d paid attention to her somewhat lengthy discourse last night about how modern religions incorporated many pagan beliefs. She would have elaborated further but remembered this visit represented more than a mystical event for Clint. He maintained a casual stance, one arm hooked loosely around Sophie’s waist, but she could feel the tension in him as he scanned the crowd. Her nerves fluttered as she, too, searched the faces muffled by wool scarves and warm hats pulled low on foreheads. “Do you have any idea what this person we’re searching for looks like?” she murmured. “Not a clue.” Slowly they wove their way through media crews, families sipping hot chocolate, serious sunand-star worshippers, even two bridal parties where the soon-to-be newlyweds wanted to start their life together on a day sacred since ancient times. Sophie gave the happy brides an envious glance as she and Clint circled the base of the tomb. Each giant curbstone was decorated with prehistoric art—spirals, zigzags, concentric circles, triangles—images that represented the sun, moon and stars. Sophie knew there was no way a thief could steal one of these five-ton slabs unless he drove up with a bloody crane. Nor could she imagine that anyone would try to chip out one of the designs with so many uniformed police among the crowd. Still, her anxiety ratcheted up with each passing minute. Gradually, the predawn darkness gave way to thin, gray light. Snow glistened on the surrounding hills and mist swirled up from the River Boyne. Excitement grew by the moment.
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At seven-thirty, the floodlights switched off. At eight o’clock, the lucky fifty who’d won a place inside the passageway were asked to assemble at the tomb’s entrance—fifty-two including Clint and Inspector Fitzgerald. “I’m sorry I couldn’t wrangle an extra ticket for you,” Clint said. “Auch, weel.” She slipped into a smile and heavy Irish accent. “’Tis enough t’watch the sun come oop from here. Go on now. Do what you must. I’ll wait for y’here.” “You can sit on the bus if you get too cold.” “And miss the sunrise? Are y’daft, man?” He turned away, took two steps, turned back. “We’re an hour early yet but…” Sweeping her into his arms, he cradled her against his chest. “Happy solstice, Sophie.” Her heart thumping, she beamed up at him. “Happy solstice.” He kissed her with a passion that left her melting inside even while her breath steamed on the icy air. She must be the daft one, she thought as he strode toward the entrance. She’d met the man just yesterday, for God’s sake! Yet the view of his broad back and long, sure stride stirred a hot, sweet lust she had no business feeling. Not to mention the sparks he ignited with every touch, every kiss. Shoulders hunched against the cold, she watched him duck under the stone lintel at the entrance and disappear inside the tomb. Slowly, her internal heat yielded to the frost outside. Minute by frigid minute ticked by. With agonizing slowness, the sky lightened across the river. Sophie waited with the rest of the crowd for the sun to inch above the tree line, hugging her waist and stamping booted feet. Jaysus, Mary and Joseph, it was cold! At a quarter to nine, eager anticipation began to ripple through the crowd. At ten to nine, every person on the site faced east. Two minutes later, a thin red rim appeared above the trees lining the river. Thrilled by the sight, Sophie edged away from the crowd. The historian in her wanted to absorb this timeless moment in solitude. She found a spot all to herself in the shadow of a giant curbstone. A sense of awe as old as time swirled in her as the thin slice of sun gathered size and intensity. The darkness was retreating for another season. The earth was being reborn. The— A low, almost inaudible rattle penetrated her rapt reverie. Another rattle followed. Abandoning the protection of the curbstone, she followed the sounds. She didn’t see the figure hunched in the shadows at first. Bundled from head to foot in a bulky overcoat, scarf and floppy-brimmed wool hat in a distinctive herringbone pattern, he was using
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the tip of a cane to pry a glistening quartz rock from the upper ring. One with an ancient spiral carved on its surface! She must have gasped or made some other noise, because the figure whipped around. His arm shot out, and the cane slammed into Sophie’s temple. Pain burst like skyrockets, and the rising sun went black.
Chapter Five “Sophie. Sweetheart.” A voice penetrated the pain. Deep. Reassuring. Calming the flutter of panic when she opened her eyes and saw only dancing red spots. “Don’t move, Sophie. A medical response team is on its way.” The red spots converged into a large, glowing ball. A black shadow appeared in its center. Slowly, so slowly, the shadow resolved into Clint. He was crouched beside her, his face taut with worry. She blinked up at him, dazed. “Wh… What happened?” “You must have tripped and hit the curbstone going down. You’ve got a nasty contusion on your temple. We need to have you checked for a possible concussion.” The pain was a steady throb now. It pierced through the fog and Sophie gasped with a sudden recollection. “I didn’t trip! He whacked me! With his cane.” Clint’s brows snapped together. “He who?” “It had to be the art thief! The one you’re looking for. He was trying to pry loose one of the quartz stones. He took advantage of everyone’s preoccupation with the rising sun and… Oh, no!” At her low wail, alarm leaped into his blue eyes staring down at her. “It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Clint twisted around and snarled at a uniformed officer. “Where the hell’s that medical team?” “I’m all right. Really.” She struggled to sit up, wincing a little with the effort. His arms came around her, and she leaned against his chest. “It’s just…I missed the sunrise,” she finished on another small cry. “There’ll be more sunrises.” His voice was rough with concern, his arms warm and reassuring. “If it doesn’t hurt too much, can you give us a description of the man who attacked you?” “I only caught a glimpse of him.” She searched her aching head for details. “I got the impression he was an older gentleman, but that might have been because of the cane. He was all bundled up in an overcoat, scarf and hat.”
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Something tugged at the back of her mind. Some detail she couldn’t quite pinpoint. But before she could pull it from the haze, the police constable had his radio to his mouth. “All units! Be on the lookout for a gentleman with a cane. He’s wearing an overcoat, muffler and hat. Hold him for questioning concerning an assault.” “And defacement of antiquities,” Sophie added in dismay, pointing to the small hole barely visible above the curbstone. The shadowed emptiness made a mockery of everything she held dear. “The stone had a design carved into it,” she mourned. “A triple spiral. It breaks my heart to think a five-thousand-year-old piece of history might end up in the private collection of a drug czar!” The thought didn’t do a whole lot for Clint, either, but his primary concern right now was Sophie. He should have his head examined for involving her in this op! He’d been so damned certain his target would be among the fifty people allowed inside the tomb. That’s what the tip had indicated. The thief would be inside the tomb. But he hadn’t been, dammit, and Sophie had paid the price. Clint was still kicking himself when the medical team arrived and edged him away. He didn’t draw a full breath until they confirmed her pupils were refracting normally and she showed no signs of an elevated pulse or blood pressure. “But it’s best to have a doctor look you over, Miss. We’ll take you to hospital.” Although Sophie insisted she could walk, they loaded her onto a gurney and wheeled her to the waiting ambulance. Clint went with her and was about to climb in when his contact in Ireland’s Arts and Antiquities Division stopped him. “We’re searching everyone on the site. Purses. Pockets. Coffee and hot chocolate thermoses. So far no cane and no Neolithic art.” “I have a feeling you’ll find the cane under a bush or tossed in the river,” Clint said grimly. “It’s served its purpose as both tool and weapon. Probably as a disguise, too.” “I suspect so, as well, but we’ll keep at it.” *** Two hours later, Sophie and Clint both breathed relieved sighs when the attending physician declared she could go home. “You’ve a fine lump on your head to be sure, but I see no reason to keep you, as long as you promise to take things easy until the pain eases.” “I will.” “You need to watch her closely for the next twenty-four hours,” he warned Clint. “If her headache worsens, her speech slurs or she gets dizzy or confused, bring her right back, do y’hear?”
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“I hear.” Sophie bit her lip, but waited until the doctor left to let Clint off the hook. “I certainly don’t expect you to stand watch over me for the next twenty-four hours.” “Doctor’s orders. Unless there’s someone else available,” he added casually. “Do you share a flat with anyone?” “I do, but she went home for the holidays. I’ll be at work this evening, though. My friends will watch out for me.” “Not a good idea. You’re supposed to take it easy, remember? You’d better call and let them know you won’t be coming in tonight.” “But…” “No buts.” Scooping a hand under her arm, he helped her off the exam table. “I was a damned idiot to involve you in this. The least I can do is make sure you don’t suffer any lasting consequences.”
Chapter Six Clint’s cell phone rang as he and Sophie emerged from the hospital into the cold December morning. He listened for a moment, gave a terse acknowledgment and flipped the phone shut. “That was Inspector Fitzgerald. They found the cane, but no trace of your attacker.” “Or the stone?” “Or the stone. The police are widening the search to include the airport, train station and traffic stops on the motorway. But our perp is either one step ahead of us or he’s gone to ground and is waiting for the heat to die down before he tries to get his prize out of the country.” With a careful grip on her arm, he steered her around a pile of slush toward his rental car. “I’ll spend tonight at your flat. We’ll swing by my hotel first so I can pick up a few things.” The pronouncement was enough to make Sophie forget her throbbing headache and send a tingle down her spine. But it was nothing like the sensation she felt after they’d left his hotel and he had another suggestion. “Look, I’ve got some use-or-lose vacation built up. I’m thinking I might stay over in Dublin for a few days. If you don’t have any other plans for the holidays, would you like to spend them with me?” Spend Christmas cuddled in front of a fire with this man? New Year’s Eve listening to the bells ring through the night? Sophie’s heart soared—until he added a kicker.
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“If the target has gone to ground, my guess is he’ll try to ferry his prize to Mendoza within the next week or so. I want to be on the scene when he does.” The grim reminder of why Clint had come to Dublin in the first place sobered her. “Getting to Mendoza is more than just a job to you, isn’t it?” He gave her a quick look. “Yeah, it is. The bastard doesn’t care how many people he destroys. My sister’s son came close to being one of them. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring Mendoza and others like him down.” *** Sophie tried to keep that fierce vow in mind during the hours that followed. She really did. But watching Clint putter about her tiny flat proved too great a distraction. That, and the way he cared for her despite her protests that she was feeling better by the moment. He insisted she curl up on the sofa and tucked a blanket around her. After searching the kitchen cupboards and putting the kettle on, he produced a fairly decent pot of tea. For lunch he slathered mustard on thick, crusty rye bread and slapped on slices of boiled ham. As the afternoon wore on and more snow drifted down outside, he entertained her with what she suspected were highly fictionalized accounts of some of his more spectacular screwups as an undercover agent. Sophie reciprocated by opening up a little more about her life in Dublin and about Gran. The ever-present loneliness and pain eased with the telling, although Clint must have heard a trace of both in her voice. “It must be hard on you,” he commented, “being alone this time of year.” “It is, a bit. I’ve got great friends, though, and plenty of work to keep me busy.” He nodded, his keen eyes searching her face, but didn’t probe deeper. “How’s the headache?” he asked instead. “It was gone hours ago.” “You sure?” “Positive.” She was half afraid he’d take that as a signal he didn’t need to keep watch over her after all. To her relief, he announced that he would go down to the Bull and Crown and bring back dinner. He returned with snow dusting his dark hair and the tantalizing scent of fish and chips emanating from a brown paper bag. They ate in front of the fire. Clint crunched down on his deep-fried haddock while Sophie sprinkled white vinegar on her chips and dug in happily. She was halfway through her portion when he smiled. “How can you eat fries without ketchup?” “They’re better with vinegar.”
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At his doubtful look, she fished out a potato. “Try one.” She expected him to take the chip, not dip his head. Or eat it from her hand. Or suck the salt and vinegar from her fingers. When he raised his head, Sophie had forgotten how to breathe. That’s all it took. One nibble. One look. One spark to ignite the fire. Their half-eaten meal got shoved aside as they fed an altogether different hunger. His mouth came down on hers. Her arms locked around his neck. She strained against him, reveling in his warmth and strength. It might have been hours—or merely moments—before she was stretched out under him. He swiftly but gently stripped off her outer clothing. Sophie did her share to speed up the process. Hands impatient, mouth greedy, she returned his hungry kisses while helping him peel off his tweed sport coat and yank up the turtleneck underneath. Her palms slid over the silky swirl of black chest hair, planed the bunched muscles of his shoulders, explored the contours of his back. In short order, she was down to her hipsters, Clint to his jockey shorts. Silhouetted against the flickering firelight, he raked her with hot, hungry eyes. “God, you’re beautiful.” The compliment made Sophie blush, but the kisses he trailed from her mouth to her throat to her breasts made her gasp with delight. Delight turned to pure, unadulterated lust when he used his tongue and his teeth to bring her nipple to a taut, aching peak. All the while his busy hands explored the rest of her. She was wet and eager, so eager, when he slid a knee between hers to ease them apart. She could feel him hard and jutting against her hip, feel the rigid restraint in his quivering muscles as he found her center. Sophie arched, liquid with delight, but clung to a last shred of sanity. “You’ve a johnny with you, right?” “Huh?” She had to chuckle at his startled look. “A johnny. A fifty-pence lifesaver. A condom,” she translated finally, taking pity on the man. His mouth tipped into a wicked grin. “Matter of fact, I do. Several, in fact. No undercover agent worth his or her salt ever leaves home without ’em.” *** The first time was wild and hard and fast. The second so exquisitely slow Sophie almost wept with pleasure. The third came the next morning, when Clint wedged into the flat’s minuscule shower with her.
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“It’s too small in here for both of us,” she protested, laughing. “Not for what I have in mind.” When they finally pried themselves out of the stall, the floor was drenched and Sophie’s cheeks bore the mark of his prickly whiskers. “Shave,” she ordered, pointing to the toiletries he’d picked up when they’d swung by his hotel yesterday. “While you do, I’ll cook you a true Irish breakfast.” When he emerged from the bathroom, she served up fried tomatoes, a rasher of bacon, sausage, cold-boiled potatoes, beans, black pudding and fried eggs topped with grated Dubliner cheese. “Do you eat like this every morning?” he asked with a look of delight. “Just about.” She saw no need to tell him breakfast was the only meal she ate at home. Lunch and dinner she took at the pub as part of her wages. “There’s coffee, too. Unless you prefer tea.” “Coffee,” he said with true Yank fervor. “Please.” She fell a little in love with him then. Maybe it was watching him tear into his breakfast. Maybe it was the snow drifting down outside the window. Maybe it was that incredibly erotic session in the shower. Whatever the reason, she vowed to make the most of their remaining time together.
Chapter Seven Making the most of their time together wasn’t hard to do. Every hour Sophie spent with Clint she learned a little more about this intriguing, fascinating agent. And every hour in his company brought back the magic of Christmas. For the first time since Gran’s death, Sophie delighted in the gaily colored Christmas lights strung across the streets, the holly wreaths on every door, the warm greetings from passersby. It crossed her mind more than once that her renewed joy in the season seduced her almost as much as the man himself. Each time she pushed the thought away. For these few days at least, she would let herself enjoy both Clint and the happiness he brought her. They spent their time wandering through Dublin’s narrow cobblestone streets, Sophie’s arm tucked in Clint’s while she shared the history of the city she’d come to love. In the evenings she had to work, so he became a fixture at the Bull and Crown. The regulars got to know him, even talked him into belting out a slightly bawdy Christmas carol that had the entire pub laughing and applauding wildly.
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But the nights… Dear Lord above, the nights! All it took was a single kiss and she got hot for him. One glide of her palms over the contours of his shoulders, one rasp of his thigh as it slid between hers, one nudge of his rock-hard erection against her belly and she went up in flames. He was such a fantastic lover—so tender at times she wanted to cry with it, other times, their romps were hard and fast and greedy. Sophie’d fallen a little in love with him after their first night together. By Christmas Eve, she knew she’d tumbled the rest of the way. And the best of it was that they still had another week together! Clint had extended his leave right through until the fourth of January. Her head was full of plans for the coming week as they crunched through the snow to Dublin’s medieval Christ Church Cathedral for a Christmas Eve concert. The gray-stone church stood bathed in light, its square tower and turrets dusted with fresh white snow. “Vikings built the first church on this site around 1030,” Sophie told Clint, hugging his side for warmth. “The present structure is predominantly Norman. Henry II attended the Christmas service here in 1171.” The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. “Nothing like hobnobbing with the ghosts of royalty.” “The concert tonight will thrill you,” she promised, “but the real treat comes New Year’s Eve. Dubliners all gather outside the cathedral at midnight to hear the change ringers do their thing.” “Okay, I’ll bite. Who or what are change ringers?” “It a four-hundred-year-old society of bell ringers. They pull the ropes on sets of bells in mathematical patterns called ‘changes’.” Caught up in the history and her joy in the season, Sophie bubbled on happily. “Christ Church Cathedral has a total of nineteen bells used for change ringing—the greatest number in the world in one tower. The only time they ring all nineteen together is New Year’s Eve.” Eyes twinkling, she laid on the brogue. “T’be sure, it’s great craic. Y’ll have culchies and jackeens all rubbin’ shoulders ’n—” She broke off and came to a dead stop. “Clint! There it is! That’s the hat the man who hit me was wearing!” He jerked his chin up. Following her pointing finger, he zeroed in on a figure about fifty yards ahead. The slim, elegant woman wore a cape draped dramatically over one shoulder. A roundbrimmed wool hat capped her head of shining auburn hair. “That’s probably a popular unisex-style hat,” he said, following the woman’s progress.
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“No, it’s not! I only caught a glimpse before I was attacked, but I remember now noticing that distinctive herringbone pattern. It’s not an Irish or English design. I’ve never seen it in any store in Dublin.” That was enough for Clint. Shoving through the crowd, he planted himself in front of the woman and reached into his back pocket for his credentials. “Excuse me, ma’am, I’m Special Agent Clint Walker with the U.S. Federal Bureau of Investigation. I’d like to ask you— Hey!” The woman whirled around and took off at a run. Thrusting through the crowd, she raced straight toward Sophie. Their glances met for no more than a second. Just long enough for a flash of surprised recognition to leap into the redhead’s eyes. Barely long enough for Sophie to thrust out her foot.
Chapter Eight When the redhead went down, Sophie’s dreams of a cozy Christmas snuggled in front of a fire with Clint bit the dust as well. She spent the rest of Christmas Eve at the police station, and most of Christmas day alone while Clint and Inspector Fitzgerald worked the case. Warrant in hand, they searched the woman’s hotel room and found not only the Newgrange stone, but a Bronze Age ax blade reported stolen some weeks ago from a museum in Cobh and a tiny clay fertility figure at least four thousand years old. As Clint had speculated, the thief—who used Nola Atwood as just one of her aliases—had been waiting for the heat to die down before attempting to smuggle her prizes out of Ireland. Faced with the evidence, Atwood admitted to a long history of well-planned and brilliantly executed heists. She also agreed to provide the FBI with information about her wealthy Miamibased client in exchange for immunity from prosecution. As a consequence, Clint rushed through an extradition request, and made travel arrangements to leave Ireland late Christmas afternoon. “I need to hustle her back to the States and into interrogation before Mendoza hears she’s been arrested,” he told Sophie during a hurried farewell at her flat. “If nothing else, we’ll get the bastard on at least three or four felony counts of commissioning and financing traffic in stolen goods. I want more, though.” His voice vibrated with raw intensity. “Much more.” If Sophie had needed proof of how much his job meant to him, he’d just handed it to her. She could feel the impatience in him. In his mind he was already on that plane and headed across the Atlantic…away from her. “The museum in Cobh offered a reward for information leading to the recovery of the ax blade,” he told her. “It’s not much, only two hundred euros, but Inspector Fitzgerald promised to make sure it came to you.” She nodded her thanks, her throat too tight to speak.
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“And before I forget…” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small package in seasonal paper. “Merry Christmas, Sophie.” Her heart aching, she unwrapped a three-CD set of ancient Irish chants. “The shopkeeper said the oldest chant was penned about fourteen hundred years ago,” Clint told her with an apologetic grin. “Not exactly Mesolithic, but there’s one in there about Newgrange.” This was all Sophie would have of him. She knew it in her heart. Just these few days and a medieval chant that spoke of ancient times. “I got you something, too. Nothing grand, but…” The keychain was made of braided black leather with a silver ring at one end and a weighted Celtic knot, also in sliver, at the other. She didn’t tell him it was a love knot. She couldn’t, with him so impatient to be away. “It’s beautiful. Thank you.” He curled a knuckle under her chin and tipped her face to his. “I’ll be back.” “Will y’now?” Swallowing the lump in her throat, she dredged up a saucy tone. “And when will that be, me boyo?” “As soon as I can.” *** The week between Christmas and New Year was one of the loneliest of Sophie’s life. The colored lights in the shop windows seemed to mock her. The empty quad at Trinity College echoed her footsteps when she went to the library. Even the Bull and Crown was quiet, with most of the students gone for the holidays and only a handful of tourists hardy enough to brave the icy streets. Clint e-mailed her twice. Once the morning after his return to the States to say Nola Atwood was singing like a canary on steroids. And then again the following day to let her know he wouldn’t be able to communicate for a while. She interpreted that to mean he was going undercover and worried nonstop that the vicious drug lord he was after might see through his disguise. The fear congealed into a hard lump she carried around for the rest of that week. It was still with her on New Year’s Eve, when the entire pub emptied and the patrons headed to Christ Church for the ringing of the bells. The owner, Mick, tried to shoo Sophie out with them. “Aren’t you going t’hear the bells?” “No, Mick. You go. I’ll mind the pub.” “Are y’sure?”
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“I’m sure.” Sophie tried to numb the ache around her heart by keeping busy. As the chimes began to sound, faint and clear in the distance, she ducked behind the counter to set up rows of glasses for the patrons who would return eager to toast the New Year. “Auch, it’s a bloody fool I am,” she muttered as the pub door opened and a late customer entered on a blast of cold air and pealing bells. “What was I about, fallin’ in love with a great glom I’ll probably nivir see again?” She swiped her hands on her apron and turned to tend to the customer, only to find him grinning at her. “A great glom, am I?” Stunned, she gaped at him. If she’d passed him on the street, she wouldn’t have recognized him! A week’s worth of dark whiskers stubbled his cheeks and chin. His eyes were rimmed with red, and a vicious bruise mottled one side of his face, but triumph radiated from every bone in his body. “We got him, Sophie. Mendoza’s toast.” “Oh, Clint! Good on ya!” Laughter lit his eyes. “Not only that, my knowledge of prehistoric art so impressed my supervisors that I’ve been detailed to a special Interpol task force. I’ll be working here in Europe for at least as long as it takes you to finish your studies.” “Are y’serious!” “Absolutely.” He cocked his head as the bells rose to a riotous clamor. “Sounds like you’ve got about ten seconds to get yourself out from behind that bar so we can kiss in the New Year. Move it, woman!” Laughing, Sophie ducked under the counter, rounded the bar and fell into his arms.
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Evidence of Desire by Debra Webb This is all wrong. Six days before Christmas and there's no snow in Kenner City, Olivia Perez has no tree and no one to snuggle up with by the fire sipping hot cocoa. But she knows exactly who she'd want to snuggle up with—Jacob Webster. Aka Mr. Unavailable. The lab has an unwritten rule against coworkers dating. Not to mention the fact that he seems to avoid her at work. Maybe it's a sign that he's fighting their attraction just as hard as Olivia…. All of that would be enough problems for one person until odd discrepancies start cropping up in her work, making it look like Olivia is making mistakes. Big ones. Then she notices a dark sedan stalking her, and realizes the next mistake she makes could be deadly….
Chapter One Six days ’til Christmas Kenner City and the Four Corners area where Colorado, Utah, New Mexico and Arizona collided were a world away from Boston. Olivia Perez stared out the window of her tiny one-bedroom apartment overlooking the mountain ranges beyond the city. At five on a Monday morning Kenner City was barely awake. It was December 19 and the temperature was about forty degrees. The only snow she would likely see would be atop those mountains that framed her view. Nothing like home. What Olivia needed was a cup of coffee and a shower. After all, she was the one, much to her family’s dismay, who’d decided to leave Boston. After several years as a biochemist for a New England medical research company, she’d ditched her parents’ dream and headed west to work as a forensic scientist in law enforcement. But the last few days she’d begun to have her doubts about her decision. It was almost Christmas and she was lonely. What she needed was to put up a Christmas tree. That would surely lift her spirits. Today, after work. No more putting it off. She was going to dive in to the holiday spirit. Two hours later she parked her aging Volvo in the rear lot of the annex building on the outskirts of the city. The building wasn’t impressive—a halfhearted effort on the part of the powers-that-be at providing space for the new crime lab. Though the third-floor facilities were far from cutting-edge, Callie McBride, the lead scientist, had put together an outstanding team. Olivia was early as usual. Callie, who seemed to live in her office, was already on the job. The only other person who consistently arrived early was Jacob Webster, the most experienced member of the team. Olivia’s pulse skipped at the thought of those precious few minutes she would have alone with him before the rest of the lab personnel filtered in.
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It was silly. Truly it was. Olivia tucked her purse and jacket into her assigned locker and shouldered into her lab coat. She just couldn’t help herself. Maybe it was because she was so far from home. Or the fact that it was almost Christmas. Whatever. There was just something about the man that made her foolish heart react in a wholly uncharacteristic way. She took a breath and braced for the impact of seeing him. He was several years older than her thirty—forty or forty-one, maybe. His hair was still dark, no sign of gray. But it was his eyes that really got to her. She melted each time she had the pleasure of peering into those deep, rich brown eyes. He was tall, obviously worked out and he had that movie-star classic profile. Strong jaw, perfect nose. Olivia shook her head as she moved to her station. She had to stop this. The man scarcely knew she was alive. Still, she glanced across the lab to where he worked, fully engrossed—completely unaware of her presence. Maybe this silly crush had nothing to do with being so far from home or the holidays…maybe it was that ridiculous concept of a woman’s biological clock. After all, Olivia was barreling toward thirty-one. Never married, hardly any past relationships to speak of. Whatever it was, she had to regain her perspective. After two months, it was clear Jacob Webster wasn’t interested. “Olivia, I need a word with you.” Olivia jumped. Too preoccupied with adolescent adulation, she hadn’t realized Callie was right behind her. “Sure.” She offered her boss a bright smile, but the frustration etched across the other woman’s face dragged Olivia’s lips into a frown. “Is something wrong?” “Why don’t we talk in my office?” If Jacob had looked up from his work when she came in, he wasn’t looking now. Olivia was glad. Any time Callie McBride had that look things were far from good. In her office, Callie took a seat, as did Olivia, and got straight to the point. “I’m very pleased with your work so far. However, when I give you an assignment with a deadline, I expect that deadline to be met. At the very least, I expect to be kept abreast of any reason that can’t happen.” Confusion joined the anxiety twisting away at Olivia’s insides. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand. All my assignments have been completed. In exactly the time frame I was given.” This made no sense at all. Callie’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “I asked you to have the Tanner case results in by five yesterday, so that I would be prepared for my eight o’clock briefing this morning.” Now Olivia was utterly dumbfounded. “I e-mailed the complete file to you. Just as you instructed.” Callie gave her head a little shake. “I don’t have it. And I need it—” she glanced at the clock on the wall “—in less than half an hour.”
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Olivia stood. “There must have been a glitch in the e-mail system last night. I’ll resend it now. Or print you a hard copy.” “Just resend it.” Callie looked even more flustered as she shifted her attention to the mound of paperwork on her desk. Olivia hurried back to her station and logged on to her computer. A few clicks later and she searched her e-mail’s Sent box just to set her mind at ease. Then a new wave of confusion furrowed her brow. “That’s impossible.” She had sent the file. But her Sent box indicated otherwise. Olivia shook her head and prepared to resend. She clicked the necessary keys. Strange. File does not exist. Fear detonated in her chest. What the hell? She searched her system. Nothing. Hours of work gone. Poof! The file had vanished.
Chapter Two Olivia scrambled through her notes. She had twenty-eight minutes to pull her results back together and e-mail them to Callie for the second time. Her hands shook. She could do this. “Want some help?” Olivia’s heart thumped against her sternum. “Jacob.” Breathe! That made twice this morning that she’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that someone had sneaked up on her. Only this time it was him. Jacob. “I—” she cleared her throat of the lump lodged there “—I have to reorganize the results on the Tanner case and give it to Callie again.” He smiled. Her heart jolted again. He never smiled! Not for her, anyway. “I know. Callie asked me about them before you got here this morning. I assumed something had gone wrong.” Focus. “I e-mailed her the file, but it has…disappeared.” He moved in next to her, hip to hip. The air evacuated her lungs all over again. “Let’s try this.” His fingers flew across the keys. “What time did you send it?” Olivia blinked. Answer the question! “Four-fifteen, four-thirty yesterday.” She had to stop staring at his mouth…his jaw. And, God, he smelled so good. Something subtle and earthy. Very sexy. She wondered if he understood that the cologne or aftershave he selected was so enticing. He certainly didn’t give off any availability vibes. “Let’s take your system back to five p.m. yesterday. That should give us what we want.”
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She desperately needed to find that file. But right now what she wanted had nothing to do with her job. The realization startled Olivia. She’d worked hard to get through Harvard. She’d been at the top of her pay grade in her former position. All because she was focused, driven. How had meeting this man suddenly diverted a significant portion of her attention to…sex? “There it is.” Relief flooded her, washing away those forbidden desires. “I should have thought of that.” She’d been so shocked when Callie questioned her that she hadn’t been able to think straight. “Thank you, Jacob.” She knew the file had to be there somewhere. “I’ll run a virus check on my system. There must have been a glitch.” “Callie’s under a lot of pressure right now.” Those dark eyes studied Olivia closely as he spoke. “We all have to be on our toes.” Olivia was glad he returned to his station without a backward glance. Her face had gone beet red. The heat scalded her cheeks. She’d foolishly stood here, gawking at him in all her schoolgirl adoration, when he hadn’t been helping her—he’d been helping Callie. Olivia mentally added a bottle of wine to her list of things to pick up after work. She was definitely going to need it to shed the day’s stress. At five-thirty she shut down her system, locked up her station and gathered her things. Besides Jacob, she was the last to leave. The temperature had dropped significantly with the sinking sun. She glanced longingly at the snowcapped peaks in the distance as she trudged across the parking lot to her Volvo. In Boston, there would be lots of white stuff by now. Her family would be preparing for the big Christmas feast and exchanging of gifts. No looking back. Olivia had done the right thing. She’d needed to prove herself. To strike out on her own instead of always following the parental master plan. Each of her siblings had done exactly that. She was the youngest and the first to go after her own dreams. “Not such an easy task,” she muttered as she climbed into her car. She shoved the key into the ignition and gave it a turn. Something under the hood growled then sputtered to a grinding halt. She gave it another try. That weird sound again. The engine failed to crank even after a third attempt. She dropped her head against the headrest and blew out a weary breath. What was the name of that mechanic shop one of her coworkers had said he’d used? Max’s or Lex’s… She didn’t have a clue. Olivia started to dig through her purse in the hopes of finding a note to herself with the name and number when Jacob exited the building. She tried starting the car once more. Nada. She gazed at the man walking toward his SUV.
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Maybe he wouldn’t mind rescuing her twice in one day.
Chapter Three Jacob hesitated before unlocking his SUV. He was no mechanic, but even he recognized the grinding noise coming from Olivia’s Volvo as a problem with the starter. He surveyed the parking lot. Empty. Other than the evening-shift security, the place was completely deserted. He sighed. It wasn’t that he minded helping out a colleague—or a stranger for that matter. The problem was that every time he got close to Olivia Perez, he regretted it. Take this morning, for example. He’d known she was panicked. One look at her face had told him she was in crisis. So he’d given her a hand. He enjoyed the sweet sound of her voice, the way she stared at him with such admiration. What man wouldn’t be flattered…tempted? But the next hour afterward had been spent attempting in vain to refocus on his work. He was forty years old and not a single woman he’d ever known had possessed the ability to distract him to this degree. From the moment she’d joined the lab’s staff, he’d been struggling with keeping his mind off her. He’d gotten his heart tanked back in Durango, and he’d promised himself then that it would never happen again. Who needed a wife or children? He had his work. That had been enough. Until now. What was it about this young woman that distracted him so? “Jacob! Hey!” He watched as she dashed across the parking lot in his direction. Dark hair flying behind her like a cape of silk. Hazel eyes wide with worry. Already his body had reacted to her distress. Or, more likely, her coming nearer. “Sounds like your starter has gone bad on you.” He could make a call to a mechanic he used. But the chances of getting the automobile fixed tonight were slim to none. She would need a ride home. He could give her a lift. It was the right thing to do. Truth was, being close to her for a few minutes more…alone…wouldn’t be a bad thing. “Do you know a good mechanic?” She bit her lip, staring up at him hopefully. Jacob fished in his jacket pocket for his cell phone. “I haven’t had any complaints with the guy I use. I’ll give him a call.” “Thank you.” The worry lifted from her face. “I owe you big-time for this morning. Now this. You’re a real lifesaver.”
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“Thanks is quite enough,” he said as he pulled up the number of the shop from his contact list. A few minutes on the phone with the mechanic and a tow truck was on its way. “So I just leave the keys under the floor mat?” she confirmed. He nodded. “Security will let the tow truck into the lot. You’ll get a call sometime tomorrow about when your car is ready for pickup.” “Great.” She grabbed her purse and closed the car door. “It’s very sweet of you to drive me home.” She chatted away as they loaded into his SUV and headed for town. He got the distinct impression she was nervous. He’d never known her to talk so incessantly about nothing at all. Usually she was quiet and focused on her work. He acknowledged once more how very much he enjoyed her voice. As well as her brilliance. “Oh, darn,” she said suddenly. He glanced at her as he braked for an intersection. “Did you forget something?” Being alone with her was playing havoc with his ability to breathe normally. But this wasn’t smart. He wasn’t the type of man to evoke desire in a young, beautiful woman like Olivia. Hadn’t he learned that lesson already? She admired him, yes. But he doubted her feelings went beyond that. She turned and stared back at the store they’d just passed. “I’d planned to pick up a Christmas tree this evening.” She sighed. “It’s only a few days before Christmas and I…” She turned to him and smiled. “This is my first Christmas alone. I guess I’m a little homesick.” He took the next right and doubled back. How could he resist? She’d sounded so forlorn. “You didn’t have to do that.” She beamed at him. “I really do appreciate it, though.” “No problem.” Yes, he argued silently. It was a problem. She was a problem. The last thing he wanted to do was set himself up for a fall. Unfortunately, it felt like he was already falling.
Chapter Four “Maybe it would look better over here.” Olivia hurried to move the chair from the corner. Jacob patiently relocated the six-foot tree and its stand to the corner she’d cleared.
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She smiled. “That’s perfect.” The scent of evergreen permeated her tiny apartment, and just seeing the naked tree standing proudly next to the window made her heart glad. Not to mention the handsome man so generously lending his aid. She was suddenly starving. It was nearly eight o’clock. Good grief! She hadn’t even offered him anything to drink. “I didn’t realize the time. I absolutely have to make you dinner.” She made a quick mental scan of the offerings in her pantry. He held up both hands as if pushing away the idea. “That’s not necessary.” “I insist.” She’d had to ask twice for his coat when they’d first arrived before he’d grudgingly shed it. Enticing him to stay for dinner would likely take an act of Congress. “I won’t be able to sleep tonight if you don’t let me do something to make up for your patience and kindness.” Before he could say no, she added, “You really went above and beyond the call. Please. It’s just dinner.” He plowed his hand through his hair. “I suppose that would be…okay.” She couldn’t hold back a grin of victory. “Great.” In the kitchen, she checked her fridge. Thank God. She had salad dressing. A quick salad with last night’s leftover chicken would be perfect. She made coffee and poured her guest a cup. “Cream? Sugar?” “Black is fine.” She placed a steaming cup on the counter for him. He sat on the living room side of the bar, probably using it as a boundary between them. She hoped her jittery excitement wasn’t coming off as juvenile. It was just so nice to have company. “You have family in the Four Corners area?” she asked to break the silence. He cradled his coffee mug as if his hands needed warming. She thought of all the ways she could warm those long-fingered hands…. Stop! If she kept thinking like that it would show on her face and he would be out of there in a heartbeat. “My family’s in Durango.” “Are you going home for Christmas?” The thought had her heart sinking. A quick shake of his head sent her hopes rising again. “Then you absolutely must have Christmas dinner with me.” She gave the fridge door a shove with her hip to close it. “If you don’t already have plans, I mean.” It would have been nice to see his eyes, to maybe get some take on what he was thinking, but he stared into his coffee. “I don’t usually bother with the whole Christmas thing.” “No tree?” Christmas was…well…Christmas. Not having a tree was positively Scroogelike.
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“I can’t remember the last time I had a tree.” There was something in his voice when he made the statement that told her there was a story behind that decision. She didn’t dare ask. Thankfully she had the good sense to let silence settle between them. She busied her mind with the presentation on the plate. For some reason getting it exactly right was immensely important. She held up two bottles of salad dressing. “What do you want? Ranch or Caesar?” When he looked up at her question, there was no way to disguise the grimace. He wasn’t comfortable here…with her. She had been too forward. Darn it. “Whatever you’re having is fine.” “Ranch it is.” She drizzled the dressing over his salad and placed it in front of him, then quickly prepared her own. “Water?” When he nodded, she poured two glasses of water and freshened his coffee. Opting not to crowd him, she pulled up a stool on the kitchen side of the bar. If she hoped to be friends with Jacob Webster, patience was going to be key. She paused, fork halfway to her mouth. Who was she kidding? She didn’t want to be friends with him…she wanted him. As if her thought had reached out and tapped him on the shoulder, he lifted his gaze to hers. There was no time to wipe the desire from her mind or her eyes. “This is…” his gaze dropped to her parted lips “…very good.” She licked her lips. Couldn’t help herself. “Thank you.” He aimed his attention back at his plate. That moment was the beginning of the end. He rushed through the rest of his meal and fled as quickly as possible. Olivia sagged against the closed door. How was she ever going to reach that man?
Chapter Five Five days ’til Christmas The next day Olivia recognized the magnitude of her mistake. She should never have insisted Jacob stay for dinner. Now he wouldn’t even look at her, much less speak to her. Not that he spoke to her on a regular basis before, but typically he at least said good morning. Plus, the lab wasn’t that large; usually they barely missed running into each other around one
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piece of equipment or another. He would smile and say, “excuse me”—but not today. He kept to his station without so much as a glance in her direction. She’d probably screwed up any chance of getting closer to him. It was likely for the best. Coworkers weren’t supposed to date. Friendly get-togethers were acceptable. In fact, the whole staff operated very much like a family. A strictly platonic family. Her gaze wandered across the room. Jacob Webster was far from the most outgoing member of the staff. He was considerably older than Olivia. Why was he the one she longed to know more intimately? Just like back in college, she reminded herself. Then, too, she’d picked a guy who was way out of her league, and it had cost her. She’d gotten his attention all right. He’d gotten what he wanted and then split. End of story. Jacob evidently wanted nothing from her, either, because he avoided her very carefully. Obviously, he’d only taken her home last night because there hadn’t been anyone else. “Hey, Olivia.” She jerked her attention back to her own station. Bart Flemming had stopped next to her, a file in his hand. She produced a smile. “Hey, Flemming.” He was young—twenty-five, she thought. Light brown hair, a little long for Olivia’s taste. He liked teasing her because she was new. She got the distinct impression that he was the competitive type. “Webster says you had a little trouble with your computer yesterday.” He cocked his head in that I-got-you-covered way. “You want me to have a look?” “That would be great. I need to check on some of the tests I started yesterday, so I’ll get out of your way.” He grinned. “Yeah, I wouldn’t want you to learn any of my secrets.” Olivia’s smile was genuine this time. Bart was one heck of a smart guy. Kind of a jack-of-alltrades. Any time there was a computer glitch, he could usually figure it out. Not to mention he was an outstanding forensics tech as well. Olivia pulled up the analysis for her samples. Sample insufficient for testing. What in the world? She checked each one. They all said the same. That was impossible. She never made that kind of mistake. Her pulse lunged into hyper mode. Those test results were due this afternoon. She glanced at the clock. She could try to rerun them, but she’d be damned lucky to make it happen by her deadline. She stopped and pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes. What was wrong with her? Sure she’d been a little lonely lately, wasn’t sleeping well. But none of that was bad enough to interfere with her job.
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She had no time to worry about it now. As quickly as possible, she prepared new samples and prayed they would finish in time. When she returned to her station, Flemming shrugged. “Didn’t see a problem, Olivia.” Her hand shook as she swiped her hair back behind her ear. “Thanks for checking. I guess I did something wrong.” He held up both hands. “Now I didn’t say nothing like that.” She managed a smile. Her stomach was churning. As Flemming walked away, she considered him and the others working diligently at their stations. Was there something going on that she didn’t know about? A joke? On her? Someone testing her grace under fire? Flemming certainly possessed the expertise to mess with her electronic data and files. Maybe she was just growing paranoid because she’d screwed up? Not once, but twice? She opened the next case that required her attention. Maybe she was making too much out of this. Everyone had an off day. Maybe yesterday had been hers. It would be nice if she had someone to talk to about her feelings. Her gaze wandered across the room to Jacob. She was the newest member on staff. She had no friends outside work. Well, except for the one neighbor. Maybe she had no friends here, either. There it was, another of those “I’m lonely and no one likes me” moments. She had to get over these silly feelings. Just work, Olivia. Everything else will fall into place. Unless…someone was out to get her.
Chapter Six A grocery bag in each arm, Olivia dropped her keys twice before she managed to unlock her apartment door. Nothing about the day had gone right. Jacob had avoided her the entire shift. And because of the erroneous test results first thing that morning, she’d been behind all day. Running late made the lab look bad, made her look bad. As she twisted the key, she lost her hold on one of the grocery bags. It plopped to the floor and burst like a bomb, sending cans and produce in every direction. She bent down and her purse slid off her arm, hit the floor and vomited its contents. “Damn.” Olivia fell to her knees and raked up her scattered belongings. She was beyond ready for this day to be over.
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“Let me help you with that.” Olivia looked up to find Gerald McKay rushing toward her. “Hey, Gerald.” “You should try making two trips.” He nodded to the tumble of groceries. “Yeah, I know.” She shook her head as she gathered the last of her personal belongings. She snagged her badge. If she lost that she would just cry. She’d already lost one. Gerald gathered the final can of soup and pushed to his feet. Arms full of groceries, he waited while she opened the door. “Just dump it all on the table.” She tossed her purse on the sofa and took a breath. The day was done. Let it go. “How’s your new job going?” she asked Gerald. “Great.” He stacked the last of her purchased items on the table. “I didn’t think I would like working in a medical lab, but it’s growing on me.” “Sometimes I wish I’d taken your advice and signed on with MedTech.” She’d only been in Kenner City a couple of days when she’d met Gerald. He lived on the opposite side of the hall, two doors down. He’d told her about an opening at MedTech, but she’d been all gung ho to start at the crime lab. That was the reason she’d made the move from Boston; she’d wanted to stretch her horizons, do something that mattered on a different level—one where results were more readily seen. Medical research sometimes required years, if not decades, of work before results were gleaned. “Bad day, huh?” He grabbed an armful of apples and followed her into the small kitchen. “Really bad day.” She shivered. It wasn’t that cold outside, but with everything else, she felt cold inside. “Want some coffee?” She wasn’t in the mood to be alone right now and Gerald was good company. Recently divorced, he’d come to her more than once needing to talk. “That would be grand.” Olivia set the coffee brewing and between the two of them they put away her groceries. She couldn’t talk about her work, but she could commiserate with him about the feeling of not fitting in. “Olivia…” Gerald began slowly “…I don’t really know any of the people you work with, but I’ve heard rumors around MedTech that the guys at the crime lab are ruthless when it comes to promotions and such. Maybe you should watch your back.” Olivia really hoped that wasn’t true. “Thanks,” she said with a pathetic attempt at a laugh. “That really makes me feel better.” “Sounds like you need chocolate.” “Chocolate?” She was pretty sure she had absolutely nothing chocolate in the apartment. He held up a hand. “I’ll be right back.”
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She peeled off her jacket, hung it in the closet and set her hands on her hips. Only five days until Christmas. She needed to get that tree decorated. She inhaled deeply, loving its smell. That was something nice to come home to. After toeing off her shoes, she shuffled back to the kitchen and poured two steaming cups of black coffee. Maybe the caffeine would give her a boost. She placed Gerald’s cup on the coffee table and curled up on the sofa with her own. “Here we go.” Gerald breezed back into her apartment, a plate of brownies in one hand. He held them out for her viewing pleasure. “This is just what the doctor ordered.” He kicked the door shut behind him. “Are you serious?” The treats smelled as if they’d just come out of the oven. Brownies were her favorite. “Did you make those?” “As soon as I got home today.” He sat the plate on the table and settled into a chair across from her. “You’re a good neighbor.” “So,” he said as he picked up his mug, “tell me about him.” Olivia rolled her eyes. She should never have mentioned in a weak moment that there was a guy at work she was attracted to. “He still doesn’t know I’m alive. Not in that sense, anyway.” “Then we’ll have to do something about that.” Gerald sipped his coffee. “Have you thought about inviting him over for dinner?” Olivia told him the story about her car troubles. That was another thing that had made today suck. A new starter, the labor for replacing it and the towing had set her back considerably. “It’s your turn to go to his place,” her neighbor suggested. “What?” He had to be out of his mind. She knew where Jacob lived, but only because each staff member’s name, telephone number and address were on the personnel roster. “Make up an excuse.” Gerald shrugged. “Bring him a gift in thanks for rescuing you. Just show up at his door.” “What if he has company? He could have a girlfriend or something.” Gerald shook his head. “You told me that one of your coworkers said he was a loner. No attachments.” True. She laughed. “How do you remember that?” Even she’d forgotten. “Just do it,” her nosy neighbor insisted. “Show up at his door with a gift and—” he grinned “— dressed for seduction.” It had been so long since she’d tried, Olivia was pretty sure she had forgotten how to seduce a man.
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Chapter Seven Four days ’til Christmas Only four more days until Christmas and Olivia was at home alone. Except for the two bags of newly purchased Christmas decorations sitting at her feet. The only good thing about today was that none of her test results had gotten lost or otherwise corrupted. Work had actually gone fairly smoothly. Maybe because she’d slept like the dead the night before. She couldn’t remember when she’d been out cold like that. After leaving the lab, she’d stopped to buy decorations, come home, given half a minute’s consideration to Gerald’s suggestion and promptly decided her neighbor was nuts. Showing up unannounced and uninvited at Jacob’s door was completely and utterly out of the question. He would think she was insane. Like her neighbor. Don’t think about Jacob. He’d ignored her all day, just like the day before. Clearly strongarming him into dinner the other night had been a big mistake. Office romances were not a good idea, anyway, even when there wasn’t an unwritten rule about them. When Callie had interviewed Olivia she had mentioned that avoiding that kind of relationship with colleagues was preferred. Considering all the strange mishaps with her work lately, Olivia didn’t need anything else to put her on Callie’s bad side. Why was it that having a boyfriend suddenly mattered so much? Back home in Boston, she’d rarely thought about her social life. Now she obsessed on it. That wasn’t true. She obsessed about Jacob. He was…handsome. Extremely intelligent. And she loved the way he talked. His voice was deep, his words always chosen carefully. Stop. “Decorate the tree, Olivia.” The distraction worked for about an hour. She wound the strands of lights and the glittery strands of pretend snowflakes. Then she hung four different types of glass ornaments. Last but not least, she topped the tree with an angel. When she plugged in the lights and stepped back, she beamed in satisfaction. It looked nice. Jacob had said he didn’t have a tree yet. Hadn’t bothered with one in a long time. She wondered about that. Had he lost his heart once and decided it wasn’t worth the pain, like she had? The telephone rang. “Saved by the bell.” She’d been about to go off on another long analysis of the man. One glance at the caller ID screen and she smiled. Her mother. The conversation lasted nearly an hour. Both her mother and her father updated her on things in Boston—from different perspectives, of course. They were so funny. Outwardly they never
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appeared to agree on anything. But where no one could see, they were completely in tune with one another. The perfect couple. That was what Olivia wanted. She heaved a big, loud sigh. She could go for a run. But running a few miles wouldn’t help. If talking to her parents for the better part of an hour didn’t do the trick, nothing would. There was only one thing to do. Bring Jacob a thank-you gift and see what happened. The only question left was, what kind of gift? She chewed her lip, thought about something sweet like a cake or pie. But he was a health fanatic, or so it seemed. His lunches were always the good-for-you kind. A grin stretched across her lips. She knew just what to get him. Something he hadn’t bothered with in a really long time.
Chapter Eight Jacob set the newspaper aside. He mulled over the offerings on television. Scanning the channels would be a waste of time. Holiday movies and television shows. Even the news would focus on the holidays. He surveyed his living room. Small, utilitarian. He’d bought the modest bungalow after relocating here permanently from Durango. Traveling back and forth as he helped Callie McBride set up the new Kenner City crime lab hadn’t been so bad. But once the lab was operational and he’d decided to stay on, moving had made more sense. What little family he had left—a brother and an aunt—were back in Durango. But each had a large family to keep them busy, so he didn’t go back often. Besides, he was occupied here. Callie needed him. The lab needed him. What else did he need? Nothing to speak of. Jennifer had taught him well. He’d loved her for five years and lived with her for four of those. Then she’d left him. Simply came home from work one day and said she’d met someone new. Someone who didn’t spend all his time at work. Someone who wanted to start a family now. Someone completely opposite from Jacob. That had been eighteen months ago. The last he’d heard, she was married. Her first child on the way. He was happy for her. Work fulfilled him as nothing else could, even Jennifer. Jacob stood and walked to the front window. Darkness had fallen and the streetlamps had awakened. Yes, he had loved Jennifer. But not the way she had needed him to. He wasn’t sure he was capable of that depth of emotion.
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His mind drifted to Olivia Perez and immediately his heart rate reacted. A frown furrowed his brow. What was it about the woman that got under his skin? He’d known her scarcely two months. She was a colleague, for heaven’s sake. Not once in his career had he been attracted to a coworker. Even Jennifer had not possessed the ability to distract him from his job. She would be the first to say so. But Olivia… The dark hair that hung nearly to her waist made him want to run his fingers through it. Jennifer had worn her hair short. She’d always said it was more practical. There was nothing practical about Olivia’s long mass of silky tresses. He fisted his hand at the thought of touching her hair. He had once. Accidentally. His fingers had tingled, his pulse had raced. The whole concept was ludicrous. As if that wasn’t bad enough, her big hazel eyes tugged at him. Made him want to reassure her whenever she looked stressed or frustrated. The whole scenario was utterly foolish. He was not a schoolboy, far from it. Yet when she came near he felt exactly like one. Perhaps it was time for a change. He certainly wouldn’t go back to Durango. But there were other places in the Four Corners area. Places where he wouldn’t have to see her every day. Where he wouldn’t hear her soft, velvety voice, or the sweet sensual laughter that pulled at his senses. Something to think about. A car pulled to the curb up the street, just past his driveway. He couldn’t quite determine the make since a well-shaped spruce lay atop its roof. A Christmas tree, he realized. Most of his neighbors already had their trees. The lights twinkled nightly from the windows. Someone visiting a neighbor, he supposed. The car door opened, but the brief light from the interior prevented him from seeing if it was a man or woman. He started to turn away but then the figure, tree in tow, stepped into the pool of light near his sidewalk. For one second he was certain his errant thoughts had prompted a delusion. But, no, it was her. Olivia Perez marched up the sidewalk to his door, lugging a Christmas tree.
Chapter Nine Olivia rang the bell twice. No answer. She was certain she was at the right house. His SUV sat in the driveway. There were lights on inside. The glow filtered through the drapes. Nice place, she decided. Classic bungalow with a generous porch for summer evenings. The stucco was painted a rich earthy brown with tan trim. The door was a mellow gold with a distinctive Spanish flare. Very nice place. If he wasn’t home, she would just die. She could leave the tree and a note on his porch, she supposed.
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The door opened. She held her breath. “Olivia?” He looked from her to the tree she’d broken her back heaving off the top of her car and hauling to his door. “Merry Christmas, Jacob.” She managed to suck in a lungful of air. “I wanted to repay you for giving me a ride home the other night—” “You made me dinner,” he countered. “This—” he gestured to the tree “—wasn’t necessary.” She shrugged, almost losing her nerve. But she was here, by God. She was going to do this. “It is necessary. We work together. We’re friends. It’s almost Christmas and I wanted to…to show how much I appreciate all the times you go out of your way to make me feel at home…at work.” The more she said the worse it sounded. He must think she was an idiot! He stared at the tree a moment before meeting her eyes again. “I suppose…” He stepped back, opened the door wider. As soon as she had crossed the threshold he took charge of the tree. “Whew,” she said. “That thing is heavier than it looks.” “I don’t have—” “Don’t worry.” She’d figured as much. “I have everything you’ll need. I’ll be right back.” She rushed out to her car, got the bags of decorations and the tree stand. She’d also picked up some hot cocoa for him and another tin for herself. Snow or not, she could sit by the tree with her cocoa and pretend. When she returned from the car, he was still standing right where she’d left him, looking completely dumbfounded. “Pick a spot,” she ordered. He settled the tree on the floor, closed the front door and looked around the room. Impatient, she suggested, “How about by the front window. It won’t be in the way there.” Not that he had that much furniture. He actually had several good spots for locating the tree, but the big window would allow his neighbors to enjoy the lights. She missed that in her apartment. “Sure,” he said. Olivia took the lead. She set up the stand and guided the trunk into it as he positioned the tree upright. Once they’d secured it and added water, she grabbed the packages of lights. Jacob’s movements were a little stilted and awkward at first, but by the time they got to the glass ornaments, he was moving along quite efficiently. She’d even coaxed him into conversation. “You have a large family, Olivia?” Olivia hid her smile. He’d just asked her a personal question. He never did that. “Yes. Two sisters, three brothers. We’re all either lawyers, doctors or law enforcement.”
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“Impressive.” He smiled—just a little but she noticed. “You?” “A brother and an aunt in Durango. He’s a university professor, she’s a retired nurse.” They were making progress. The last item she pulled from one of the shopping bags was instant hot cocoa mix. “Now we have to celebrate with hot cocoa.” She could tell he wanted to decline. But then he surprised her again and agreed. Ten minutes later they were sitting on his sofa enjoying the cocoa. If she had known chocolate would relax him like this she would have brought Godiva to the lab weeks ago. He regarded the decorated tree for a moment. “It looks pretty.” “More?” She reached for his cup. He held up a hand and shook his head. “I’ll take care of this.” She picked up his empty mug and stood. “That’s okay.” She just smiled and kept walking toward the kitchen. He joined her. “I have a dishwasher,” he reminded her as if the appliance tucked into the cabinet next to the sink wasn’t visible. “I can see that.” She rinsed the cups and spoons and stacked them into the dishwasher. He hovered nearby. This domestic scene made him nervous. She picked up on his tension immediately. She shouldn’t press her luck. She dried her hands. “I guess I should go. This was nice.” He stared at her mouth. Five seconds, then ten. She considered saying something else but she was afraid she would break the spell. He wanted to kiss her. She was sure of it. Afraid to give him too much time to think, she went up on tiptoe and kissed his jaw. “Good night, Jacob.” She didn’t give him an opportunity to analyze what had happened before she got out of there. By the time she pulled away from the curb, she’d managed to catch her breath again. She’d kissed him. Now she was scared to death what his reaction would be. Tomorrow she would find out.
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Chapter Ten She’d kissed him! Actually stepped right up to the plate and done the deed. Second thoughts warred inside her. Was her move too forward? Would he tell her to never come to his house again? She couldn’t think about it. Olivia turned onto Fourth Street so she could stop by Ferguson’s for a bottle of celebratory wine. She’d intended to pick up wine the other night but she’d forgotten. This was the first time in two months—since moving west, actually—that she’d felt like celebrating. And quite possibly she shouldn’t be feeling that way. Jacob might be infuriated that she’d been so bold. Enough. Just put it out of your head and wait and see what happens. Shortly before making the turn she noticed the dark sedan in her rearview mirror. If there had been any traffic to speak of she might not have noticed. But there wasn’t. The car had followed her every turn since leaving Jacob’s house. She made the right into the Ferguson’s parking lot. Going inside would provide the opportunity to prove that the car wasn’t following her. The idea was a bit over the top. She might not have thought anything of it if the training for her job hadn’t mentioned the possibility she could become a target in certain high-profile cases. None of the cases she’d worked on so far had fallen into that category, but there was no need to take the chance. The car drove past slowly as she emerged from her Volvo. She didn’t recognize the make or model. There was a dent in the trunk area as if the driver had backed into something. The important part was that he or she had driven on. Olivia relaxed. Inside the grocery store, she strolled the aisles looking for something chocolate she could munch on. Chocolate was definitely her weakness. She craved the stuff whenever she was nervous or stressed. It was a flat-out miracle she hadn’t gained twenty pounds since moving here. She’d recently made it a point not to bring chocolate home. But it was practically Christmas. Like the hot cocoa, chocolate was just a part of the holiday. She picked out her preferred white wine—something sweet and a little bubbly. Finding nothing chocolate in a bag or box that tempted her taste buds, she moved onto the bakery section. Right there in the aisle in front of the bakery case, she melted. Chocolate cake with fudge icing. Exactly what she needed. Thankfully it was one of the small cakes, more likely meant for two. In her case, it would amount to two servings. One for tonight, one for tomorrow night. Almost as good as sex. Yeah, right. Even she hadn’t done without for so long that she would presume to substitute chocolate for sex and come out satisfied. Cake and wine in hand, she made her way to the front registers and paid. As she climbed into her car, she found herself scanning the street for the sedan that had been following her. Or the sedan she’d thought was following her. The latter was far more probable.
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About seven minutes more and she would be safely tucked into her apartment, anyway. Security was good at her place. That had been one of the key selling points when she’d taken the lease. If she remained in the area she would eventually need to buy a house. Something small and cozy…like Jacob’s. But she would make it a home. His still looked and felt like a house—not a home. No doubt a bachelor thing. Lights flickered in her rearview mirror. The vehicle roared up behind her—too close for comfort. She couldn’t be certain it was the same car. Same color, it seemed. She hadn’t had a good look at the driver before. She peered into the rearview mirror, tried to make out what he looked like as she slowed for an intersection. Definitely looked like a he. Was he wearing sunglasses? At night? He was. A shiver danced up her spine. That was officially weird. She drove to her block but didn’t turn into the parking lot. Instead she moved into the left turning lane as if she intended to maneuver into the lot of the building across the street. The car cruised by. Her heart skipped a beat. The same car. The dent in the rear end was exactly the same. As soon as the car had driven past, she checked her rearview mirror and cut across the lanes to the garage beneath her building. When she’d entered the code and gotten into the garage she breathed a little easier. She’d definitely been followed. The only question was why.
Chapter Eleven Three days ’til Christmas Olivia had slept fitfully the night before. Not even the wine and the chocolate had relaxed her nerves. The car had been following her. She was certain of that. She’d considered reporting the incident to Callie, but her boss hadn’t appeared to be in a very good mood this morning so she’d scrapped the idea. Olivia would watch when she left work. If she saw the car again she would call the police then tell her superior. It wasn’t totally outside the realm of possibility that the whole event was
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coincidence. The car hadn’t made any aggressive moves. The driver hadn’t even looked at her. It just felt…odd. Had her instincts on alert. There were people who had light sensitivities who wore protective eyewear at night. She may have made too much of that part. Bottom line, there was really no reason to get paranoid. Yet. She had a bigger problem today, anyway. Jacob was avoiding her again. He hadn’t said good morning. Hadn’t looked her way once. She shouldn’t have kissed him. Even now her face heated at the memory. The move had been a mistake. If she’d needed any confirmation, his actions today had given her all she needed. Just do your work, Olivia. She could sit in the corner wearing a dunce cap when she got home tonight. Bart Flemming and another of the lab’s forensic analysts, Bobby O’Shea, returned from a meeting in Callie’s office. Olivia had been a little worried when the meeting hadn’t included her, but Jacob hadn’t been at the meeting either. Meetings with Callie were usually about whatever case one was working. Olivia knew that, but she was feeling extra sensitive these days considering the mistakes she’d been making. And that was another thing—she’d never made mistakes before. She’d always been one hundred percent. A lead analyst at her former job. Maybe this whole distraction with Jacob was interfering with her work. She would need to think long and hard about that. Or maybe it was the holidays. Or a combination. “Olivia,” Bobby said as he passed her station, “Callie wants to see you.” “Thanks.” Olivia shut down her system, something she’d started doing whenever she left her station. She refused to believe anyone here would sabotage her work, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Ruthless. That was what Gerald had heard about the guys here. Olivia thought of her coworkers and honestly couldn’t bring herself to believe that rumor was grounded in any sort of reality. Probably just jealousy on the part of the MedTech personnel. But then, Flemming was a genius with computers. Olivia shook off the idea and tapped at Callie’s door; her boss motioned for her to come on in. “You wanted to see me?” “Have a seat, Olivia.” Callie looked tired. Olivia had noticed an additional layer of weariness about her for a couple of weeks now.
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“We have a problem.” Those instincts that were already in overdrive started to hum. “What sort of problem?” This couldn’t be happening again. “The file you sent me this morning,” Callie explained, “was empty. I checked the system and apparently you failed to follow through on the program before leaving yesterday and all your data was lost.” That was impossible. Olivia had double-checked her work before sending the data to Callie. “That can’t be right. I—” Callie shook her head. “Olivia, I’m not accusing you. Yet,” she qualified. “But something’s going on here. A glitch in your access code, maybe. I’ll have Bart check on things. Meanwhile, why don’t you print hard copies for me from now on? At least until we clear up this…situation.” “Of course.” Olivia moved blindly to the ladies’ room. She couldn’t go back to her station. Not yet. She had to pull herself together. Did Flemming and O’Shea know? Had Callie voiced her concerns to two of her more trusted staff? Were they all suspicious of Olivia? The new girl? The outsider? This was wrong. Very wrong.
Chapter Twelve It was past eight o’clock before she finished. Everyone else had gone already. Except the security personnel in the lobby. Olivia stretched her neck and rolled her shoulders. It’d taken her all this time to catch up with today’s work after redoing yesterday’s tests. But now, as Callie suggested, she was printing hard copies of everything. A copy for herself, which she locked in her station, and a copy for Callie, which she put in a large envelope and slid under the door of her office. She wasn’t about to leave anything lying around…to disappear. Jacob had left at six. He’d said good night to Olivia but he’d rushed to get away after that. She really had gone too far last night. He must think her a complete fool. Maybe the whole problem—work, Jacob, all of it—was with her. Olivia wasn’t herself. Clearly. She pulled on her jacket and retrieved her purse. She, apparently, was forgetting things. Her focus was easily distracted. But that was only because she had increasing difficulty keeping her mind off Jacob.
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She took the stairs down to the lobby. Okay. Time to get her stuff together. She had to stop this whatever-it-was with Jacob. The distraction. The obsession. And she had to pay extra attention to her every step at the lab. Maybe she would even start a second log, one of her own that had nothing to do with the official system. Good plan. She felt better already. As she waved to the security guard, a thought she’d been mulling over entered her mind once more. She was grasping at straws…but there was only one way to be sure. She hurried over to the security desk and presented a smile to the guard on duty. She would never know if she didn’t ask. “Can I help you, Ms. Perez?” he asked. The Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer pin on his shirt glowed. Olivia smiled. “I like your pin.” “Thank you. My granddaughter insisted I wear it.” “I believe I was the last to leave last night.” She held her breath and took the plunge. “Did anyone from the lab come back after that?” The guard turned to the computer on his desk and tapped a few keys. “No one except Bart Flemming. He returned around ten for half an hour.” The guard shook his head. “That young man is a go-getter.” “Thank you.” Dazed, Olivia wandered to the exit and pushed out the door. The wind was a little brisk. Instinctively, she pulled her coat tighter around her. This couldn’t be right. There was no way one of her colleagues would do this…. She took a breath. Made a decision. If her work was tampered with again, she would mention this to Callie. Otherwise, she would give Flemming the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she just needed a break. That idea of trying to get a last-minute flight to Boston Friday evening was suddenly sounding a lot more appealing. Monday was a holiday. She could spend a long weekend surrounded by family and clear her head of everything here. Including Jacob Webster. She drove home slowly, pondering the idea of packing a bag and putting it in the trunk so she would be ready to go straight to the airport after work on Friday. If she decided that was the thing to do. There went the second thoughts. Going home would be good, she reminded herself. She would be too far away to think of anything or anyone here. She noticed a pair of headlights behind her as she made the turn onto her street. Her heart rate sped up even as she told herself she was only being paranoid.
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Still, she opted not to turn in at her building. Instead she drove farther up the street. She waited long enough to make it seem like she was headed someplace else, then she whipped into the lot of a convenience store. She jerked to a stop and stared after the sedan, which had no choice but to continue on. Her heart surged into her throat. It was the same car.
Chapter Thirteen Jacob opened his front door to find Olivia standing on his porch. Her hazel eyes were wide with…fear. Her breathing was ragged, as if she’d run all the way to his house instead of driving. But her Volvo sat at the curb. “Olivia, what’s going on?” The reality that she had kissed him last night abruptly kicked him in the gut. “Someone’s following me,” she said in a rush. He glanced at the street. No traffic. No unfamiliar cars. “Who?” If anyone had followed her here, they were gone now. “Please.” Her eyes pleaded. “Can I come inside?” Whatever had happened, she was terrified. “Of course.” What was wrong with him? She’d obviously had a scare. He stepped back to let her pass, then closed the door. “Start at the beginning and tell me everything.” She started to shake. Not little shivers but big, body-quaking shudders. “Maybe you should sit down.” He took her by the arm, riding out the instant electrical charge that touching her elicited, and guided her to the sofa. Once she was seated, he moved to the chair directly across from her. “What happened?” She described the dark blue sedan, particularly the dent in the area where the trunk closed. The evasive maneuvers she had taken to clarify whether the vehicle was actually following her were adequate. Judging by her experience, he had to agree she was being followed. “Have you received any strange phone calls? Hang ups? Heavy breathers? Anything like that?” She shook her head. “You haven’t seen any strange cars hanging out around your apartment complex?” Another shake of her dark head.
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Disturbing. “Have you reported this to Callie or the police?” “No. I…I thought…I wasn’t sure.” She hugged her arms around herself. “But now I’m certain. The man is definitely following me.” “He wears sunglasses and a baseball cap, you think?” She inhaled a long, shaky breath. “I’m not positive about the cap but I’m absolutely positive about the sunglasses.” This needed to be brought to Callie’s attention, as well as to that of the chief of police. “Tell me about the cases you’ve worked recently.” Though the work they did was not anything like what one saw on television, their analysis helped law enforcement bring criminals to justice. Those criminals, at times, targeted the ones they felt were ultimately responsible for their arrests. The forensic analysts. She listed the cases she’d performed various tests to support. None struck him as particularly high profile or intense investigations. “Are you certain you haven’t made any enemies since moving here? A jilted boyfriend? Or an admirer you’ve offended somehow?” The idea of Olivia with another man burned deep in his belly. She shook her head. “I’ve been busy with the lab. I really haven’t made any social connections.” Which meant she was like him. Alone. His chest tightened at the thought. “Let’s get you calmed down.” That was the first priority. “Then we’ll call Callie and discuss the situation with her.” Olivia nodded. “Okay.” He remembered how much they’d enjoyed the hot cocoa last night and he amended his plan. “Let’s have some more of that hot cocoa first.” The hint of a smile touched her lips. “That would be great.” “I’ll put the water on.” Jacob went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. His logic warred with his emotions. He shouldn’t be encouraging this thing between them. But… But nothing. He was tired of being alone. Taking a risk on Olivia would be worth the potential pain.
Chapter Fourteen
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Olivia cradled the hot mug of cocoa in both hands. Logically she knew she was warm now, but somehow her brain failed to deliver that message to the rest of her. She couldn’t stop shivering. Couldn’t stop wondering why anyone would be following her. Or why everything was going wrong for her at work. She lifted her gaze to Jacob’s. He’d been watching her closely since her arrival. He was probably afraid to look away for fear of being attacked. She closed her eyes and pushed away the embarrassing memory of kissing him the way she had. Poor man. She was like some crazed fan. Callie would likely regret hiring her when she heard about this latest drama. What was going on with her life? Had she ticked off some god or spirit? Drink the cocoa. Calm down. Until then she hadn’t noticed that the lights on his Christmas tree were twinkling. He’d bothered to turn them on. A genuine smile slid across her lips. Maybe she’d done one thing right in all this. Evidently he’d followed her gaze. “I turned the tree on when I got home. It was the least I could do after all the trouble you’d gone to.” “It looks nice. Homey.” It was true. The evergreen scent and the classic lights made the place feel more like a home. “I don’t do much to promote that, I’m afraid.” Had she made him feel guilty for his lack of a festive spirit? “I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant—” He nodded. “I know what you meant.” He glanced around the room. “I’ve lived here for more than a year and I haven’t really made it my own.” Was that because he was single? Was he missing someone from the past? The idea twisted her already knotted stomach. “It takes a while sometimes.” The chitchat was awkward. She knew the reason why. That stupid kiss was dangling between them like a black cloud. “Maybe you can give me some pointers on the market when I start house shopping.” “Gladly.” Their gazes held long enough to make her pulse react. She should leave. She didn’t need Jacob to call Callie for her. Olivia was fine now. The last thing she wanted to do was make him think she was incapable. She set her cup on the coffee table and stood. “I’m feeling calmer now. I should go.” He looked surprised, but pushed to his feet as well. “What about Callie?” “I’ll call when I get home. I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
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She made it as far as the door before he stopped her. He took her by the arm and pulled her around to face him. Another of those full body shivers rippled through her, but this time it had nothing to do with being cold. “Olivia.” He searched her eyes, seemed to struggle with what to say. “This is real. You were frightened. You can’t just leave like this. Let’s call Callie and then I’ll follow you home.” Every word he said made perfect sense. “I…” It was time to be totally honest here. “I feel bad about last night.” She forced her gaze to meet his, as hard as that was. He had to think she was a fool. “I shouldn’t have…kissed you. It was unconscionable of me. I apologize.” He was staring at her mouth again. She couldn’t say another word. Couldn’t breathe. Please don’t look at me that way, her mind begged. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he finally said softly. “I…” He was still looking at her mouth. Her heart fluttered like a butterfly trapped in her chest. And then he kissed her. Softly, so very softly. His lips felt so good against hers. When he stopped, which was all too soon, he pressed his forehead to hers. “We really have to figure this part out. That’s why I’m so careful at work.” Her lips stretched into a smile. “I thought you were avoiding me.” “Hardly.” And then he kissed her again.
Chapter Fifteen Two days ’til Christmas Olivia could scarcely contain herself at the lab that morning. Jacob had smiled at her when she’d arrived. Not the usual manufactured smile that he tossed at whoever spoke to him, but a real smile that reached his eyes. Whatever was happening between them she wanted it to continue. Callie had filed the incident report with Kenner City’s chief of police. Both the chief and Callie had insisted that Olivia had been right to report the activity. Callie also agreed that none of Olivia’s cases were the kind that would prompt such a reaction. Still, one could never be certain. Olivia had decided not to go to Boston after work today. She was hoping against hope that she and Jacob would spend Christmas together. But she was getting ahead of herself. He’d kissed her. Twice. That was true. And he’d followed her home. He’d even come into her apartment and checked that all was clear. Then he’d called her before he went to bed just to be sure she was really okay.
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That was a beginning. Wasn’t it? They hadn’t discussed where this was going. But one thing was certain—no one could know. Callie wouldn’t be happy. And they could not allow their personal feelings to interfere with their job. Those were the rules. Simple enough. Olivia took a breath. Anything but simple. Now, if she could just get through the day without any incidents. Callie had gotten the hard copies of her data from yesterday. So all was well on that front. Olivia would do the same today. Better safe than sorry. The last thing she wanted to do was be here alone the day before Christmas Eve—or worse, on Christmas Eve. The lab was supposed to shut down for the weekend. Of course, if any high-priority requests came in someone would have to work. Depending on the nature of the analysis needed, that would likely be Olivia since she was lowest in seniority. “Olivia, do you mind working at my station for the rest of the day?” Flemming leaned on her table and rested his head in his hand. “Callie wants me to go through your computer. When I ran a routine check this morning of all the systems, there appeared to be some discrepancies in your access. Some appeared to be remote, as if you’d worked from home.” “I don’t work from home,” she said. Her suspicions about him rose again even though she’d thought she had put her worries aside where Flemming was concerned. “I usually stay here until I’m finished or come in early the next day.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought, but something isn’t right.” He straightened. “We all remoteaccess the system when we’re out of the lab on a case, but you haven’t traveled on one yet. Maybe it’s nothing, but I should look into it.” “All right.” She considered asking him if he thought the problem could be related to her stalker, but she wasn’t sure if Callie intended for anyone else to know at this point. Maybe she should just ask him if he had something against her. But she had no proof. Just…nothing. “Log in from my station and I’ll see what I can find.” “No problem.” When she’d settled in at Flemming’s station, Jacob joined her. Her pulse skipped. “Is everything okay?” She liked that he worried about her. There she went, making too much of things again. “Flemming thinks there might be some glitches in the access of my account. He’s checking it out.” “I’m glad they’re taking seriously whatever is going on.” He hesitated as if he had more to say. She held her breath.
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“I hoped we might have dinner tonight.” He searched her eyes, his own uncertain. “There’s a very nice place in town.” “That would be awesome.” She knew she was grinning like an idiot. She couldn’t believe it! They had a date! He touched her arm before walking away and it warmed her all the way to her toes. Slow it down, girl. Too late. She was running with it. Unfortunately, the day went downhill from there. A multiple homicide sent Callie, Flemming and O’Shea to the scene. Callie called in and warned Jacob that it was going to be a long one and that he should join them. With the rest of the lab staff already on location at other scenes, that left only Olivia to hold down the fort. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Sixteen As if she’d needed anything else to go wrong, the lights in the lab had started to blink half an hour ago. Security had called up and warned her to brace for the coming storm. It was promising to get ugly. Spotty power outages were being reported around town. Olivia reminded herself that the generators would kick in if the power went out. She didn’t have to worry. But she did anyway. Callie and her team hadn’t returned. They were trying to get a second sweep of the scene in before the storm hit the area too hard. A little more data compilation and Olivia could call it a night anyway. The drive to her apartment might be a little hairy, but she was more than ready to get home. Anticipation welled in her chest. She and Jacob had a date. God, she should hurry home to change. What if he was held up? No, she wasn’t going to think that way. She printed her hard copies and took them to Callie’s office, which wasn’t locked. Odd. She always locked her office when she left the lab. Olivia shrugged and pulled the door closed as she left. Maybe Callie had just been in a hurry. One final test check and Olivia was out of here. She would compile the data Monday morning since it wasn’t a high priority.
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She’d just started back to her station when the lights went out. Olivia froze. No need to fall over anything or bump into a door. Just stay still until the generators brought the power back on. She checked her cell phone. Watched the minutes tick off. First one, then another. Okay, the generators should have kicked in by now. Using the meager light from her cell, she made her way to the nearest station and reached for the phone. No dial tone. She checked all the lines, including the intercom. Nothing. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Fine. She would call security on her cell. Except she didn’t know the number. If she needed to contact security there was a button for that on each phone in the lab. “Dammit.” She would just have to make her way down the stairs to the lobby. If she took her time, she could make it with her cell phone as a poor excuse for a flashlight. The corridor leading from the lab to the reception area was pitch-black. She kept having to hit a button or reopen her phone to keep its dim light glowing. As little help as it was, it was better than nothing. It was so damned quiet. Creepy quiet. When she reached the stairwell door she relaxed marginally. Three flights down and she would be in the lobby. Security would be there and they would have flashlights. There were flashlights back in the lab, but she felt better heading straight for the lobby rather than feeling her way to where they were stored in the lab. Truth was, she was spooked. Second floor. First floor. “Thank God.” She opened the door into the lobby and found it wasn’t much better. The wall of windows facing the front parking lot revealed that the cloud cover had obscured the moon. She tried to open one of the exit doors but it was locked. Strange. Okay. All she had to do was get to the security desk. She was halfway across the lobby when she realized that there was no one there.
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“Hello?” No answer. Fear crept over her. “Hello?” she repeated. Nothing. Not a sound. Her phone’s screen went black again. That was when she heard it. A footstep somewhere behind her.
Chapter Seventeen Olivia didn’t turn around. She ran. If whoever she’d heard coming had been a member of the lab staff or security, he or she would have called out to her. Every instinct urged her to run. Her phone slipped from her fingers. Hit the floor and slid God-only-knew where. She couldn’t go back for it. He could be right behind her. Sheer luck and a good memory was all that prevented her from running headlong into a wall or piece of furniture. She found the rear exit and slammed her weight against the door. Nothing happened. What the…? The door wasn’t supposed to be sealed. What if there was a fire? The front doors had been locked, too. This was wrong. Running footfalls whispered against her eardrums. He was coming. She flattened against the wall, unsure of herself now. Struggling with the effort, she slowed, quieting her breathing. She couldn’t get out. Her only choice was to make her way back to the stairwell door and head back up to the lab. She could lock herself in Callie’s office.
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Listening for sounds, she felt along the wall, making sure there were no obstacles before she moved. If she made a single sound… She didn’t want to think about it. Just move. Almost there. A few more steps and she would reach the stairwell door. Her fingers encountered the cold metal knob and she froze. Where was he? She hadn’t heard a sound in several minutes. It could have been only one or two, but it felt like an hour had passed. Her heart strummed against her sternum. Don’t listen to the sound of your fear…listen for the threat. Silence. If she hadn’t dropped her phone this would be a good time to call for help. But she had. There was nothing else for her to do. The lab was her only resort. She had to go for it. She turned the knob. The sound echoed in the silence. She winced. The door would probably creak, too. Screw it. She jerked the door open and moved into the stairwell. With the door pressing against her back, she listened. Nothing. Slowly, holding her breath, she let the door close. The click reverberated like a rifle shot. Still no sound to indicate whoever was in here was close by or even following. Holding the handrail like a lifeline, she moved up the stairs. Slowly, trying her best not to make a sound. Her soft-soled shoes were a blessing to her feet on a daily basis but even more so now. Second floor. One step at a time. Don’t breathe too loudly. Don’t allow your lab coat to brush against the metal railing. Silent as the proverbial mouse. Third floor.
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She stood outside the lab for a full trauma-filled minute. Once she entered the third floor there was no place left to go. The fourth floor was a storage room for the city, and there was no access from the lab. If he—whoever he was and if he was a he—had come to the third floor in anticipation of her going back there or to steal files from the lab…she was in deep trouble. Brace yourself. Take a breath and open the door. A creak echoed from below. Door. First floor. He was coming.
Chapter Eighteen It took every ounce of courage she possessed, but Olivia opened the third-floor door with the same painstaking effort as she had the others. No need to give away her position. She allowed the door to close as noiselessly as was humanly possible. Then she ran. Down the corridor. Into the lab. She grabbed for the door to Callie’s office and twisted the knob. It didn’t budge. How could it be locked? Her whirling mind recalled her steps as she’d placed her report in Callie’s office. She’d closed the door behind her. Had it been set to lock? Never mind. She had to hide. Picking her way carefully between the stations, she rushed through the mental list of other places to hide. She needed to be able to barricade herself away from the threat. He would be reaching the lab any second. Maybe he already had.
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She had to hurry! Something hard stopped her forward momentum. Strong fingers clamped down on her arms. Her survival instinct erupted inside her. She kicked. Screamed. He twisted her body around and flattened her back against his chest. Definitely a he, her mind analyzed. “Scream one more time and I’ll shoot,” he growled. The cold, unyielding muzzle of a weapon bored into her skull. She stopped flailing even as her mind raced to rule out the names and faces that didn’t go with that voice. She knew it, even though he had whispered roughly, obscuring the tones…but there was something familiar about him. As he dragged her backward, she tried to assess his height and build. Tried to inhale his scent. Anything that might help her identify him. Where was he taking her? Then she knew. The door that led to the fourth floor and roof access. But that door was locked. When he reached the fourth-floor entrance, he shoved her face-first into the wall and jammed the muzzle into the back of her skull. “Move and I will kill you.” He didn’t whisper this time. The voice was clear…hard…. Keys rattled. A lock turned. He opened the door, grabbed her around the neck once more and hauled her into the stairwell. The smell of disuse filled her nostrils. Her mind was replaying his last statement over and over. The words had been void of any emotion. Blank. Dead. They moved up another set of stairs. He was taking her to the roof. The urge to fight roared through her. But the metal tip of the weapon’s barrel kept her submissive. The icy air hit her as he dragged her through the final door. Cold rain fell, making the flat rooftop slippery. Lightning lit the sky, followed by the boom of thunder.
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He pushed her away from him, but kept the muzzle pressed to her skull. “Now get down on your knees and keep your mouth shut. You make a move and you’re dead. You do exactly as I tell you and everything will be just grand.” Realization sucker-punched her. “Gerald?” She resisted the urge to turn around, to allow her eyes to confirm what her brain had told her. “What’re you doing?” Why would Gerald do something like this? Was he responsible for one of the crimes she was evaluating evidence on? This was insane. “I said keep your mouth shut!” She dropped to her knees the way he’d told her, kept her mouth closed. “You’ve made this entirely too difficult.” He circled her. She dared to look up at him. “Keep your head down!” She lowered her gaze. “Every time I fouled up your data, that idiot McBride just let it go. I even did it from your apartment so they would think it was you.” He laughed. “Surprised, aren’t you? Not only am I a magnificent scientist, I’m a wizard with computers.” He paced and paced, the weapon trained on her. She didn’t have to look to know. “You should have been fired the first breach they discovered. But they just kept you around. I ran out of options. So I made a new plan. I took your badge, took care of the security guard and set the security system to total lockdown—full dark mode. No one goes in or out. And here we are.” “I don’t understand.” He slammed the gun against the side of her head. The blow knocked her off balance, and she scrambled to get back into a kneeling position. “This job was supposed to be mine. McBride had already interviewed me. She promised to call me back. Then you showed up. You know that bitch never even called me to let me know I wasn’t getting the job? I needed it. I had plans for tapping into certain opportunities.” “Gerald, I’m sure it was all just a misunderstanding.” Olivia’s head was spinning. She had to calm down, think of the right things to say. She had to keep him talking. “Oh, it was a misunderstanding, all right. I wanted her to see what a mistake she’d made. Then you would be fired and the job would be mine.” Olivia closed her eyes, ordered her head to stop spinning. Didn’t help.
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“But she didn’t fire you.” He suddenly stopped pacing. “I just can’t deal with any of it anymore. Now I’ll have to kill you.”
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Storm Reaper by Jeri Smith-Ready Kiril Vidaso has great power. His Animal Spirit gives him the ability to channel lightning. To call a storm and harness its rage. But he has never felt so powerless as the day he looked over a crowded market and saw the woman he loved and lost seventeen years ago, and her son—their son. And realized that he had doomed the boy to almost certain death. Lady Helena Medora is feeling just as hamstrung. Having a fatherless baby ruined her name and denied her son the right to claim his birthright as a nobleman. With his parentage in doubt, her son must now become a member of the infantry for her country’s war, where his odds of survival are slim to none. Kiril can offer them a way out, but it is dangerous. They will become traitors, hunted by their country and forced to seek refuge in the darkest of wilderness, where their deepest beliefs will be challenged. Including the vow Helena made to never open her heart to Kiril Vidaso again….
Chapter One The lightning sang under Kiril’s skin. It wanted to be part of him, heed his command. But like a tamed wolf, it could just as soon kill its master as obey. He closed his eyes and stretched out his hand, tracing the course of the approaching storm. In the valley below, Ilion troops advanced on his rebel camp, riding in formation on armored warhorses. Kiril had been one of them once, had worn the red-and-yellow uniform on his own back. That was eighteen years ago, before the war, before the Spirits had shown him another way. Uniformed or not, he had never stopped fighting for Ilios—for the proud, honorable nation it once was—and would be again, Spirits willing. Kiril breathed deep, inhaling the storm’s tumultuous essence—the battle between warmth and chill, the sparks that leaped from cloud to cloud. The power. The rain came, pelting his face with cool drops that eased the late-summer heat. His breath quickened, and the tingling in his fingers grew until it felt as if the lightning were already jumping between them. The wind lashed his wet hair over his face, reminding him of the whips they’d used on him and his comrades when they’d first enlisted. His back still bore the scars. Sometimes when he stood before the storm like this, they seemed to shimmy up and down his spine. His fingers uncurled, and with his Firefly Spirit, he called the lightning. He knew the rest of the world saw it as a giant white flash, turning evening to brightest afternoon, but Kiril saw it arc slowly, snaking through the clouds like a drop of sweat descending a woman’s back. He drew it down with his finger, tracing it through the sky to
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meet the large boulder that sat halfway down the hill, between the camp and the approaching troops. Then came the crash, and even for him the world turned white, edged with purple. He held his breath until thunder ripped the sky. Whoops and applause came from the safe shelter of the rebel camp behind him. The lookouts shouted, “They’re running!” Kiril peered over the edge to see pieces of the broken boulder tumbling down the mountain toward the oncoming cavalry soldiers, who scattered like ants from a demolished hill. He willed his breath and heartbeat to ease, then let the storm’s energy seep out of his fingertips, dripping like the rain that coursed over his body. After a last look around at the drenched terrain of the Ilion wilderness, he turned for the rebel camp, where the others waited to congratulate and thank him. For fighters so sorely outnumbered, a battle averted was the sweetest victory of all. The Ilion soldiers would avoid the area for a while, having confirmed their superstitions of the “mountain of the angry gods.” Kiril’s blood still hummed with power. The aches of yesterday’s long ride had faded, and he knew that if he peered under his shirt he would find the shallow sword cuts from last week’s battle completely healed. A lightning strike never failed to cure his ailments. The physical ones, at least. He rubbed his chest as he walked, lost in memory. Some wounds went too deep, even for time itself to heal. *** Kiril gave his false beard one last tug before stepping out of the alley. He kept to the long, late-afternoon shadows as he skirted the crowded, flag-bedecked courtyard in the town of Surnos. What had once been a meat market was now, appropriately enough, a conscription center. The Ilion Senate had lowered the draft age from seventeen to sixteen last year to bolster its falling troop levels. These boys were too young to vote, marry or own property, which meant that their parents had to accompany them to the recruiting center. Most were joined only by their mothers since the turbulent, decade-long occupation of Asermos had already consumed so many of their fathers. For thousands of years they’d all lived as one people in the Asermon Valley, until a few centuries ago when the Ilion nation was formed here across the sea by those who rejected the Spirits. Ilios created its own pantheon of human gods, and in response the Spirits had abandoned the Ilion people, taking away their magic. Ilios finally returned to invade Asermos, seeking its fertile land and rich stores of minerals. But the Asermons formed a fierce resistance, and now the occupation was failing, a fact that the Ilion military refused to acknowledge even as rebellion grew within Ilios itself. Meanwhile, in small pockets of Ilios, the Animal Spirits were awakening once again, bestowing their magic on those who least expected it.
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Kiril surveyed the long lines of nervous young men. With any luck, he’d find at least one disgruntled family who would be happy to feed the growing rebellion here in Ilios. The rise of the military faction had left many peasants and members of the merchant class in desperate straits, their needs neglected in the face of the burgeoning costs of war. After last month’s visit to the recruiting station, he’d brought six new rebel soldiers back to the southern camp, seeking the Spirit magic within themselves that only the wilderness could release. “How dare you!” He turned at the sound of a woman’s shrill voice. She stood across a small table from a bored-looking recruiting officer, whose red-and-yellow uniform glowed in the shaft of sunlight. From this angle, Kiril couldn’t see the woman’s face, only a cascade of gleaming, meticulously coiffed blond curls that reached the center of her back. Her haughty posture and fine clothes told him she was a noblewoman, like his own mother and sister. So why was she in the commoners’ recruiting section? If the young man standing next to her was her son, he should be heading to the officer’s academy. Kiril shifted to the left to get a better view. “How dare you question my patriotism!” The woman slammed her palm against the table and glared down at the recruiter. “Are you deaf, Lieutenant? I told you, I don’t want a waiver. He’s willing to fight. All I want is for my son to have the proper placement befitting his family history.” The recruiter tilted his head. “Your son’s placement does befit his—” he raked a lascivious glance over her body “—family history.” She raised her fist as if to strike the officer. An armed soldier stepped forward, and she lowered her hand. Kiril didn’t blame her for wanting to hit the recruiter—openly alluding to a nobleman’s illegitimacy was tantamount to calling his mother a prostitute. When she spoke again her chin was high, her voice steady and strong. “My father was a general,” she stated between gritted teeth. “My brother died leading cavalry troops in your first fool invasion of Asermos.” A distant memory sparked in Kiril’s mind, a memory born in a different city, a different life. He shuffled closer but looked away, pretending to read the newspaper he’d tucked under his arm. “Ilios is grateful for your family’s sacrifice,” the officer said in a flat, patronizing voice. “But the regulations state that without an established paternity, your son has no special standing to enter the cavalry corps.” “He rides better than all his friends put together,” she said. “His skill with a sword is—” “His skill with a sword will serve him well as part of the infantry.” “Infantry.” She scoffed. “Don’t you mean ‘arrow fodder’? Those revolutionaries in the Asermon hills use our boys for target practice.”
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“They are hardly revolutionaries, merely bandits.” “Spare me the propaganda. I read the news, I know what’s happening up there in the occupation, and I won’t let my son be a part of it.” Kiril looked up and saw the adjacent crowd subtly shift away, as if her treasonous attitude were contagious. The officer’s expression darkened, and he sat up straight in his chair. “Are you threatening to let him desert?” The young man stepped forward. “No!” He looked at the woman. “Mother, I’ll serve in whatever way my country asks, and do it with honor.” “Good boy.” The officer rotated the paper on the desk. “Sign there.” The woman clenched her fists, arms straight and rigid at her side. Her trembling hands drew Kiril’s gaze to the gold bracelet circling her wrist. The newspaper fell from his hands. The woman’s name rose in his throat, and he clamped his mouth shut just in time. The young man exchanged the signed parchment for a bronze medallion. Bronze, Kiril thought, his heartbeat quickening. The lowest level of enlisted service. Poor rations, inexperienced commanders, insufficient armor. The boy would be lucky to last a week in the Asermon hills. After examining the parchment, the officer said, “On behalf of the Ilion nation, I thank you in advance for your service.” He went on to tell the boy when and where to report the next morning. The woman and her son turned to leave the desk, and Kiril saw her face for the first time in nearly seventeen years. Helena. She had the same shocking blue eyes and full lips that had entranced him throughout his youth. When she’d disappeared from his life, that face had haunted his dreams for years. Now his worst fear had turned out to be true—he had ruined her name, caused her downfall. His mistake could bring about the death of her son. Their son.
Chapter Two Cursing the gods, Helena slid the scissors through her son’s hair. Julian’s locks fell to the polished wooden floor, as dark and wavy as those of his scoundrel father, the man who’d halted her life, tarnished her name. Shattered her heart.
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If Kiril Vidaso were in front of her now, she would plunge these scissors into his neck, watch his eyes as they widened in pain and surprise. Sitting in the chair before her, Julian tilted his head. “Mother, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” She snipped another lock. “Hold still or it will be shamefully crooked.” “You don’t have to do this. They’ll cut it tomorrow at the base camp.” “I won’t have you reduced to a commoner in front of everyone.” She tightened her lips as she turned his beautiful shoulder-length hair—the mark of a nobleman—to a neat, if undistinguished mat. He held his chin high and straight. “They can’t turn me into something I’m not.” The pride and sadness welling inside Helena made her want to kiss him. But he was too old for that. She’d done all she could to make him strong and tough. It was his country’s turn to finish the job. He belonged to Ilios now—or what was left of it, after the occupation had sucked its soul and coffers dry. “You did everything you could,” he said. “It’s not your fault the facilitators have left town for fear of the authorities.” The facilitators—men who arranged soldiers’ reassignments in exchange for a bribe—had been her last hope. Helena did not lack for money, only respect and power. And luck, apparently. She moved in front of Julian to examine her work in the lantern light, avoiding her son’s brown eyes so that she wouldn’t picture them staring lifeless at an Asermon sky. Instead, she imagined him returning from war alive and whole, his chest adorned with medals. If he served well, perhaps one of the more desperate noble families would let Julian marry their daughter, and his children would have the honor his own father had stolen. Someone knocked on the door, and she sighed. A beggar, no doubt, since the social hour when she received visitors was long over. “I’ll get it.” Julian started to stand. “Not with half a head of chopped hair, you won’t.” She handed him the scissors. “Stay until I return, and don’t attempt to finish on your own.” Helena entered the stone-tiled foyer, wishing for the thousandth time that her father had seen fit to give her just one full-time servant, someone to answer the door this late in the evening. But she’d done nothing to earn it, having only borne one illegitimate heir. She was lucky to have a house at all. She opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow. A man’s face appeared in the three-inch gap. Those eyes… She blinked hard, then focused on the red hair and neatly trimmed beard. No, this was a stranger. “What do you want?” The man took off his cap. “Lady Medora?” he asked, but with a bemused tone that implied he already knew her. “I need to speak with you about your son.” “Are you from the army? They said he was to report tomorrow.” He gestured to his beard. “Do I look like an army man to you?”
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“Then what do you want?” “I heard about your dilemma. Your son’s infantry assignment is an outrage, given his talents and breeding.” She gripped the edge of the door. “His breeding is in doubt.” “Not by me.” Helena stared up into the stranger’s dark, dancing eyes, so familiar yet so foreign. “What do you care?” He glanced up and down the street. “I can help him find a place where he belongs.” She drew in a sharp breath, afraid to hope. “Are you a facilitator?” A corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.” “Mother, who’s there?” Helena turned to see Julian, his hair short on the right, long on the left. His strong, looming presence made her feel safe enough to draw back the chain and let the stranger in. The man stepped quickly across the threshold, looking as if he were searching for something in her son’s face. She closed and locked the door. The stranger turned to her. “There’s not much time to save him.” Helena stepped back. She’d never heard it put so starkly before, but it was true. An infantry assignment all but guaranteed Julian would never return home, that she would place flowers beneath his name on the war monument in Leukos. “How much do you want?” she asked the man. “No money. Just the benefit of the doubt.” He looked at Julian. “Have you been to southern Ilios?” Julian nodded. “I’ve spent the last two summers at training camps in Saldos.” “In the wilderness?” “Of course. Most of our exercises are in the field.” “Have you ever felt the call of an Animal Spirit?” “What?!” Helena planted herself between them. “How dare you accuse my son of such beastly ways? Just who do you think you are?” The man looked down at her with eyes of the deepest brown, and she felt the world tilt. He was… “Someone who cares,” he whispered. A pounding came at the door, startling her. “Don’t answer that,” the stranger said. “If you have a back door, I suggest we use it.” “Are you crazy? Why should I trust you—”
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“Open up,” said a deep voice outside, “by order of the Ilion Army.” She froze. Julian started to move forward, but she held out a hand to halt him, then pressed her ear against the wooden door. Three pairs of boots shuffled on her porch, and she thought she could hear the clink of steel. Her hearing had actually improved with age, especially in the last year, since she had turned thirty-four. “They’re armed,” she whispered. “We can’t just ignore them.” Julian stepped forward and shouted through the door, “Why do you call so late?” “We’re here for the recruit,” said a different man from the one who had spoken before. The stranger took Julian’s arm. “Step back and cover your eyes,” he said in a soft, firm voice. Julian shrugged off his grip. “Why?” “They want to take you tonight. We need to escape.” “I’m going with them. It’s my duty.” “Listen to me!” The man grabbed Julian’s lapels. “Do you want to take an arrow to the chest, then have your throat cut like you were livestock? Do you want to die in an occupied land, dishonored by your enemy and forsaken by your commanders?” He shook Julian. “And for what? Grapes? Cheap limestone? This is what the glorious Ilion flag stands for? Is that what you stand for?” Julian shoved him away then spoke above the pounding on the door. “No. I stand for what Ilios once was.” “As do I. So step back and cover your eyes.” The stranger looked at Helena. “You, too. It’s for your own protection.” “You’re mad.” She reached for the doorknob. “If there’s anyone I need protection from, it’s you.” The moment she turned the lock, three men shoved open the door. She stumbled back. The stranger caught her, and for a moment the feel of his hands on her shoulders called to mind a distant past. She straightened up and pulled out of his grip. The head soldier removed his hat and nodded to her with respect. “Forgive us for the late-night incursion, Lady Medora, but we’re here for your son.” His comrade handed her two parchment pieces. At the top of one read the word Orders. “There must be some mistake,” she said. “He wasn’t to report until tomorrow, and certainly not dragged from his house.” She looked at the other paper, reading, “‘Reason for Detention—Desertion Risk.’” A veil of rage fell over her vision. “I will not let you insult my son. On what basis do you accuse him of deserting?” The third man stepped forward, a police officer in a white-and-yellow uniform. “After leaving the recruiting station, you attempted to employ a facilitator.” He displayed his own paper. “We have a warrant for your arrest. Third-degree treason.” Helena’s spine turned to ice. Arrested? For trying to protect her son?
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Julian turned to stare at her. “You told me it wasn’t illegal.” She remained silent, not wanting to incriminate herself further. In fact, she’d known the facilitators were against the law, but she’d never heard of that law being enforced. The first soldier, the one with the kind face, gestured to her and Julian. “If you’d like a moment to say goodbye…” She turned to the red-haired stranger behind her. He gave a slow nod and rubbed his right eye. “Who is this man?” the police officer demanded. Helena ignored him and turned to Julian. “Make me proud, son.” She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Then she angled her mouth toward his ear. “Close your eyes.” She shut her own, not a moment too soon. Through her lids she saw a yellow-white flash, like a tiny sun had erupted in her foyer. The three men screamed, then began to babble in pain, spitting out the word blind again and again. A low voice came near her ear. “You can open your eyes now.” She whirled to see the soldiers clutching their faces. The police officer flailed his arms, his blue eyes covered in a thin white film. The stranger pulled the sword from the lead soldier’s sheath. “This will come in handy.” He brushed between Julian and Helena, heading for the back door. “Bring nothing but comfortable shoes. We leave the house in one minute.”
Chapter Three From the tension of Helena’s arms around his waist, Kiril wasn’t sure if she thought this was a rescue or a kidnapping. Either way, he had neither the time nor the security to explain. Ilion soldiers were pursuing, hard. They rode south, as fast as safely possible through the thick woods flanking the road from Surnos. Helena sat behind Kiril on his dark bay mare, and Julian rode the family’s young black gelding, who was skittish but fast. Kiril hadn’t let Helena bring her own horse, for its glossy white coat would have announced their presence in the moonlit forest. With the curves of Helena’s body pressed against him, it was hard not to remember their nights together. Could it have been seventeen years ago? It felt like yesterday. He wondered whether, deep down, she recognized him. When she discovered the truth, she would surely lash out at the man who’d left her dishonored, with a son he’d never claimed. Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d known he was a father—it was the only way to progress in his Firefly Aspect from the first to second phase. One day he’d only been able to create light; the next, he could channel lightning itself. A stunning development for a twenty-two-year-old.
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He’d waited for her that night at their weekly rendezvous point, beside the stone bridge in Letus Park in their home city of Leukos. Dawn arrived, but no Helena. For weeks he searched the city, but she had disappeared. Now he realized her parents must have sent her to Surnos to bear and raise the child, where she would bring less shame upon them. Not that it would have mattered; they would never have allowed her to marry Kiril, no matter the quality of his family, no matter that before he joined the rebellion they’d seen him as her “perfect match.” Kiril and Julian slowed the horses to a walk to navigate a steep slope. “How much farther?” Helena whispered. “A few hours,” Kiril told her. “After we cross the stream we’ll turn left and head southeast.” “But there’s nothing in that direction except the Great Swamp.” He didn’t answer as he guided his horse to walk in the center of the stream. The water, which reached just above the mare’s ankles, would hide their scent from the hounds. Kiril looked back to ensure that Julian was following. He didn’t have much choice now that he was a deserter. Kiril’s heart twisted—he’d abandoned Julian before his birth, and now he’d destroyed the boy’s only chance to regain a shred of Ilion honor. I’ll make it up to him, he thought, if it takes the rest of my life. If he’d had any doubt Julian was his son, it had vanished the moment he’d walked through Helena’s door. The resemblance was unmistakable. The only difference he could see was how much more levelheaded Julian was than Kiril had been at his age. The young man had shown no fear or panic during tonight’s headlong chase out of Surnos. No doubt Helena had raised him to be the man of the house from an early age, with little of the coddling received by most young noblemen, including Kiril himself. A mile downstream, they climbed a shallow bank then turned the horses so they could drink. Around them, the damp forest sang with life, the high chirp of crickets blending with the earblasting blare of cicadas. “I’ve never been anywhere so dark,” Helena whispered. “You’re safe, Mother,” Julian said. “Bears won’t attack people on horseback.” After a long moment, she said under her breath, “Bears?” Kiril shifted on his riding blanket to look at her. “Would you like some light?” “No, they’ll see a torch for miles.” “It won’t be that bright.” He looped the reins around his wrist, then cupped his hands as if holding a ball. Breathing deep, he let out an ounce of power. A faint white sphere appeared between his hands. Helena gasped. “How do you do that?” She put her hand out then drew it back.
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“You can touch it,” he said. “It won’t burn.” She pressed closer to reach around his waist, stirring a sudden passion in him that threatened to make the sphere flare like the sun. He held his breath as her long, thin fingers sank into the light, then brushed his palms. The sphere painted Helena’s face with a soft white glow, reminding him of statues of the goddesses. Her blue eyes widened, gold-tipped lashes fluttering, as she marveled at Kiril’s light. Her soft moan went straight to the base of his spine. “And the flash of light in my house,” she said, “that blinded the men—” “Only temporarily,” he noted. “But how?” He raised the sphere so Julian could see better, and spoke to both of them. “My Guardian Spirit Animal is Firefly.” “So you’re one of the beasts,” Helena grumbled. “But you speak like an Ilion.” “I’ll always be Ilion. The Spirits want to bring the world together again, one people under Their guidance.” “Ridiculous,” Julian said. “The gods would never allow it.” “What have the gods done for you lately?” When they didn’t answer, he said, “I’ll ask again— have either of you experienced any unexplained changes, any powers?” “Of course not,” Helena said quickly, then gestured to Kiril’s light. “Nothing that freakish.” “What about enhanced senses, strength or balance?” “Shh.” Helena grabbed his arm. “What’s that sound?” Kiril listened hard but heard nothing. He shook his head. Julian matched the gesture with a shrug. “Hounds!” She pointed back the way they’d come. Kiril doused the light. “Let’s go.” After dashing through another five miles of sparse woods, Kiril signaled for them to slow at the edge of a weedy clearing. They listened for pursuers over the huffing breath of their horses. “Anything?” Julian asked Helena. She shook her head. “We’ve left the dogs behind. No hoofbeats, so they must be following on foot.”
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“For now, at least.” Kiril urged his horse to enter the moonlit clearing. “Halt!” The commanding voice drew a gasp of alarm from Helena. “Relax,” Kiril told her. He shouted the password, and a tall, sturdily built blond man strode out of the dark forest beyond the clearing, carrying a small torch. Kiril hailed his best friend and removed his cap so that Filip could see that he still wore the disguise. It was their signal to refer to him under his alternate identity. “Elias, welcome back.” Filip turned to Julian. “And you, young man. Welcome to the cause.” “I never said I’d join the rebellion.” Julian looked at Helena. “Mother, I could still go back and surrender, tell the army it’s all a mistake.” “If you run, our archers will shoot you.” Filip jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “If you don’t run, our cook will feed you. Your choice.” Kiril heard Helena’s stomach grumble, and he suppressed a chuckle. “I’d rather starve than eat with rebel scum,” she said. “Suit yourself.” Filip turned back to Kiril. “Were you followed?” “All the way from Surnos.” He looked back the way they’d come. The Ilions would never give up—not on familiar ground, at least. “They’re still in pursuit, so we’d better get going.” A chill slithered down Helena’s spine. “Going where?” she asked. “Surely not into the swamp.” Filip smiled. “Best place in the whole country to hide.” A hundred tales of horror flashed through her mind. “But people enter and never return!” She slid awkwardly off Kiril’s horse and hit the ground with a grunt, nearly twisting her ankle. “I’m not going.” She strode over to Julian’s horse, placed her foot on his and let him lift her up behind him. She hid her wince; after so much riding, it would be hard to even walk tomorrow. Assuming she lived that long. Julian gathered up the reins. “We’ll take our chances with the archers,” he murmured to her. “This man is bluffing, no doubt.” He tugged the right rein to turn their gelding around. The horse didn’t move—in fact, it jerked its head back hard enough to yank the reins out of his hand. Julian nudged the horse’s flank with a heel. “Come on, Pepper.” Still the horse balked, the rims of his eyes showing white as he resisted the reins, keeping his gaze locked with Filip’s. What in the name of all the gods was wrong with the silly nag?
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Elias laughed. “He won’t do anything my friend doesn’t want him to. Filip’s a third-phase Horse. Animals are under his influence.” Helena let out an exasperated sigh. “More of your Spirit magic?” Filip held out his hand waist-high, and Pepper stepped forward and nuzzled it. “That’s a good boy,” Filip crooned, keeping the torch at an arm’s length from the horse’s head. He looked up at Julian. “By the way, he hates the name Pepper.” The name had been Helena’s idea. “Charlatans,” she said under her breath. Filip looked between the two horses. “Your mounts are exhausted. Best if we go on foot the rest of the way to camp.” Helena grumbled and refused Filip’s hand to assist her off the horse. As a result, she stumbled when she landed. She flailed for a moment, then fell onto her backside on the spongy ground. Elias knelt beside her and helped her up without laughing or even smirking at her. He also didn’t yank her arm like a commoner would, but placed one hand under her elbow and another on her waist, like a gentleman. The gesture didn’t mesh with his scruffy appearance. She stared up at his face in the flickering torchlight. He averted his eyes quickly, let go of her and tugged his beard again. Then he held out his arm for her to take. She looked behind her, where the Ilion soldiers would soon appear. The swamp held unknown terrors she couldn’t imagine, but perhaps it held freedom as well. She grasped the crook of Elias’s elbow. With a deep breath, she let him lead her into the darkness.
Chapter Four Kiril watched his best friend’s face contort with disbelief. Filip pointed to Julian, who sat eating with his mother at the fire of the rebel’s base camp. “That boy is your son?” he whispered. “Does he know?” “Not yet. I’ll tell them soon.” “Them? She doesn’t know either?” He scratched his false beard. “Hence the disguise.” “Kiril—” “Shh.” He grabbed his friend’s arm and dragged him outside the light of the campfire. “Don’t say that name. First, I think she has enhanced hearing from some latent Spirit power. Most of all, she knows Kiril as the man who debauched her, ruined her life. Because her son’s a bastard in the eyes of the nobility, he doesn’t get to join the cavalry like you and I did at his age. They were about to cart him off for the infantry.”
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“For the Asermon operation? That’s a death sentence.” “And it’s my fault. Rescuing them was the least I could do.” “I’ll grant you that. When are you going to tell them, or haven’t you planned that far ahead?” “When we’re far enough into the swamp that he can’t run away.” Kiril glanced at Helena, who was rubbing her arms and casting nervous glances at the dark forest. “And after she likes me enough not to kill me when she finds out.” Filip shook his head. “You have balls the size of boulders, my friend.” He pointed at Kiril as he walked back to the tent. “It’ll catch up with you one day. Wait and see.” Kiril sighed. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have to wait long at all. *** Helena was living a nightmare. The last two days in this endless swamp had left her a sweaty, bedraggled, bug-bitten mess. She took little comfort in the fact that the rest of the troupe—Filip, his wife Alanka, Elias, his stepson Erik, and Julian—looked just as bad (though at least Julian’s hair was evenly cut now). She’d taught herself not to scream at the snakes gliding through the pitch-black water, even when they seemed to be aimed at her canoe. After a close call with a snapping turtle, she’d kept her hands inside the small vessel. Once, a low-hanging branch had nearly taken out her left eye, so she’d learned to stay alert and lean into unladylike positions when necessary. The nights were the worst. The swamp made noises no one could explain—even Filip who, as a third-phase Horse, could share the mind of any animal in the vicinity. It was almost as if the water and trees were conversing, conspiring against the humans in their midst. She now knew the true meaning of wilderness. On the third night, they sat around the slow-burning campfire, eating the duck Alanka had shot that afternoon. She supposedly possessed the Wolf “Aspect,” as they called it. Her ability to turn invisible made her an excellent hunter, but it also made Helena nervous. Elias’s stepson, Erik, handed her a fresh cup of water, infused with a special compound to restore their strength. A thin blond man in his late twenties, the healer—an Otter, supposedly—had soothed her blisters each night. Helena had asked him how such a nice man could get wrapped up in such a heinous operation, assuming his stepfather, Elias, had strong-armed him into it. She was surprised to discover that Erik’s mother and father had been two of the first Ilions to be beckoned by the so-called Guardian Spirits. With Filip, Alanka, Elias and a few others, they had birthed the movement to spread the word about the Spirits throughout Ilios, a movement that eventually became a rebellion when the Ilion government began cracking down on other religions. Erik’s father had been killed in a botched raid, and a few years later his mother died in a skirmish, shortly after marrying Elias.
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“River’s getting deeper,” Erik said to the others now. “We’ll probably reach the lake early tomorrow.” “Lake Xenia?” Helena looked at the others in disbelief. “You must be joking. It leads to the underworld.” “A silly myth,” Alanka said, focusing on the bow she was restringing. Helena wanted to throw her water in the woman’s face, but she was too thirsty to waste it. “You’re a fine one to talk about myths, with your absurd Reawakening stories.” To Alanka’s surprised glance she responded, “Yes, I’ve heard all about your foolish dreams of the past and future, that your Spirits will save you in dire times. Yet we still occupy your lands. Where are your Spirits?” “They’re coming.” Alanka gave her a disarming smile, then returned to her task, humming a sprightly tune under her breath. Helena was about to express her skepticism when she heard soft footsteps behind her. “What was that?” She turned and looked into the dense forest. “I didn’t hear anything,” Alanka said. The others murmured agreement. Helena stood and faced the thick copse of juniper trees. The footsteps came closer. Two golden eyes appeared, and she drew in a sharp breath. A creature padded forward into the faint edge of the campfire. A tawny feline, spotted black, its face tabby-striped. It gazed at her, unblinking. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “Filip, is there an animal over there?” Alanka asked. He answered in a low voice. “I don’t sense anything.” “That’s absurd.” Helena pointed to the cat. “It’s right there.” Elias stood and came to her side. “What do you see?” She put a hand to her head. “I’m not hallucinating. It’s real.” He touched the back of her shoulder. “What do you see?” he whispered. “A cat.” She turned back to the animal. “It looks like Lea, the pet we had when Julian was a boy. But bigger.” She squatted down, reached out her hand and pursed her lips. “Julian, don’t you think it looks like Lea?” “Mother, I don’t see a cat. But I believe you.” “Why?” Elias asked him. “Have you had strange experiences, too?”
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“No.” Julian cleared his throat. “Maybe.” Filip spoke as he approached Helena. “Bobcats are too cautious to come this close to a campfire.” “I’m not crazy.” Helena caught her breath as the cat padded closer, whiskers curled forward, holding her gaze with its golden eyes. Its footsteps echoed in her head and she felt like they were walking across the terrain of her soul. It sniffed her hand, rubbing its velvet nose against her fingertips. And then it vanished. “Where’d it go?” She blinked hard. “It was just here.” “Only for you.” Elias helped her to her feet. “Bobcat is your Spirit Animal.” “Nonsense!” She yanked her arm out of his grip. “Someone probably let their pet loose in the swamp. That’s why it was so tame. The rest of you are playing a trick on me by pretending you didn’t see it.” “Believe what you want,” Elias said, “but the day will come when you’ll have to accept your Guardian Spirit. Filip and I denied it, too, when we were younger. We can help you.” “I don’t want help. I want to go home.” Helena felt stupid as soon as she uttered her most fervent wish. She had no more home. Rage swelled inside her, tightening her chest. She wanted to throw something, break everything. Most of all, she wanted to hit someone. *** Helena woke with a start. It was a still night, but the moon must have risen, because she could see into all the shadows. Yet when she looked up, she saw only leaves, and beyond them, a starless sky. She rolled to her hands and knees. Something had changed. A bluish light suffused her surroundings. A breeze caressed her face, bringing with it a host of scents. And the sounds…each leaf had a distinctive rustle. It was maddening. She slapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the onslaught of sensations. The breeze shifted, carrying a new rush of scents. Her heart seemed to thud to a stop. He was here. She opened her eyes and looked past Alanka’s rolled-up bedding, past the sleeping form of Filip. Another bedroll lay empty.
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Helena tiptoed over to it, marveling at the new stealth of her bare feet. Filip shifted in his sleep as she passed, but did not wake. She knelt next to the empty bedroll, lowered her head and breathed deep. “You…” Of all the people, in all the places… Perhaps her memory was mistaken. She had to know for sure. Tying her hair back into a knot to keep it free of twigs, she stepped out of the campsite, following his scent. It led toward the river, where she heard splashing—and not the single impact of a jumping fish or frog, or a turtle sliding into the water. As the trees thinned, she saw him. He was bathing waist-deep in the river, facing away from her and scrubbing his face and head, which must have been why he didn’t hear her approach the edge of the water. She looked down. A clump of red fur lay on the ground at her feet. She knelt and picked it up. Not fur—human hair. A beard, mustache and hairpiece. A disguise. “I knew it,” she snarled. The splashing stopped. The man turned his head, his dark brown hair curling over the nape of his neck, streaming water down his back. His cheeks were covered in dark stubble. “Kiril.” As soon as she spoke his name, he strode forward, naked and not the least self-conscious. The water swished around his waist, then his thighs and finally his ankles as he neared. She struggled to keep her focus on his face. “Helena.” His eyes filled with regret—or maybe guilt. “I can explain.” “Later,” she whispered. “Come here.” His mouth curved into an astonished smile as he closed the last few feet between them. “I’ve wanted to tell you,” he said. “I was just waiting for the right moment.” “And here it is,” she said sweetly, then punched him in the face.
Chapter Five Kiril fell back into the shallow water, his head reeling. Had Helena just punched him? When did she get so strong? And how did she know— A sharp kick in the ribs interrupted his thoughts. Instinctively he turned on his side to protect his most sensitive parts. She kicked him again, but this time he rolled to his hands and knees,
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and her blow fell short. He grabbed her foot while she was off balance. If she were a man, he would’ve dropped her in the mud. “Wait,” he said. She landed another swipe to his nose, so hard he couldn’t breathe, and he let go. The agony nearly blinded him, but a lifetime’s training had taught him how to fight through the pain. His training, however, had never taught him how to fight a woman. “Helena, stop. Let me—” She struck him again, and this time his nose crunched under her fist. “All these years—” she kicked him in the gut “—I can’t hold my head up in decent society.” She shoved him on his back in the water and loomed over him. “My son has no father!” She pulled back her foot, and he knew it was aimed to make sure he never sired another child. Kiril surged up and grabbed her by the waist. With a twist and roll, he pinned her beneath him in the shallow water. Before he could seize her wrists, she landed another blow to the side of his head. He felt the blood trickle inside his ear. He tried to capture her legs so she couldn’t land a foot or knee, but the water made her slippery. Writhing beneath him, her body showed through her wet clothes, which didn’t help his concentration. She bucked him off, but he didn’t let go. As she tried to get up, he slid his leg under hers and swept her off her feet. In another moment he was upon her again, this time out of the water and into the dark mud, where he had more traction. He pinned down her wrists and thighs, but she kept struggling. “Listen,” he panted. “Clearly you’re a Bobcat and stronger than I am now, slightly. Definitely faster. But I have years of training in hand-to-hand combat.” He tightened his grip on her wrists. “And don’t forget my powers. My light could blind your sensitive eyes forever.” She glared up at him. “You wouldn’t do it.” “Why not? Because I feel guilty? I’m just rebel scum, remember? Besides, that guilt faded a tiny bit every time you punched me.” She looked down between their bodies and gave a crooked smile. “Obviously part of you likes it.” He stared at her, desire urging him on. Quickly he feinted as if to kiss her. She pulled in a sharp breath, and he drew back. Her eyes showed a flicker of disappointment, and beneath him, her hips shifted. He held back a groan at the feel of her warm, wet softness, but mere silence couldn’t hide his passion. His mind was flooded with memories: sweat mingling, fingernails clawing and her voice in his ear, screaming his name. From the look in her eyes, she remembered, too.
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He took in a slow breath. “How many parts of you like it?” He lowered his head again, whispering against her lips. “This part?” “You wouldn’t dare.” “You’re right.” He risked a sly smile. “I know that if I kissed you right now—really kissed you—” He brushed the barest edge of his mouth against hers. “If I slipped my tongue between your lips…” Her lips parted, as if by their own will. “I’d bite it off.” “And that’s why I wouldn’t dare.” His smile faded, and he drew back to meet her gaze. “Helena, please know that I’m sorry. I tried to find you… I can never make it up to you and Julian, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.” Her eyes softened for a moment, then narrowed again. “I want nothing to do with you, Kiril Vidaso.” His ears tingled at the sound of his family name, the one he hadn’t used since the day he joined the rebellion. He shifted one finger to tug her gold bracelet. “Then why do you still wear this?” Her mouth tightened into a hard line. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my son.” “Our son.” A sharp whistle came from the campsite, rising and falling three times in quick succession. The invasion alarm. *** Helena raced back to the camp, Kiril on her heels. Though her heart pounded with fear, part of her reveled in her newfound grace and agility. She hadn’t felt this alive since she was a young woman—yes, since the last time she’d been with this man. It couldn’t be his presence that made her feel that way again. She’d sooner believe it was Bobcat magic, however offensive to the gods that might be. When they reached the campsite, the others were cramming gear into their packs. She ran to Julian, instinctively wanting to protect him. “They’re coming, Mother.” He handed Helena her pack. “Ilion soldiers.” “How far?” “A few miles,” Alanka said. “I saw them when I was on patrol. Twenty of them, fully armed.” Helena gasped. So many men, just to bring her and Julian home? No doubt they planned to make an example of them.
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“Here’s the plan.” Filip stepped into the middle of the campsite. “Alanka and I will stay and provide a distraction, engage them if we have to.” He pointed back toward the river. “The four of you take the boats, two each. Split up when you reach the lake. Elias and Helena will turn right and go west, while Erik and Julian will go east. We’ll meet at the Number Four rendezvous point, down the Osprey River.” “I’m not leaving my son,” Helena said. “You’re both targets. If the soldiers get past us, they’ll have to choose between you.” Filip pointed to the boats. “If you prefer, go with Erik, and Julian can go with his—” he cut himself off “—with Elias.” Helena felt relieved Filip had caught himself. Now was not the time to introduce Julian to his father. “There’s a third choice,” she said. “I could turn myself in.” Julian stepped forward. “Mother, no. They’ll arrest you, especially now that we’ve run.” “I have connections. They might show leniency.” Julian dumped his pack on the ground. “If you go back, I’m going with you. And you can bet I’ll get no leniency.” She gritted her teeth, wondering if her son was bluffing. He never bluffed. He was one of them now, as was she, whether they liked it or not. “Fine.” She picked up her pack and headed for Kiril’s boat. She had no intention of letting the scoundrel anywhere near her son. Kiril caught up to her on the trail to the river. “This should be interesting.” She glanced at his face, bruised and bleeding from her attack, and gave a heavy sigh at the thought of spending several days alone with him. Perhaps she’d be better off facing the entire Ilion army. *** Kiril tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his left side as he rowed their boat down the river. If the Ilion soldiers found them, he’d have worse than a cracked rib to worry about. Helena sat in the front, guiding the two skiffs with her newly enhanced night vision. She leaned forward, hands gripping the sides of the boat. If she’d had cat ears, they’d have been twitching. It made sense that Bobcat had chosen her. Her ladylike exterior had always masked a barely contained ferocity. It was what had attracted him to her seventeen years ago—half a lifetime for her. Only a woman with a taste for adventure would have let someone like him into her life. Suddenly Helena turned her head to the side and looked behind them. “They’re coming!”
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He gritted his teeth against the pain and increased their speed. From the splashes behind him, he knew Erik was keeping pace with them. Ten soldiers appeared on the bank ahead of them. “Halt!” one of them called. “By order of the nation of Ilios, I command you to come ashore.” Kiril rowed faster, his rib stabbing his gut with every motion, but it was too late. The Ilions waded into the shallow water, ready to intercept. Kiril’s group was outnumbered. He had one chance, one weapon, that could save them all. But in his current condition, it could wipe out his last remaining scrap of strength. He set his oar inside the boat and whispered to Helena, “Cover your eyes. Don’t just close them—put your hands over them.” Kiril repeated the order to the others, then held his palms shoulder-width apart and closed his eyes. As he’d feared, his injuries had weakened his powers, and the energy was slow to stir, like a hibernating bear. He called on his Firefly Spirit and, as a quick afterthought, prayed that few animals were looking this way. The electricity surged within him, the final remnants of last week’s storm. If he gave it all, it could kill him. But if he held back, they would all be destroyed—his stepson, his son and the woman he thought he’d lost forever. So Kiril sent the light.
Chapter Six Helena saw the world explode. Even with her hands covering her face, the force from Kiril’s light spell made red spots dance before her vision. Screams of agony echoed throughout the forest. A moment later, all was dark. She opened her eyes to see a world of chaos. The ten Ilion soldiers had been on the verge of overtaking them, but now the men staggered through the water, shrieking and flailing about in fear and fury. One of them stumbled forward and grabbed the edge of their boat, threatening to tip it over. Helena kicked his forearm, causing his sword to go flying into the swamp. He turned to fumble for it, and she landed a solid punch on his jaw. He reeled, yowling. When he lurched toward her again, hands grasping for her neck, she ducked and slammed her fist into his stomach. He doubled over and fell into the water. “Let’s row!” She checked that Erik and Julian were safe, then looked at Kiril. He was slumped over in the back of the boat. Uttering a mix of a curse and a prayer, Helena picked up the other oar. They drifted past another blind soldier, who raised his sword in a threatening gesture. She slammed the oar into the side of his head.
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The current picked up, carrying the two boats away from the soldiers. They rowed in silence for another mile or two, tension and worry snapping the air. The cypress trees loomed low over the water, as if wanting to pull the out-of-place humans into their grasp forever. “How is he?” Erik called from the boat behind her. Helena examined Kiril’s form. “He’s breathing, but I can’t tell anything more from here. Should we stop?” “No,” Erik said. “There could be more troops. If Filip and Alanka didn’t divert them all, some of the soldiers could head downstream to intercept us. Best to keep going.” “He saved our lives,” Julian said. “I hope he didn’t lose his own to do it.” Helena gazed at Kiril, slumped against the other end of the boat. They had to follow him now. By Ilion tradition, saving a person’s life meant they owed their loyalty to him, until the favor was repaid. Just last night, Kiril had revealed that this debt of honor was what had dragged him into the rebellion in the first place after Filip saved him from one of Alanka’s arrows. Helena squared her shoulders and rowed faster. She would keep Kiril alive—and not just to repay the debt. Despite the rage that had simmered within her for so long, his presence now gave her a strange sense of hope and excitement she hadn’t felt in years. Still, she refused to indulge in any thoughts but survival. She wouldn’t think of the way his dark eyes had sparked with desire as they’d grappled in the mud, or the way his hands had gripped her wrists. Thoughts of other parts of him sliding against her—and how they’d feel inside her—were absolutely off-limits. And to her dying day, she would never admit to herself how easily she could have thrown him off. Slowly the river widened and the sky grew lighter. She tried not to imagine her son drifting away from her on the lake, perhaps lost forever in this godsforsaken wilderness. It was too late to think that way. Like it or not, she was one of the Spirit people now. Bobcat had claimed her, and she realized she could never go back to the way she was. And she wouldn’t want to. The world would seem flat and muffled compared to this. The lake opened before them, and she gasped. It was larger than she’d ever expected—she couldn’t even see to the other side. Towering cypress trees grew in the middle of the water, the rising sun shining pink off their stiltlike roots. They rowed both boats to the bank of the lake. Erik examined Kiril’s semiconscious form while Helena watched with apprehension. She cringed to see the bruises she had left on his face and torso. “He’s in shock from overusing his powers,” the Otter healer said. He avoided Helena’s eyes. “His injuries certainly don’t help, but I’ll bandage his rib cage so the crack can set.” “Why did you attack him?” Julian said to her. “Was Elias threatening you?”
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She avoided her son’s eyes. “When I woke up I was disoriented from my new…powers. I had the urge to hunt.” Yes, that sounded good. “I followed the trail of a squirrel to the river.” Did squirrels frequent the river? No matter. “When I saw Elias, the Bobcat in me thought he was stealing my prey. The more he tried to calm me down, the angrier I became.” Julian shifted away from her, as if afraid she would lose control again. “I’m fine now,” she said. “Come kiss me goodbye.” She kept her voice steady, hiding her anxiety. “Don’t worry, Mother.” He embraced her. “I’ll see you in a few days.” And then what? she thought. We become rebels? Fight against everything we’ve ever believed in? It was one thing to be called by a Spirit, but another giant step to fighting on its behalf against her own people. Erik closed his healer’s kit. “I’ve treated his physical wounds, but I can’t heal his loss of power. He’ll have to recover that on his own.” He leaned over and gently patted Kiril’s cheek. “Father, can you hear me?” Kiril stirred, dark lashes fluttering. “Julian?” he murmured. The Otter gave the others an uncomfortable glance, and Helena realized he knew their secret. Now everyone knew except Julian himself. “No, it’s Erik.” He squeezed Kiril’s hand, his pale face pinched with concern. “Helena’s going to care for you until we meet at the rendezvous point. You just rest and get your strength back. That’s an order.” “Otters…such tyrants,” Kiril slurred. Helena looked at Erik. “Do you want to travel with him instead? I’ll go with Julian.” “I wish I could.” He stood and looked out at the dark lake waters. “But you two would get lost. The rendezvous point lies in a maze of water and trees that I couldn’t begin to describe.” He leveled a soft, blue-eyed gaze on her. “Nothing in the Great Swamp moves in a straight line You’d end up wandering through it the rest of your lives.” “Which would turn out to be rather short,” Julian murmured. “No…” Kiril stirred, angled his head and looked like he was trying to open his eyes. “I go with Helena,” he whispered before sinking into a heavy sleep again. “What should I do?” she asked Erik, cursing her sense of helplessness. He handed her a small pack. “Change the bandage in two days and use this poultice on his bruises. Do all the rowing yourself, and don’t let him lift anything heavy.” He joined Julian in the other boat then turned back to her. “And pray for a storm.”
Chapter Seven
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Helena watched Kiril pass in and out of consciousness all morning as she rowed the boat counterclockwise around the lake, keeping the shore in sight. Sometimes he would wake with a start then glance around wildly. When his gaze alit on her, he would relax and sink back into slumber, a lazy smile curving his lips. She recognized that look from long ago, when he had weakened her knees with his carefree, roguish charm. His eyes had grown stormy and serious in the past seventeen years, which must have been why she hadn’t recognized him at first. How much remained of the man she had loved, and how much had the war and rebellion stripped away? By noon, the sun had crested the trees and was beating down on her, making her eyelids as heavy as wool blankets. Was she nocturnal, like a cat, now that her Bobcat Spirit had called her? At any rate, they would get sunburned without cover. She rowed into shore and tied the boat to the long roots of a gum tree, then nudged Kiril awake. “I need to sleep,” she told him. “Can you keep watch?” He nodded and started to get out of the boat, which swayed under his precarious weight. She let him grasp her arm so she could help him onto dry land. Kiril ran his hands hard over his face several times then shook his head. He opened his bag and withdrew a packet of dried venison. “You hungry?” he asked her. “No, I just want to sleep.” But drowsiness abandoned her the moment she stretched out on her bedroll. Too many questions plagued her mind. “Now what?” she asked him. “Specifically?” “This Bobcat…entity. What does it want?” “He wants you to accept him as your Spirit. As soon as it’s safe, you should undertake the Bestowing. You’ll go off on your own for three days, no food or water or sleep—” “Sounds lovely.” He chuckled. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Terrifying. Exhausting. But singularly amazing.” “What about the gods?” “The gods don’t—” He cut himself off, and she wished she could see his face. “They don’t what?” she said. “Exist?” He sighed. “That’s for you to decide. We each make our own journey.”
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“Where did your journey take you?” “All over. I think I had the most indirect route to the Spirits of anyone alive.” He told her about his time eighteen years ago as a prisoner of war of the Spirit People in Asermos, where Firefly had first called him. He described how he’d escaped and returned home, how the antiAsermon intelligence he’d gathered had made him an Ilion hero. But still Firefly had not given up, despite his treachery against the Spirits. “Why did you never tell me this when we were younger?” she asked him. “If I’d shown you that trick with the light when you were seventeen, you’d have run screaming.” She smiled. “Maybe.” “I didn’t know who I was back then. It made me reckless, irresponsible. Especially with you.” She laughed groggily, his voice having soothed her near sleep again. “It’s not as if I discouraged you.” “I ruined you, when all I ever wanted was to—” He cut himself off again. “Never mind. You won’t believe me.” “Try me,” she whispered. “That last night, when you didn’t come to meet me…I was going to ask you to run away.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to ask you to marry me.” “Very funny,” she said, and fell asleep. *** Helena woke coated in sweat. A cool wind swept over her forehead. She rolled over to see that the afternoon sky had grayed, with giant puffy clouds moving north. She sat up. “It’s going to rain,” she told Kiril. No answer. She turned to see him propped against the fallen tree trunk, asleep. “Some guard you’re keeping.” She got to her feet, stomped over to him and shook his sleeve. “Kiril, we need to set up—” He slumped over, limp as a rag doll. “Kiril!” Gods, please don’t let him be dead. She felt the pulse at his neck, faint and erratic. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a thought knocked against her memory. Something Erik had said… Pray for a storm. Perhaps there was hope yet. She dipped her shirttail in the lake, then squeezed it over Kiril’s face. He stirred at the impact of the dripping water.
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“Kiril, a storm is coming. What does that mean?” He opened his eyes slowly. “It can save me,” he murmured. “Get me out there.” She draped him over her back and got to her feet with a huge grunt. Even with her new strength, she staggered under his weight. But if he had to walk himself, it might be too late. Too late for what, she didn’t know. She lumbered to the end of a jetty that jutted far into the lake and propped him up to stand against a large vertical rock. “Thank you,” he panted. “Now move back.” “Why?” He gripped her arm. “Don’t come near, no matter what you see. Promise.” “But you might need—” “Promise!” He shook her hard with both hands. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.” “I promise I’ll stay away. But Kiril…you should know something.” She pulled his head down and kissed him, then looked into his eyes. “I would’ve said yes.” *** Kiril clutched the edge of the rock, so hard it cut into his palm. But the pain would let him cling to consciousness long enough to call the storm. Lightning flashed in the distance, flaring from cloud to cloud. Five seconds later, thunder rumbled. He cursed. The storm was a mile away—too far to save him. Maybe another would follow. But by then it could be too late. Without an infusion of energy from lightning, his strength would soon fail, and he would die. He’d overused his powers back in the river thwarting the Ilion soldiers. But if he’d died to save Helena and his sons, the sacrifice would have been worth it. But if he lived… Her kiss still burned on his lips. Maybe they had a chance after all these years to finally make things right. To make a family together. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and whispered a plea to his Firefly Spirit. “I’m not worthy, but have mercy, anyway. Send me the light.” Then he reached for the storm. It ignored him at first. The forces of nature could not be controlled, he knew, only compelled. Like a stubborn dog or horse, the storm had to think that coming to him was its idea.
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He reached out again, nudging, seducing. Come. He breathed in, and with his magic, dropped the air pressure between his body and the roiling, churning clouds. Come play with me. Veering, the storm took the bait, and headed straight toward him. Kiril lifted his arms and let the sparks dance among his fingertips—faint, teasing. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud, an intricate trail of flowing light, each piece swirling and dancing in every color. The wind rose around him, rippling the lake and rustling the cypress leaves. The swamp was alive and part of him. He felt the worry of each bird and animal as it took shelter, the relief of the thirsty trees and ferns. The storm was life and death at the same time. Kiril himself balanced on that edge of power, one that could save him—or kill him. The rain came, lashing his face and streaking back his hair. He closed his eyes against the sharp drops that stung his lids like thousands of tiny needles. He lived for these moments, when it was all so clear, so pure, so violent, like the heat of battle. If only civilian life were so simple. If only love and fatherhood were so simple. He would make it simple. He loved Helena to this day, and if he lived, he would claim her. Kiril called the lightning. To the rest of the world it was a deafening crash, but in his mind the moment was as mute as a firefly’s signal. Inside him there was no sound, no heat, no breath. Only light. *** Helena screamed when she saw Kiril die. The lightning bolt had struck a moment ago, and now a ball of white light enveloped him. It pulsed twice then erupted in a purple-white flame that reached high above the trees. Suddenly he was hurled backward, streaking across the sky like a meteor. He landed in the mud in the center of the jetty, and his light went out. Kiril lay still. Crumpled. Lifeless.
Chapter Nineteen Jacob had been trying to call Olivia for half an hour. He’d called her cell phone and her apartment. Something was very wrong.
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He’d driven like a bat out of hell, ignoring the angry weather, and now he couldn’t get into the lab. The doors were locked. The lights were out. She was in there. Her Volvo was in the rear parking area. Every instinct warned that she was in trouble. He’d already wasted time going around the building to every single access door. All were locked up tight. He wasn’t wasting any more time. He raced back to his SUV, started it and pulled the gearshift into Drive. He pulled on his seat belt and floored it, pointing it toward the wall of glass. The crash exploded around him. The airbag deployed, knocking the breath out of him. He shook himself. Unfastened his seat belt and scrambled out of the damaged car. Glass crackled beneath his shoes. The fact that the security system didn’t sound sent off another set of alarms inside him. He punched 9-1-1 into his cell. “This is Jacob Webster. I’m at the Kenner City Crime Lab. There’s been a break-in.” He glanced around the lobby. “Security personnel are down. Send help.” He didn’t stay on the line to answer any of the dispatcher’s questions. He had to find Olivia. He double-timed it back to his SUV for a flashlight, then headed at a full run to check the first floor. By the time he completed his round of the second and third floors, panic had started to set in. The echo of a gunshot from above sent ice splitting through his veins. The roof. He ran for the fourth-floor access, made it to the top of the stairs and hesitated. He needed two things. The element of surprise. And a weapon. On the fourth floor he found one item that could loosely be called a weapon—the ax located next to the fire alarm. The alarm was dead, too; he’d tried it in an effort to startle whoever had Olivia on that roof. Ax in hand, he headed for the stairs to the roof. He moved more slowly now. Listening for screams, cries, anything. As he moved cautiously onto the roof, he did one more thing he hoped would help. He prayed.
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His heart stumbled at what he saw when he cleared the final obstacle between him and the wide-open rooftop. Olivia was on her knees. Some scumbag had a handgun pressed to the back of her head. He was ranting at her. Moving a scarce inch at a time, Jacob eased closer and closer, the ax ready to swing. Sirens abruptly split the air. The creep with the gun jerked his head toward the highway. The distant throb of lights confirmed that the police were closing in. Jacob had to act now. Olivia suddenly twisted at the waist, hitting the man at pelvis level. The gunman stumbled back. Olivia dived for his right leg. The weapon discharged into the air. Jacob slammed the broad side of the ax square into the middle of his back. The gunman flew forward, stumbling over Olivia. Jacob dived onto him, crushing him with his full body weight. The gun slid across the roof. The perp went crazy, bucking, screaming profanities. It was all Jacob could do to hold him down. “Stop!” Olivia shouted. Jacob looked up. She had the gun. Jacob didn’t know what kind of marksman she was, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He scrambled up and backed out of the crazy bastard’s reach. The fool made a dive for Olivia. She squeezed off a warning shot in the air. He cowered on the ground. The sound of running footsteps announced the arrival of backup. Jacob’s and Olivia’s gazes met for the first time. And he suddenly understood that deep, emotional connection he’d never quite gotten before. It had taken him two months to understand the feelings growing inside him, but now he knew. He couldn’t ever lose her.
Chapter Twenty Christmas Olivia snuggled more deeply into Jacob’s arms. He hadn’t let her out of his sight since Friday night…except for those few hours on Christmas Eve when they had done their shopping. He’d driven her to town and they’d gone their separate ways until the job was done.
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It was Christmas, she was with Jacob and all her worries were behind her. She shuddered when she thought of her former neighbor. The police had discovered that Gerald had been diagnosed as bipolar with violent tendencies years ago. Somehow he’d managed to keep it out of his official records. The guy had been bullying his way through life since he was sixteen. He’d gone completely over the edge with his obsession with Kenner City’s crime lab. He’d drugged Olivia with a light sedative the night he’d brought over the brownies. He’d done it more than once so that he could access her home computer at a time when she was also home. He’d wanted to make her look incompetent or perhaps even like a traitor. Callie and Flemming had been suspicious for several days, but they’d had no proof or clearcut conclusions on what was going on. So they’d waited and watched. Olivia was glad the whole thing was over. She’d called her parents and wished her family a merry Christmas. Jacob had done the same. Other than that, they had been simply enjoying each other’s company. And the tree they’d decorated together. “We should eat that amazing dinner we prepared,” he suggested. Something else they’d done together, but she didn’t want to move. She liked it right here in his arms. Her body warmed, melted as she thought of all the kisses they had shared. Lots of slow, lingering kisses. She smiled against his chest. She loved the way he kissed. “I’m not hungry,” she confessed. She wanted to sit here like this, in his arms, until one of them had to move. They’d talked about their pasts, their hopes and dreams. Everything. It was like fate had had this plan all along. She understood in the deepest, farthest reaches of her soul that this was the man she’d been waiting for. The man who would treat her with the respect and admiration with which her father treated her mother. Who could ask for more? “There are ways to work up an appetite,” he suggested. Another smile pulled at her lips. “We could take a walk.” “There is that.” “Or we could open those presents under the tree.” She’d bought a very special gift for him. One she hoped would show him just how much she wanted to get to know all of him. She had bought him a scrapbook for their mementoes, a framed photo of her to sit on his bedside table
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and a duplicate of the key to her apartment. For him. His own key to her place. And a slinky negligee for their first night together. Which just might be tonight. Excitement whirled beneath her belly button. “We could,” he agreed, “but then you’d only get distracted with your gift.” She raised her head to look at him. “Just give me one hint.” He shook his head. “You have to wait.” He’d been saying that all day. She sighed and collapsed against his muscled chest once more. “In that case, I can’t think of a thing else to do.” “Actually.” He wiggled free of her, stood. “I can think of lots of things.” He picked her up and carried her to his room. He kissed her in that slow, sweet way of his and she forgot all about the negligee. She just wanted him to keep kissing her. Frantic hands tore at clothes until they were skin to skin. She couldn’t catch her breath. Didn’t care. She just wanted to be with him…in every way. Hours later, as they lay completely sated on his tousled bed, she announced, “I’m starving.” He rolled onto his belly, propped up on his arms and smiled down at her. “Shall we have dinner in bed?” “That would be amazing.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Promise me you won’t move.” “Promise.” He was gone long enough to make her want to break her vow. When he finally returned, he carried a tray laden with the exquisite dinner they had prepared together. “Dig in.” He backed toward the door. “I just have to get one more thing.” She nibbled on a slice of turkey breast. He was back in a flash, the elegantly wrapped gift in his hands. He sat it on the bed in front of her. “Open it.” Anticipation searing through her veins, she bit her lips, searched his eyes for some hint. “Open it,” he urged.
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She released the silky red ribbon, let it fall around the box. She lifted the lid and frowned at the mounds and mounds of paper inside. “What’s this?” “You’ll see.” She dug through the paper, finally found a long, slender box. Her heart bumped hard. “You shouldn’t have,” she warned. “Just open it already.” She opened the box. Inside was a dazzling diamond necklace. She gasped. “Jacob, you really, really shouldn’t have.” He pressed a fingertip to her lips. “Look under the necklace.” She pulled the velvet liner from the box. Another gasp stole her breath. A shiny brass key. “My home is your home.” That dark gaze meshed with hers and in that instant she knew that their future together was set. But, for now, it would be their secret. It would be better if no one at work knew. Plus, there was just something wickedly sexy about the forbidden. She tugged him down onto the bed. Forgot about the food. And her presents for him. She hugged him, silently thanking her lucky stars she had found him.
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Storm Reaper by Jeri Smith-Ready Kiril Vidaso has great power. His Animal Spirit gives him the ability to channel lightning. To call a storm and harness its rage. But he has never felt so powerless as the day he looked over a crowded market and saw the woman he loved and lost seventeen years ago, and her son—their son. And realized that he had doomed the boy to almost certain death. Lady Helena Medora is feeling just as hamstrung. Having a fatherless baby ruined her name and denied her son the right to claim his birthright as a nobleman. With his parentage in doubt, her son must now become a member of the infantry for her country’s war, where his odds of survival are slim to none. Kiril can offer them a way out, but it is dangerous. They will become traitors, hunted by their country and forced to seek refuge in the darkest of wilderness, where their deepest beliefs will be challenged. Including the vow Helena made to never open her heart to Kiril Vidaso again….
Chapter One The lightning sang under Kiril’s skin. It wanted to be part of him, heed his command. But like a tamed wolf, it could just as soon kill its master as obey. He closed his eyes and stretched out his hand, tracing the course of the approaching storm. In the valley below, Ilion troops advanced on his rebel camp, riding in formation on armored warhorses. Kiril had been one of them once, had worn the red-and-yellow uniform on his own back. That was eighteen years ago, before the war, before the Spirits had shown him another way. Uniformed or not, he had never stopped fighting for Ilios—for the proud, honorable nation it once was—and would be again, Spirits willing. Kiril breathed deep, inhaling the storm’s tumultuous essence—the battle between warmth and chill, the sparks that leaped from cloud to cloud. The power. The rain came, pelting his face with cool drops that eased the late-summer heat. His breath quickened, and the tingling in his fingers grew until it felt as if the lightning were already jumping between them. The wind lashed his wet hair over his face, reminding him of the whips they’d used on him and his comrades when they’d first enlisted. His back still bore the scars. Sometimes when he stood before the storm like this, they seemed to shimmy up and down his spine. His fingers uncurled, and with his Firefly Spirit, he called the lightning. He knew the rest of the world saw it as a giant white flash, turning evening to brightest afternoon, but Kiril saw it arc slowly, snaking through the clouds like a drop of sweat descending a woman’s back. He drew it down with his finger, tracing it through the sky to
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meet the large boulder that sat halfway down the hill, between the camp and the approaching troops. Then came the crash, and even for him the world turned white, edged with purple. He held his breath until thunder ripped the sky. Whoops and applause came from the safe shelter of the rebel camp behind him. The lookouts shouted, “They’re running!” Kiril peered over the edge to see pieces of the broken boulder tumbling down the mountain toward the oncoming cavalry soldiers, who scattered like ants from a demolished hill. He willed his breath and heartbeat to ease, then let the storm’s energy seep out of his fingertips, dripping like the rain that coursed over his body. After a last look around at the drenched terrain of the Ilion wilderness, he turned for the rebel camp, where the others waited to congratulate and thank him. For fighters so sorely outnumbered, a battle averted was the sweetest victory of all. The Ilion soldiers would avoid the area for a while, having confirmed their superstitions of the “mountain of the angry gods.” Kiril’s blood still hummed with power. The aches of yesterday’s long ride had faded, and he knew that if he peered under his shirt he would find the shallow sword cuts from last week’s battle completely healed. A lightning strike never failed to cure his ailments. The physical ones, at least. He rubbed his chest as he walked, lost in memory. Some wounds went too deep, even for time itself to heal. *** Kiril gave his false beard one last tug before stepping out of the alley. He kept to the long, late-afternoon shadows as he skirted the crowded, flag-bedecked courtyard in the town of Surnos. What had once been a meat market was now, appropriately enough, a conscription center. The Ilion Senate had lowered the draft age from seventeen to sixteen last year to bolster its falling troop levels. These boys were too young to vote, marry or own property, which meant that their parents had to accompany them to the recruiting center. Most were joined only by their mothers since the turbulent, decade-long occupation of Asermos had already consumed so many of their fathers. For thousands of years they’d all lived as one people in the Asermon Valley, until a few centuries ago when the Ilion nation was formed here across the sea by those who rejected the Spirits. Ilios created its own pantheon of human gods, and in response the Spirits had abandoned the Ilion people, taking away their magic. Ilios finally returned to invade Asermos, seeking its fertile land and rich stores of minerals. But the Asermons formed a fierce resistance, and now the occupation was failing, a fact that the Ilion military refused to acknowledge even as rebellion grew within Ilios itself. Meanwhile, in small pockets of Ilios, the Animal Spirits were awakening once again, bestowing their magic on those who least expected it.
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Kiril surveyed the long lines of nervous young men. With any luck, he’d find at least one disgruntled family who would be happy to feed the growing rebellion here in Ilios. The rise of the military faction had left many peasants and members of the merchant class in desperate straits, their needs neglected in the face of the burgeoning costs of war. After last month’s visit to the recruiting station, he’d brought six new rebel soldiers back to the southern camp, seeking the Spirit magic within themselves that only the wilderness could release. “How dare you!” He turned at the sound of a woman’s shrill voice. She stood across a small table from a bored-looking recruiting officer, whose red-and-yellow uniform glowed in the shaft of sunlight. From this angle, Kiril couldn’t see the woman’s face, only a cascade of gleaming, meticulously coiffed blond curls that reached the center of her back. Her haughty posture and fine clothes told him she was a noblewoman, like his own mother and sister. So why was she in the commoners’ recruiting section? If the young man standing next to her was her son, he should be heading to the officer’s academy. Kiril shifted to the left to get a better view. “How dare you question my patriotism!” The woman slammed her palm against the table and glared down at the recruiter. “Are you deaf, Lieutenant? I told you, I don’t want a waiver. He’s willing to fight. All I want is for my son to have the proper placement befitting his family history.” The recruiter tilted his head. “Your son’s placement does befit his—” he raked a lascivious glance over her body “—family history.” She raised her fist as if to strike the officer. An armed soldier stepped forward, and she lowered her hand. Kiril didn’t blame her for wanting to hit the recruiter—openly alluding to a nobleman’s illegitimacy was tantamount to calling his mother a prostitute. When she spoke again her chin was high, her voice steady and strong. “My father was a general,” she stated between gritted teeth. “My brother died leading cavalry troops in your first fool invasion of Asermos.” A distant memory sparked in Kiril’s mind, a memory born in a different city, a different life. He shuffled closer but looked away, pretending to read the newspaper he’d tucked under his arm. “Ilios is grateful for your family’s sacrifice,” the officer said in a flat, patronizing voice. “But the regulations state that without an established paternity, your son has no special standing to enter the cavalry corps.” “He rides better than all his friends put together,” she said. “His skill with a sword is—” “His skill with a sword will serve him well as part of the infantry.” “Infantry.” She scoffed. “Don’t you mean ‘arrow fodder’? Those revolutionaries in the Asermon hills use our boys for target practice.”
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“They are hardly revolutionaries, merely bandits.” “Spare me the propaganda. I read the news, I know what’s happening up there in the occupation, and I won’t let my son be a part of it.” Kiril looked up and saw the adjacent crowd subtly shift away, as if her treasonous attitude were contagious. The officer’s expression darkened, and he sat up straight in his chair. “Are you threatening to let him desert?” The young man stepped forward. “No!” He looked at the woman. “Mother, I’ll serve in whatever way my country asks, and do it with honor.” “Good boy.” The officer rotated the paper on the desk. “Sign there.” The woman clenched her fists, arms straight and rigid at her side. Her trembling hands drew Kiril’s gaze to the gold bracelet circling her wrist. The newspaper fell from his hands. The woman’s name rose in his throat, and he clamped his mouth shut just in time. The young man exchanged the signed parchment for a bronze medallion. Bronze, Kiril thought, his heartbeat quickening. The lowest level of enlisted service. Poor rations, inexperienced commanders, insufficient armor. The boy would be lucky to last a week in the Asermon hills. After examining the parchment, the officer said, “On behalf of the Ilion nation, I thank you in advance for your service.” He went on to tell the boy when and where to report the next morning. The woman and her son turned to leave the desk, and Kiril saw her face for the first time in nearly seventeen years. Helena. She had the same shocking blue eyes and full lips that had entranced him throughout his youth. When she’d disappeared from his life, that face had haunted his dreams for years. Now his worst fear had turned out to be true—he had ruined her name, caused her downfall. His mistake could bring about the death of her son. Their son.
Chapter Two Cursing the gods, Helena slid the scissors through her son’s hair. Julian’s locks fell to the polished wooden floor, as dark and wavy as those of his scoundrel father, the man who’d halted her life, tarnished her name. Shattered her heart.
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If Kiril Vidaso were in front of her now, she would plunge these scissors into his neck, watch his eyes as they widened in pain and surprise. Sitting in the chair before her, Julian tilted his head. “Mother, what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” She snipped another lock. “Hold still or it will be shamefully crooked.” “You don’t have to do this. They’ll cut it tomorrow at the base camp.” “I won’t have you reduced to a commoner in front of everyone.” She tightened her lips as she turned his beautiful shoulder-length hair—the mark of a nobleman—to a neat, if undistinguished mat. He held his chin high and straight. “They can’t turn me into something I’m not.” The pride and sadness welling inside Helena made her want to kiss him. But he was too old for that. She’d done all she could to make him strong and tough. It was his country’s turn to finish the job. He belonged to Ilios now—or what was left of it, after the occupation had sucked its soul and coffers dry. “You did everything you could,” he said. “It’s not your fault the facilitators have left town for fear of the authorities.” The facilitators—men who arranged soldiers’ reassignments in exchange for a bribe—had been her last hope. Helena did not lack for money, only respect and power. And luck, apparently. She moved in front of Julian to examine her work in the lantern light, avoiding her son’s brown eyes so that she wouldn’t picture them staring lifeless at an Asermon sky. Instead, she imagined him returning from war alive and whole, his chest adorned with medals. If he served well, perhaps one of the more desperate noble families would let Julian marry their daughter, and his children would have the honor his own father had stolen. Someone knocked on the door, and she sighed. A beggar, no doubt, since the social hour when she received visitors was long over. “I’ll get it.” Julian started to stand. “Not with half a head of chopped hair, you won’t.” She handed him the scissors. “Stay until I return, and don’t attempt to finish on your own.” Helena entered the stone-tiled foyer, wishing for the thousandth time that her father had seen fit to give her just one full-time servant, someone to answer the door this late in the evening. But she’d done nothing to earn it, having only borne one illegitimate heir. She was lucky to have a house at all. She opened the door as far as the chain lock would allow. A man’s face appeared in the three-inch gap. Those eyes…
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She blinked hard, then focused on the red hair and neatly trimmed beard. No, this was a stranger. “What do you want?” The man took off his cap. “Lady Medora?” he asked, but with a bemused tone that implied he already knew her. “I need to speak with you about your son.” “Are you from the army? They said he was to report tomorrow.” He gestured to his beard. “Do I look like an army man to you?” “Then what do you want?” “I heard about your dilemma. Your son’s infantry assignment is an outrage, given his talents and breeding.” She gripped the edge of the door. “His breeding is in doubt.” “Not by me.” Helena stared up into the stranger’s dark, dancing eyes, so familiar yet so foreign. “What do you care?” He glanced up and down the street. “I can help him find a place where he belongs.” She drew in a sharp breath, afraid to hope. “Are you a facilitator?” A corner of the man’s mouth twitched. “Something like that.” “Mother, who’s there?” Helena turned to see Julian, his hair short on the right, long on the left. His strong, looming presence made her feel safe enough to draw back the chain and let the stranger in. The man stepped quickly across the threshold, looking as if he were searching for something in her son’s face. She closed and locked the door. The stranger turned to her. “There’s not much time to save him.” Helena stepped back. She’d never heard it put so starkly before, but it was true. An infantry assignment all but guaranteed Julian would never return home, that she would place flowers beneath his name on the war monument in Leukos. “How much do you want?” she asked the man. “No money. Just the benefit of the doubt.” He looked at Julian. “Have you been to southern Ilios?” Julian nodded. “I’ve spent the last two summers at training camps in Saldos.” “In the wilderness?”
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“Of course. Most of our exercises are in the field.” “Have you ever felt the call of an Animal Spirit?” “What?!” Helena planted herself between them. “How dare you accuse my son of such beastly ways? Just who do you think you are?” The man looked down at her with eyes of the deepest brown, and she felt the world tilt. He was… “Someone who cares,” he whispered. A pounding came at the door, startling her. “Don’t answer that,” the stranger said. “If you have a back door, I suggest we use it.” “Are you crazy? Why should I trust you—” “Open up,” said a deep voice outside, “by order of the Ilion Army.” She froze. Julian started to move forward, but she held out a hand to halt him, then pressed her ear against the wooden door. Three pairs of boots shuffled on her porch, and she thought she could hear the clink of steel. Her hearing had actually improved with age, especially in the last year, since she had turned thirty-four. “They’re armed,” she whispered. “We can’t just ignore them.” Julian stepped forward and shouted through the door, “Why do you call so late?” “We’re here for the recruit,” said a different man from the one who had spoken before. The stranger took Julian’s arm. “Step back and cover your eyes,” he said in a soft, firm voice. Julian shrugged off his grip. “Why?” “They want to take you tonight. We need to escape.” “I’m going with them. It’s my duty.” “Listen to me!” The man grabbed Julian’s lapels. “Do you want to take an arrow to the chest, then have your throat cut like you were livestock? Do you want to die in an occupied land, dishonored by your enemy and forsaken by your commanders?” He shook Julian. “And for what? Grapes? Cheap limestone? This is what the glorious Ilion flag stands for? Is that what you stand for?” Julian shoved him away then spoke above the pounding on the door. “No. I stand for what Ilios once was.”
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“As do I. So step back and cover your eyes.” The stranger looked at Helena. “You, too. It’s for your own protection.” “You’re mad.” She reached for the doorknob. “If there’s anyone I need protection from, it’s you.” The moment she turned the lock, three men shoved open the door. She stumbled back. The stranger caught her, and for a moment the feel of his hands on her shoulders called to mind a distant past. She straightened up and pulled out of his grip. The head soldier removed his hat and nodded to her with respect. “Forgive us for the latenight incursion, Lady Medora, but we’re here for your son.” His comrade handed her two parchment pieces. At the top of one read the word Orders. “There must be some mistake,” she said. “He wasn’t to report until tomorrow, and certainly not dragged from his house.” She looked at the other paper, reading, “‘Reason for Detention— Desertion Risk.’” A veil of rage fell over her vision. “I will not let you insult my son. On what basis do you accuse him of deserting?” The third man stepped forward, a police officer in a white-and-yellow uniform. “After leaving the recruiting station, you attempted to employ a facilitator.” He displayed his own paper. “We have a warrant for your arrest. Third-degree treason.” Helena’s spine turned to ice. Arrested? For trying to protect her son? Julian turned to stare at her. “You told me it wasn’t illegal.” She remained silent, not wanting to incriminate herself further. In fact, she’d known the facilitators were against the law, but she’d never heard of that law being enforced. The first soldier, the one with the kind face, gestured to her and Julian. “If you’d like a moment to say goodbye…” She turned to the red-haired stranger behind her. He gave a slow nod and rubbed his right eye. “Who is this man?” the police officer demanded. Helena ignored him and turned to Julian. “Make me proud, son.” She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. Then she angled her mouth toward his ear. “Close your eyes.” She shut her own, not a moment too soon. Through her lids she saw a yellow-white flash, like a tiny sun had erupted in her foyer. The three men screamed, then began to babble in pain, spitting out the word blind again and again. A low voice came near her ear. “You can open your eyes now.”
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She whirled to see the soldiers clutching their faces. The police officer flailed his arms, his blue eyes covered in a thin white film. The stranger pulled the sword from the lead soldier’s sheath. “This will come in handy.” He brushed between Julian and Helena, heading for the back door. “Bring nothing but comfortable shoes. We leave the house in one minute.”
Chapter Three From the tension of Helena’s arms around his waist, Kiril wasn’t sure if she thought this was a rescue or a kidnapping. Either way, he had neither the time nor the security to explain. Ilion soldiers were pursuing, hard. They rode south, as fast as safely possible through the thick woods flanking the road from Surnos. Helena sat behind Kiril on his dark bay mare, and Julian rode the family’s young black gelding, who was skittish but fast. Kiril hadn’t let Helena bring her own horse, for its glossy white coat would have announced their presence in the moonlit forest. With the curves of Helena’s body pressed against him, it was hard not to remember their nights together. Could it have been seventeen years ago? It felt like yesterday. He wondered whether, deep down, she recognized him. When she discovered the truth, she would surely lash out at the man who’d left her dishonored, with a son he’d never claimed. Not that he hadn’t tried. He’d known he was a father—it was the only way to progress in his Firefly Aspect from the first to second phase. One day he’d only been able to create light; the next, he could channel lightning itself. A stunning development for a twenty-two-year-old. He’d waited for her that night at their weekly rendezvous point, beside the stone bridge in Letus Park in their home city of Leukos. Dawn arrived, but no Helena. For weeks he searched the city, but she had disappeared. Now he realized her parents must have sent her to Surnos to bear and raise the child, where she would bring less shame upon them. Not that it would have mattered; they would never have allowed her to marry Kiril, no matter the quality of his family, no matter that before he joined the rebellion they’d seen him as her “perfect match.” Kiril and Julian slowed the horses to a walk to navigate a steep slope. “How much farther?” Helena whispered. “A few hours,” Kiril told her. “After we cross the stream we’ll turn left and head southeast.” “But there’s nothing in that direction except the Great Swamp.” He didn’t answer as he guided his horse to walk in the center of the stream. The water, which reached just above the mare’s ankles, would hide their scent from the hounds. Kiril looked back to ensure that Julian was following. He didn’t have much choice now that he was a deserter. Kiril’s heart twisted—he’d abandoned Julian before his birth, and now he’d destroyed the boy’s only chance to regain a shred of Ilion honor.
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I’ll make it up to him, he thought, if it takes the rest of my life. If he’d had any doubt Julian was his son, it had vanished the moment he’d walked through Helena’s door. The resemblance was unmistakable. The only difference he could see was how much more levelheaded Julian was than Kiril had been at his age. The young man had shown no fear or panic during tonight’s headlong chase out of Surnos. No doubt Helena had raised him to be the man of the house from an early age, with little of the coddling received by most young noblemen, including Kiril himself. A mile downstream, they climbed a shallow bank then turned the horses so they could drink. Around them, the damp forest sang with life, the high chirp of crickets blending with the earblasting blare of cicadas. “I’ve never been anywhere so dark,” Helena whispered. “You’re safe, Mother,” Julian said. “Bears won’t attack people on horseback.” After a long moment, she said under her breath, “Bears?” Kiril shifted on his riding blanket to look at her. “Would you like some light?” “No, they’ll see a torch for miles.” “It won’t be that bright.” He looped the reins around his wrist, then cupped his hands as if holding a ball. Breathing deep, he let out an ounce of power. A faint white sphere appeared between his hands. Helena gasped. “How do you do that?” She put her hand out then drew it back. “You can touch it,” he said. “It won’t burn.” She pressed closer to reach around his waist, stirring a sudden passion in him that threatened to make the sphere flare like the sun. He held his breath as her long, thin fingers sank into the light, then brushed his palms. The sphere painted Helena’s face with a soft white glow, reminding him of statues of the goddesses. Her blue eyes widened, gold-tipped lashes fluttering, as she marveled at Kiril’s light. Her soft moan went straight to the base of his spine. “And the flash of light in my house,” she said, “that blinded the men—” “Only temporarily,” he noted. “But how?” He raised the sphere so Julian could see better, and spoke to both of them. “My Guardian Spirit Animal is Firefly.” “So you’re one of the beasts,” Helena grumbled. “But you speak like an Ilion.”
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“I’ll always be Ilion. The Spirits want to bring the world together again, one people under Their guidance.” “Ridiculous,” Julian said. “The gods would never allow it.” “What have the gods done for you lately?” When they didn’t answer, he said, “I’ll ask again— have either of you experienced any unexplained changes, any powers?” “Of course not,” Helena said quickly, then gestured to Kiril’s light. “Nothing that freakish.” “What about enhanced senses, strength or balance?” “Shh.” Helena grabbed his arm. “What’s that sound?” Kiril listened hard but heard nothing. He shook his head. Julian matched the gesture with a shrug. “Hounds!” She pointed back the way they’d come. Kiril doused the light. “Let’s go.” After dashing through another five miles of sparse woods, Kiril signaled for them to slow at the edge of a weedy clearing. They listened for pursuers over the huffing breath of their horses. “Anything?” Julian asked Helena. She shook her head. “We’ve left the dogs behind. No hoofbeats, so they must be following on foot.” “For now, at least.” Kiril urged his horse to enter the moonlit clearing. “Halt!” The commanding voice drew a gasp of alarm from Helena. “Relax,” Kiril told her. He shouted the password, and a tall, sturdily built blond man strode out of the dark forest beyond the clearing, carrying a small torch. Kiril hailed his best friend and removed his cap so that Filip could see that he still wore the disguise. It was their signal to refer to him under his alternate identity. “Elias, welcome back.” Filip turned to Julian. “And you, young man. Welcome to the cause.” “I never said I’d join the rebellion.” Julian looked at Helena. “Mother, I could still go back and surrender, tell the army it’s all a mistake.” “If you run, our archers will shoot you.” Filip jutted his thumb over his shoulder. “If you don’t run, our cook will feed you. Your choice.” Kiril heard Helena’s stomach grumble, and he suppressed a chuckle.
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“I’d rather starve than eat with rebel scum,” she said. “Suit yourself.” Filip turned back to Kiril. “Were you followed?” “All the way from Surnos.” He looked back the way they’d come. The Ilions would never give up—not on familiar ground, at least. “They’re still in pursuit, so we’d better get going.” *** A chill slithered down Helena’s spine. “Going where?” she asked. “Surely not into the swamp.” Filip smiled. “Best place in the whole country to hide.” A hundred tales of horror flashed through her mind. “But people enter and never return!” She slid awkwardly off Kiril’s horse and hit the ground with a grunt, nearly twisting her ankle. “I’m not going.” She strode over to Julian’s horse, placed her foot on his and let him lift her up behind him. She hid her wince; after so much riding, it would be hard to even walk tomorrow. Assuming she lived that long. Julian gathered up the reins. “We’ll take our chances with the archers,” he murmured to her. “This man is bluffing, no doubt.” He tugged the right rein to turn their gelding around. The horse didn’t move—in fact, it jerked its head back hard enough to yank the reins out of his hand. Julian nudged the horse’s flank with a heel. “Come on, Pepper.” Still the horse balked, the rims of his eyes showing white as he resisted the reins, keeping his gaze locked with Filip’s. What in the name of all the gods was wrong with the silly nag? Elias laughed. “He won’t do anything my friend doesn’t want him to. Filip’s a third-phase Horse. Animals are under his influence.” Helena let out an exasperated sigh. “More of your Spirit magic?” Filip held out his hand waist-high, and Pepper stepped forward and nuzzled it. “That’s a good boy,” Filip crooned, keeping the torch at an arm’s length from the horse’s head. He looked up at Julian. “By the way, he hates the name Pepper.” The name had been Helena’s idea. “Charlatans,” she said under her breath. Filip looked between the two horses. “Your mounts are exhausted. Best if we go on foot the rest of the way to camp.” Helena grumbled and refused Filip’s hand to assist her off the horse. As a result, she stumbled when she landed. She flailed for a moment, then fell onto her backside on the spongy ground.
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Elias knelt beside her and helped her up without laughing or even smirking at her. He also didn’t yank her arm like a commoner would, but placed one hand under her elbow and another on her waist, like a gentleman. The gesture didn’t mesh with his scruffy appearance. She stared up at his face in the flickering torchlight. He averted his eyes quickly, let go of her and tugged his beard again. Then he held out his arm for her to take. She looked behind her, where the Ilion soldiers would soon appear. The swamp held unknown terrors she couldn’t imagine, but perhaps it held freedom as well. She grasped the crook of Elias’s elbow. With a deep breath, she let him lead her into the darkness.
Chapter Four Kiril watched his best friend’s face contort with disbelief. Filip pointed to Julian, who sat eating with his mother at the fire of the rebel’s base camp. “That boy is your son?” he whispered. “Does he know?” “Not yet. I’ll tell them soon.” “Them? She doesn’t know either?” He scratched his false beard. “Hence the disguise.” “Kiril—” “Shh.” He grabbed his friend’s arm and dragged him outside the light of the campfire. “Don’t say that name. First, I think she has enhanced hearing from some latent Spirit power. Most of all, she knows Kiril as the man who debauched her, ruined her life. Because her son’s a bastard in the eyes of the nobility, he doesn’t get to join the cavalry like you and I did at his age. They were about to cart him off for the infantry.” “For the Asermon operation? That’s a death sentence.” “And it’s my fault. Rescuing them was the least I could do.” “I’ll grant you that. When are you going to tell them, or haven’t you planned that far ahead?” “When we’re far enough into the swamp that he can’t run away.” Kiril glanced at Helena, who was rubbing her arms and casting nervous glances at the dark forest. “And after she likes me enough not to kill me when she finds out.” Filip shook his head. “You have balls the size of boulders, my friend.” He pointed at Kiril as he walked back to the tent. “It’ll catch up with you one day. Wait and see.” Kiril sighed. He had a feeling he wouldn’t have to wait long at all. ***
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Helena was living a nightmare. The last two days in this endless swamp had left her a sweaty, bedraggled, bug-bitten mess. She took little comfort in the fact that the rest of the troupe—Filip, his wife Alanka, Elias, his stepson Erik, and Julian—looked just as bad (though at least Julian’s hair was evenly cut now). She’d taught herself not to scream at the snakes gliding through the pitch-black water, even when they seemed to be aimed at her canoe. After a close call with a snapping turtle, she’d kept her hands inside the small vessel. Once, a low-hanging branch had nearly taken out her left eye, so she’d learned to stay alert and lean into unladylike positions when necessary. The nights were the worst. The swamp made noises no one could explain—even Filip who, as a third-phase Horse, could share the mind of any animal in the vicinity. It was almost as if the water and trees were conversing, conspiring against the humans in their midst. She now knew the true meaning of wilderness. On the third night, they sat around the slow-burning campfire, eating the duck Alanka had shot that afternoon. She supposedly possessed the Wolf “Aspect,” as they called it. Her ability to turn invisible made her an excellent hunter, but it also made Helena nervous. Elias’s stepson, Erik, handed her a fresh cup of water, infused with a special compound to restore their strength. A thin blond man in his late twenties, the healer—an Otter, supposedly—had soothed her blisters each night. Helena had asked him how such a nice man could get wrapped up in such a heinous operation, assuming his stepfather, Elias, had strong-armed him into it. She was surprised to discover that Erik’s mother and father had been two of the first Ilions to be beckoned by the so-called Guardian Spirits. With Filip, Alanka, Elias and a few others, they had birthed the movement to spread the word about the Spirits throughout Ilios, a movement that eventually became a rebellion when the Ilion government began cracking down on other religions. Erik’s father had been killed in a botched raid, and a few years later his mother died in a skirmish, shortly after marrying Elias. “River’s getting deeper,” Erik said to the others now. “We’ll probably reach the lake early tomorrow.” “Lake Xenia?” Helena looked at the others in disbelief. “You must be joking. It leads to the underworld.” “A silly myth,” Alanka said, focusing on the bow she was restringing. Helena wanted to throw her water in the woman’s face, but she was too thirsty to waste it. “You’re a fine one to talk about myths, with your absurd Reawakening stories.” To Alanka’s surprised glance she responded, “Yes, I’ve heard all about your foolish dreams of the past and future, that your Spirits will save you in dire times. Yet we still occupy your lands. Where are your Spirits?” “They’re coming.” Alanka gave her a disarming smile, then returned to her task, humming a sprightly tune under her breath.
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Helena was about to express her skepticism when she heard soft footsteps behind her. “What was that?” She turned and looked into the dense forest. “I didn’t hear anything,” Alanka said. The others murmured agreement. Helena stood and faced the thick copse of juniper trees. The footsteps came closer. Two golden eyes appeared, and she drew in a sharp breath. A creature padded forward into the faint edge of the campfire. A tawny feline, spotted black, its face tabby-striped. It gazed at her, unblinking. “You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “Filip, is there an animal over there?” Alanka asked. He answered in a low voice. “I don’t sense anything.” “That’s absurd.” Helena pointed to the cat. “It’s right there.” Elias stood and came to her side. “What do you see?” She put a hand to her head. “I’m not hallucinating. It’s real.” He touched the back of her shoulder. “What do you see?” he whispered. “A cat.” She turned back to the animal. “It looks like Lea, the pet we had when Julian was a boy. But bigger.” She squatted down, reached out her hand and pursed her lips. “Julian, don’t you think it looks like Lea?” “Mother, I don’t see a cat. But I believe you.” “Why?” Elias asked him. “Have you had strange experiences, too?” “No.” Julian cleared his throat. “Maybe.” Filip spoke as he approached Helena. “Bobcats are too cautious to come this close to a campfire.” “I’m not crazy.” Helena caught her breath as the cat padded closer, whiskers curled forward, holding her gaze with its golden eyes. Its footsteps echoed in her head and she felt like they were walking across the terrain of her soul. It sniffed her hand, rubbing its velvet nose against her fingertips. And then it vanished. “Where’d it go?” She blinked hard. “It was just here.” “Only for you.” Elias helped her to her feet. “Bobcat is your Spirit Animal.”
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“Nonsense!” She yanked her arm out of his grip. “Someone probably let their pet loose in the swamp. That’s why it was so tame. The rest of you are playing a trick on me by pretending you didn’t see it.” “Believe what you want,” Elias said, “but the day will come when you’ll have to accept your Guardian Spirit. Filip and I denied it, too, when we were younger. We can help you.” “I don’t want help. I want to go home.” Helena felt stupid as soon as she uttered her most fervent wish. She had no more home. Rage swelled inside her, tightening her chest. She wanted to throw something, break everything. Most of all, she wanted to hit someone. *** Helena woke with a start. It was a still night, but the moon must have risen, because she could see into all the shadows. Yet when she looked up, she saw only leaves, and beyond them, a starless sky. She rolled to her hands and knees. Something had changed. A bluish light suffused her surroundings. A breeze caressed her face, bringing with it a host of scents. And the sounds…each leaf had a distinctive rustle. It was maddening. She slapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut, blocking the onslaught of sensations. The breeze shifted, carrying a new rush of scents. Her heart seemed to thud to a stop. He was here. She opened her eyes and looked past Alanka’s rolled-up bedding, past the sleeping form of Filip. Another bedroll lay empty. Helena tiptoed over to it, marveling at the new stealth of her bare feet. Filip shifted in his sleep as she passed, but did not wake. She knelt next to the empty bedroll, lowered her head and breathed deep. “You…” Of all the people, in all the places… Perhaps her memory was mistaken. She had to know for sure. Tying her hair back into a knot to keep it free of twigs, she stepped out of the campsite, following his scent.
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It led toward the river, where she heard splashing—and not the single impact of a jumping fish or frog, or a turtle sliding into the water. As the trees thinned, she saw him. He was bathing waist-deep in the river, facing away from her and scrubbing his face and head, which must have been why he didn’t hear her approach the edge of the water. She looked down. A clump of red fur lay on the ground at her feet. She knelt and picked it up. Not fur—human hair. A beard, mustache and hairpiece. A disguise. “I knew it,” she snarled. The splashing stopped. The man turned his head, his dark brown hair curling over the nape of his neck, streaming water down his back. His cheeks were covered in dark stubble. “Kiril.” As soon as she spoke his name, he strode forward, naked and not the least self-conscious. The water swished around his waist, then his thighs and finally his ankles as he neared. She struggled to keep her focus on his face. “Helena.” His eyes filled with regret—or maybe guilt. “I can explain.” “Later,” she whispered. “Come here.” His mouth curved into an astonished smile as he closed the last few feet between them. “I’ve wanted to tell you,” he said. “I was just waiting for the right moment.” “And here it is,” she said sweetly, then punched him in the face.
Chapter Five Kiril fell back into the shallow water, his head reeling. Had Helena just punched him? When did she get so strong? And how did she know— A sharp kick in the ribs interrupted his thoughts. Instinctively he turned on his side to protect his most sensitive parts. She kicked him again, but this time he rolled to his hands and knees, and her blow fell short. He grabbed her foot while she was off balance. If she were a man, he would’ve dropped her in the mud. “Wait,” he said. She landed another swipe to his nose, so hard he couldn’t breathe, and he let go. The agony nearly blinded him, but a lifetime’s training had taught him how to fight through the pain. His training, however, had never taught him how to fight a woman. “Helena, stop. Let me—” She struck him again, and this time his nose crunched under her fist.
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“All these years—” she kicked him in the gut “—I can’t hold my head up in decent society.” She shoved him on his back in the water and loomed over him. “My son has no father!” She pulled back her foot, and he knew it was aimed to make sure he never sired another child. Kiril surged up and grabbed her by the waist. With a twist and roll, he pinned her beneath him in the shallow water. Before he could seize her wrists, she landed another blow to the side of his head. He felt the blood trickle inside his ear. He tried to capture her legs so she couldn’t land a foot or knee, but the water made her slippery. Writhing beneath him, her body showed through her wet clothes, which didn’t help his concentration. She bucked him off, but he didn’t let go. As she tried to get up, he slid his leg under hers and swept her off her feet. In another moment he was upon her again, this time out of the water and into the dark mud, where he had more traction. He pinned down her wrists and thighs, but she kept struggling. “Listen,” he panted. “Clearly you’re a Bobcat and stronger than I am now, slightly. Definitely faster. But I have years of training in hand-to-hand combat.” He tightened his grip on her wrists. “And don’t forget my powers. My light could blind your sensitive eyes forever.” She glared up at him. “You wouldn’t do it.” “Why not? Because I feel guilty? I’m just rebel scum, remember? Besides, that guilt faded a tiny bit every time you punched me.” She looked down between their bodies and gave a crooked smile. “Obviously part of you likes it.” He stared at her, desire urging him on. Quickly he feinted as if to kiss her. She pulled in a sharp breath, and he drew back. Her eyes showed a flicker of disappointment, and beneath him, her hips shifted. He held back a groan at the feel of her warm, wet softness, but mere silence couldn’t hide his passion. His mind was flooded with memories: sweat mingling, fingernails clawing and her voice in his ear, screaming his name. From the look in her eyes, she remembered, too. He took in a slow breath. “How many parts of you like it?” He lowered his head again, whispering against her lips. “This part?” “You wouldn’t dare.” “You’re right.” He risked a sly smile. “I know that if I kissed you right now—really kissed you—” He brushed the barest edge of his mouth against hers. “If I slipped my tongue between your lips…” Her lips parted, as if by their own will. “I’d bite it off.”
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“And that’s why I wouldn’t dare.” His smile faded, and he drew back to meet her gaze. “Helena, please know that I’m sorry. I tried to find you… I can never make it up to you and Julian, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.” Her eyes softened for a moment, then narrowed again. “I want nothing to do with you, Kiril Vidaso.” His ears tingled at the sound of his family name, the one he hadn’t used since the day he joined the rebellion. He shifted one finger to tug her gold bracelet. “Then why do you still wear this?” Her mouth tightened into a hard line. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my son.” “Our son.” A sharp whistle came from the campsite, rising and falling three times in quick succession. The invasion alarm. *** Helena raced back to the camp, Kiril on her heels. Though her heart pounded with fear, part of her reveled in her newfound grace and agility. She hadn’t felt this alive since she was a young woman—yes, since the last time she’d been with this man. It couldn’t be his presence that made her feel that way again. She’d sooner believe it was Bobcat magic, however offensive to the gods that might be. When they reached the campsite, the others were cramming gear into their packs. She ran to Julian, instinctively wanting to protect him. “They’re coming, Mother.” He handed Helena her pack. “Ilion soldiers.” “How far?” “A few miles,” Alanka said. “I saw them when I was on patrol. Twenty of them, fully armed.” Helena gasped. So many men, just to bring her and Julian home? No doubt they planned to make an example of them. “Here’s the plan.” Filip stepped into the middle of the campsite. “Alanka and I will stay and provide a distraction, engage them if we have to.” He pointed back toward the river. “The four of you take the boats, two each. Split up when you reach the lake. Elias and Helena will turn right and go west, while Erik and Julian will go east. We’ll meet at the Number Four rendezvous point, down the Osprey River.” “I’m not leaving my son,” Helena said. “You’re both targets. If the soldiers get past us, they’ll have to choose between you.” Filip pointed to the boats. “If you prefer, go with Erik, and Julian can go with his—” he cut himself off “—with Elias.”
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Helena felt relieved Filip had caught himself. Now was not the time to introduce Julian to his father. “There’s a third choice,” she said. “I could turn myself in.” Julian stepped forward. “Mother, no. They’ll arrest you, especially now that we’ve run.” “I have connections. They might show leniency.” Julian dumped his pack on the ground. “If you go back, I’m going with you. And you can bet I’ll get no leniency.” She gritted her teeth, wondering if her son was bluffing. He never bluffed. He was one of them now, as was she, whether they liked it or not. “Fine.” She picked up her pack and headed for Kiril’s boat. She had no intention of letting the scoundrel anywhere near her son. Kiril caught up to her on the trail to the river. “This should be interesting.” She glanced at his face, bruised and bleeding from her attack, and gave a heavy sigh at the thought of spending several days alone with him. Perhaps she’d be better off facing the entire Ilion army. *** Kiril tried to ignore the stabbing pain in his left side as he rowed their boat down the river. If the Ilion soldiers found them, he’d have worse than a cracked rib to worry about. Helena sat in the front, guiding the two skiffs with her newly enhanced night vision. She leaned forward, hands gripping the sides of the boat. If she’d had cat ears, they’d have been twitching. It made sense that Bobcat had chosen her. Her ladylike exterior had always masked a barely contained ferocity. It was what had attracted him to her seventeen years ago—half a lifetime for her. Only a woman with a taste for adventure would have let someone like him into her life. Suddenly Helena turned her head to the side and looked behind them. “They’re coming!” He gritted his teeth against the pain and increased their speed. From the splashes behind him, he knew Erik was keeping pace with them. Ten soldiers appeared on the bank ahead of them. “Halt!” one of them called. “By order of the nation of Ilios, I command you to come ashore.” Kiril rowed faster, his rib stabbing his gut with every motion, but it was too late. The Ilions waded into the shallow water, ready to intercept.
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Kiril’s group was outnumbered. He had one chance, one weapon, that could save them all. But in his current condition, it could wipe out his last remaining scrap of strength. He set his oar inside the boat and whispered to Helena, “Cover your eyes. Don’t just close them—put your hands over them.” Kiril repeated the order to the others, then held his palms shoulder-width apart and closed his eyes. As he’d feared, his injuries had weakened his powers, and the energy was slow to stir, like a hibernating bear. He called on his Firefly Spirit and, as a quick afterthought, prayed that few animals were looking this way. The electricity surged within him, the final remnants of last week’s storm. If he gave it all, it could kill him. But if he held back, they would all be destroyed—his stepson, his son and the woman he thought he’d lost forever. So Kiril sent the light.
Chapter Six Helena saw the world explode. Even with her hands covering her face, the force from Kiril’s light spell made red spots dance before her vision. Screams of agony echoed throughout the forest. A moment later, all was dark. She opened her eyes to see a world of chaos. The ten Ilion soldiers had been on the verge of overtaking them, but now the men staggered through the water, shrieking and flailing about in fear and fury. One of them stumbled forward and grabbed the edge of their boat, threatening to tip it over. Helena kicked his forearm, causing his sword to go flying into the swamp. He turned to fumble for it, and she landed a solid punch on his jaw. He reeled, yowling. When he lurched toward her again, hands grasping for her neck, she ducked and slammed her fist into his stomach. He doubled over and fell into the water. “Let’s row!” She checked that Erik and Julian were safe, then looked at Kiril. He was slumped over in the back of the boat. Uttering a mix of a curse and a prayer, Helena picked up the other oar. They drifted past another blind soldier, who raised his sword in a threatening gesture. She slammed the oar into the side of his head. The current picked up, carrying the two boats away from the soldiers. They rowed in silence for another mile or two, tension and worry snapping the air. The cypress trees loomed low over the water, as if wanting to pull the out-of-place humans into their grasp forever. “How is he?” Erik called from the boat behind her. Helena examined Kiril’s form. “He’s breathing, but I can’t tell anything more from here. Should we stop?”
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“No,” Erik said. “There could be more troops. If Filip and Alanka didn’t divert them all, some of the soldiers could head downstream to intercept us. Best to keep going.” “He saved our lives,” Julian said. “I hope he didn’t lose his own to do it.” Helena gazed at Kiril, slumped against the other end of the boat. They had to follow him now. By Ilion tradition, saving a person’s life meant they owed their loyalty to him, until the favor was repaid. Just last night, Kiril had revealed that this debt of honor was what had dragged him into the rebellion in the first place after Filip saved him from one of Alanka’s arrows. Helena squared her shoulders and rowed faster. She would keep Kiril alive—and not just to repay the debt. Despite the rage that had simmered within her for so long, his presence now gave her a strange sense of hope and excitement she hadn’t felt in years. Still, she refused to indulge in any thoughts but survival. She wouldn’t think of the way his dark eyes had sparked with desire as they’d grappled in the mud, or the way his hands had gripped her wrists. Thoughts of other parts of him sliding against her—and how they’d feel inside her—were absolutely off-limits. And to her dying day, she would never admit to herself how easily she could have thrown him off. Slowly the river widened and the sky grew lighter. She tried not to imagine her son drifting away from her on the lake, perhaps lost forever in this godsforsaken wilderness. It was too late to think that way. Like it or not, she was one of the Spirit people now. Bobcat had claimed her, and she realized she could never go back to the way she was. And she wouldn’t want to. The world would seem flat and muffled compared to this. The lake opened before them, and she gasped. It was larger than she’d ever expected—she couldn’t even see to the other side. Towering cypress trees grew in the middle of the water, the rising sun shining pink off their stiltlike roots. They rowed both boats to the bank of the lake. Erik examined Kiril’s semiconscious form while Helena watched with apprehension. She cringed to see the bruises she had left on his face and torso. “He’s in shock from overusing his powers,” the Otter healer said. He avoided Helena’s eyes. “His injuries certainly don’t help, but I’ll bandage his rib cage so the crack can set.” “Why did you attack him?” Julian said to her. “Was Elias threatening you?” She avoided her son’s eyes. “When I woke up I was disoriented from my new…powers. I had the urge to hunt.” Yes, that sounded good. “I followed the trail of a squirrel to the river.” Did squirrels frequent the river? No matter. “When I saw Elias, the Bobcat in me thought he was stealing my prey. The more he tried to calm me down, the angrier I became.” Julian shifted away from her, as if afraid she would lose control again. “I’m fine now,” she said. “Come kiss me goodbye.” She kept her voice steady, hiding her anxiety.
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“Don’t worry, Mother.” He embraced her. “I’ll see you in a few days.” And then what? she thought. We become rebels? Fight against everything we’ve ever believed in? It was one thing to be called by a Spirit, but another giant step to fighting on its behalf against her own people. Erik closed his healer’s kit. “I’ve treated his physical wounds, but I can’t heal his loss of power. He’ll have to recover that on his own.” He leaned over and gently patted Kiril’s cheek. “Father, can you hear me?” Kiril stirred, dark lashes fluttering. “Julian?” he murmured. The Otter gave the others an uncomfortable glance, and Helena realized he knew their secret. Now everyone knew except Julian himself. “No, it’s Erik.” He squeezed Kiril’s hand, his pale face pinched with concern. “Helena’s going to care for you until we meet at the rendezvous point. You just rest and get your strength back. That’s an order.” “Otters…such tyrants,” Kiril slurred. Helena looked at Erik. “Do you want to travel with him instead? I’ll go with Julian.” “I wish I could.” He stood and looked out at the dark lake waters. “But you two would get lost. The rendezvous point lies in a maze of water and trees that I couldn’t begin to describe.” He leveled a soft, blue-eyed gaze on her. “Nothing in the Great Swamp moves in a straight line You’d end up wandering through it the rest of your lives.” “Which would turn out to be rather short,” Julian murmured. “No…” Kiril stirred, angled his head and looked like he was trying to open his eyes. “I go with Helena,” he whispered before sinking into a heavy sleep again. “What should I do?” she asked Erik, cursing her sense of helplessness. He handed her a small pack. “Change the bandage in two days and use this poultice on his bruises. Do all the rowing yourself, and don’t let him lift anything heavy.” He joined Julian in the other boat then turned back to her. “And pray for a storm.”
Chapter Seven Helena watched Kiril pass in and out of consciousness all morning as she rowed the boat counterclockwise around the lake, keeping the shore in sight. Sometimes he would wake with a start then glance around wildly. When his gaze alit on her, he would relax and sink back into slumber, a lazy smile curving his lips. She recognized that look from long ago, when he had weakened her knees with his carefree, roguish charm. His eyes had grown stormy and serious in the past seventeen years, which must have been why she hadn’t recognized him at first. How much remained of the man she had loved, and how much had the war and rebellion stripped away?
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By noon, the sun had crested the trees and was beating down on her, making her eyelids as heavy as wool blankets. Was she nocturnal, like a cat, now that her Bobcat Spirit had called her? At any rate, they would get sunburned without cover. She rowed into shore and tied the boat to the long roots of a gum tree, then nudged Kiril awake. “I need to sleep,” she told him. “Can you keep watch?” He nodded and started to get out of the boat, which swayed under his precarious weight. She let him grasp her arm so she could help him onto dry land. Kiril ran his hands hard over his face several times then shook his head. He opened his bag and withdrew a packet of dried venison. “You hungry?” he asked her. “No, I just want to sleep.” But drowsiness abandoned her the moment she stretched out on her bedroll. Too many questions plagued her mind. “Now what?” she asked him. “Specifically?” “This Bobcat…entity. What does it want?” “He wants you to accept him as your Spirit. As soon as it’s safe, you should undertake the Bestowing. You’ll go off on your own for three days, no food or water or sleep—” “Sounds lovely.” He chuckled. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Terrifying. Exhausting. But singularly amazing.” “What about the gods?” “The gods don’t—” He cut himself off, and she wished she could see his face. “They don’t what?” she said. “Exist?” He sighed. “That’s for you to decide. We each make our own journey.” “Where did your journey take you?” “All over. I think I had the most indirect route to the Spirits of anyone alive.” He told her about his time eighteen years ago as a prisoner of war of the Spirit People in Asermos, where Firefly had first called him. He described how he’d escaped and returned home, how the antiAsermon intelligence he’d gathered had made him an Ilion hero. But still Firefly had not given up, despite his treachery against the Spirits. “Why did you never tell me this when we were younger?” she asked him.
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“If I’d shown you that trick with the light when you were seventeen, you’d have run screaming.” She smiled. “Maybe.” “I didn’t know who I was back then. It made me reckless, irresponsible. Especially with you.” She laughed groggily, his voice having soothed her near sleep again. “It’s not as if I discouraged you.” “I ruined you, when all I ever wanted was to—” He cut himself off again. “Never mind. You won’t believe me.” “Try me,” she whispered. “That last night, when you didn’t come to meet me…I was going to ask you to run away.” He cleared his throat. “I was going to ask you to marry me.” “Very funny,” she said, and fell asleep. *** Helena woke coated in sweat. A cool wind swept over her forehead. She rolled over to see that the afternoon sky had grayed, with giant puffy clouds moving north. She sat up. “It’s going to rain,” she told Kiril. No answer. She turned to see him propped against the fallen tree trunk, asleep. “Some guard you’re keeping.” She got to her feet, stomped over to him and shook his sleeve. “Kiril, we need to set up—” He slumped over, limp as a rag doll. “Kiril!” Gods, please don’t let him be dead. She felt the pulse at his neck, faint and erratic. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a thought knocked against her memory. Something Erik had said… Pray for a storm. Perhaps there was hope yet. She dipped her shirttail in the lake, then squeezed it over Kiril’s face. He stirred at the impact of the dripping water. “Kiril, a storm is coming. What does that mean?” He opened his eyes slowly. “It can save me,” he murmured. “Get me out there.” She draped him over her back and got to her feet with a huge grunt. Even with her new strength, she staggered under his weight. But if he had to walk himself, it might be too late. Too late for what, she didn’t know. She lumbered to the end of a jetty that jutted far into the lake and propped him up to stand against a large vertical rock.
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“Thank you,” he panted. “Now move back.” “Why?” He gripped her arm. “Don’t come near, no matter what you see. Promise.” “But you might need—” “Promise!” He shook her hard with both hands. “I can’t do this if I’m worried about you.” “I promise I’ll stay away. But Kiril…you should know something.” She pulled his head down and kissed him, then looked into his eyes. “I would’ve said yes.” *** Kiril clutched the edge of the rock, so hard it cut into his palm. But the pain would let him cling to consciousness long enough to call the storm. Lightning flashed in the distance, flaring from cloud to cloud. Five seconds later, thunder rumbled. He cursed. The storm was a mile away—too far to save him. Maybe another would follow. But by then it could be too late. Without an infusion of energy from lightning, his strength would soon fail, and he would die. He’d overused his powers back in the river thwarting the Ilion soldiers. But if he’d died to save Helena and his sons, the sacrifice would have been worth it. But if he lived… Her kiss still burned on his lips. Maybe they had a chance after all these years to finally make things right. To make a family together. He closed his eyes, breathed deeply and whispered a plea to his Firefly Spirit. “I’m not worthy, but have mercy, anyway. Send me the light.” Then he reached for the storm. It ignored him at first. The forces of nature could not be controlled, he knew, only compelled. Like a stubborn dog or horse, the storm had to think that coming to him was its idea. He reached out again, nudging, seducing. Come. He breathed in, and with his magic, dropped the air pressure between his body and the roiling, churning clouds. Come play with me. Veering, the storm took the bait, and headed straight toward him. Kiril lifted his arms and let the sparks dance among his fingertips—faint, teasing. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud, an intricate trail of flowing light, each piece swirling and dancing in every color.
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The wind rose around him, rippling the lake and rustling the cypress leaves. The swamp was alive and part of him. He felt the worry of each bird and animal as it took shelter, the relief of the thirsty trees and ferns. The storm was life and death at the same time. Kiril himself balanced on that edge of power, one that could save him—or kill him. The rain came, lashing his face and streaking back his hair. He closed his eyes against the sharp drops that stung his lids like thousands of tiny needles. He lived for these moments, when it was all so clear, so pure, so violent, like the heat of battle. If only civilian life were so simple. If only love and fatherhood were so simple. He would make it simple. He loved Helena to this day, and if he lived, he would claim her. Kiril called the lightning. To the rest of the world it was a deafening crash, but in his mind the moment was as mute as a firefly’s signal. Inside him there was no sound, no heat, no breath. Only light. *** Helena screamed when she saw Kiril die. The lightning bolt had struck a moment ago, and now a ball of white light enveloped him. It pulsed twice then erupted in a purple-white flame that reached high above the trees. Suddenly he was hurled backward, streaking across the sky like a meteor. He landed in the mud in the center of the jetty, and his light went out. Kiril lay still. Crumpled. Lifeless.
Chapter Eight Shrieking Kiril’s name, Helena left her shelter of thick trees and rushed into the drenching rain. As she drew near his body, she saw that his clothes were torn, hanging off him in singed strips. Her steps slowed. Whatever his powers, how could he have survived a bolt of lightning? He stirred. The relief stopped her in her tracks. But surely this movement was a temporary recovery, merely a last shudder of life. Kiril opened his eyes and got to his feet in one graceful motion. He turned to her, and she lost her breath. He glowed. A purple-white aura glimmered and shimmered around the edges of his profile. Rain streamed down his mud-streaked face and chest. She shook her head, astounded. What in the name of all the gods had just happened? One thing was clear through the haze of rain: his dark gaze was devouring her body.
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He strode toward her, no longer staggering, every step so strong and sure, she wanted to flee in the face of his certainty and what it demanded of her. But she stood her ground. Kiril reached her, and without hesitating, pulled her into his arms. His mouth burned hot against hers, defying the cold wind that swirled around them. She clawed at what was left of his garments, ripping them from his body with her new strength. He peeled off her clothes with a matching speed, and they sank to the ground, their passion too urgent to let them seek shelter. Helena clutched greedily at Kiril’s body, wishing she could touch him everywhere at once. His mouth traveled down her neck to the top of her breast, leaving a trail of heat. When his lips closed around her nipple, her back arched with the sudden, blinding surge of pleasure, a feeling she’d almost forgotten. A feeling that grew with every stroke of his hands, where lightning seemed to live in his fingertips. She grasped his hips and urged them between her thighs. “Don’t wait…” Kiril shook his head. “We’ve waited long enough.” He covered her mouth with his as he entered her. A jolt shot down her spine, connecting her lips with her core, as their bodies completed the circle of energy. She cried out, her scream swallowed by the roaring wind. They writhed on the ground as thunder pressed the air in wave after wave. The rain streamed between them, slicking their skin. Kiril’s smooth, powerful muscles strained beneath her hands as he thrust deep inside her in a rhythm that sent her tumbling over one peak after another. Helpless, she clawed at the mud beside her, fingers sinking into soft earth, the only anchor in this raging storm of delirium. Finally Kiril paused, trembling, to gaze down at her. His dark waves of hair dangled dripping against his cheeks, framing a face filled with wonder. His outline still shone violet-white, stark against the deep, roiling clouds beyond. She recalled how his magic had nearly claimed his life, the life that he would have been glad to lay down for her. Fear and joy drove her to clutch him close with all her limbs and every muscle. She raked her nails down his back, wanting to mark him as hers forever. He let out a deep groan and closed his eyes. “Helena…” He buried his face in her hair as he surged inside her. “I love you.” *** Tangled in Helena’s arms and legs, Kiril drifted in and out of a contented, half-conscious state. At least this time his exhaustion was for a good cause. It was also short-lived. His pulse throbbed again as his hands swept over her curves, trailing in the water collecting on her skin from the light drizzle. She gave a throaty laugh and turned to him. He held her face in his hands as he kissed her slowly, deeply, thoroughly. Then he opened his eyes.
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The clouds had disappeared, showing them in the full light of the waning day. Kiril began to laugh. “What’s so funny?” she said, before looking down. “Oh, no.” They were both caked in mud, from head to foot. Helena’s hair was plastered to her scalp and back. Before she could utter her horror, Kiril slipped his arms around her body and picked her up. He carried her into the lake’s shallow sparkling water, where they bathed every inch of each other, running hands over skin, through tangles of hair, until they were pressed close together again, kissing, insatiable. She took his hand to lead him back to the shore, but he stopped her. “Helena…” He gazed into her eyes in the light of the setting sun. “Before, when I was almost dead, you told me you would have said yes.” He swallowed and tightened his grip on her hands. “What if I asked you now?” She blinked up at him for so long, he grew uneasy. “To marry me,” he added. “That was the question.” “I know.” She pulled away, and her voice came flat and clipped. “You mean now?” “Well, not naked in the middle of the Great Swamp.” He gestured to the water around them, which reflected the orange-streaked sky. “Although we can if you want. We can’t legally marry, anyway, since we’re both wanted by the law, so we could just declare ourselves here and now, in front of the Spirits.” She said nothing, just stared at him. He took a step backward. “Are you going to punch me again?” “Shh.” She held out a hand to silence him. “Don’t say another word.” Her palms squeezed the sides of her head. “This is too much. I have to think.” “Thinking’s good.” He reached out, hoping to convince her in the most enjoyable way possible. “In the meantime—” “No.” She backed away, not meeting his eyes. “I’m getting dressed.” *** They dried off in silence then retrieved clean clothes from their packs. To stall, Helena took extra time choosing her garments—as if it mattered which brown shirt she wore with which brown trousers. She missed her wardrobe from Surnos. But there was no going back, not for clothes or anything else. Only forward. But where was forward? Instead of calming her, the silence increased her tension to the breaking point. Her hands shook as she buttoned her shirt.
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Finally Kiril cleared his throat. “I’m still thinking,” she snapped. “I understand. You’ve been through a lot lately.” “Been through a lot?” The bitterness bubbled up inside her and overflowed. “In the last three days, I’ve lost my home and what was left of my honor, been chased by my own country’s army, trudged through the scummiest, scariest place on earth—” she counted off on her fingers “—received a visit from a ghost cat, woke to discover I had magic powers, found my son’s father after seventeen years, was chased by Ilion soldiers again, saw you almost die, watched a bolt of lightning bring you back, and then—” She stopped to catch her breath. “And then things got better,” he said. She glared up at his face, where his mouth was quirking into a crooked smile. “Stop that.” Her own lips began to twitch. “This isn’t funny.” “I’m not joking.” He crossed his arms. “I’m simply pointing out that perhaps your week is finally improving.” She jutted out her jaw. He wouldn’t weaken her with his charms again. She knew better now. “I’m not ready. You’re not ready.” “Yes, I am. Did you not hear me say I loved you?” “It doesn’t count if you say it while making love. Everyone knows that.” “Then let me say it again, fully dressed.” He turned her to face him. “I love you, Helena. I never stopped loving you.” “You married another woman.” “And I loved her, too. When she died, it left a hole in me so deep I didn’t think I’d ever feel complete again. But she wasn’t the one who created that hole. You were.” When she tried to turn away, he squeezed her hand. “I’ve been a good father to her son,” he said, “and I’ll make it up to Julian somehow. I’ll make it up to you, if you’ll let me.” He sank to his knees before her and kissed her hand. “Will you let me?” *** Helena and Kiril arrived at the rendezvous point to find the others waiting for them. When Helena saw Julian safe and whole, she ran to greet him, not caring if it cost him a little dignity. He embraced her tightly. “Mother, I was worried about you. Elias looked so terrible, I thought for certain you’d be finishing the trip alone.” He looked past her at Kiril. “Until the storm came. Erik explained how the lightning can heal him.” Helena stepped back. “His name’s not Elias. That’s a false identity.”
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Julian nodded at Kiril. “I wondered, since you were wearing a disguise. What’s your real name?” “Kiril.” He came forward and grasped Julian’s hand. “Kiril Vidaso.” The younger man tilted his head. “I know that family name. From Leukos, right?” “A long time ago.” He gave Helena a questioning look, and she nodded slowly. He returned his gaze to Julian. “It should have been your name.” Julian furrowed his brow. “Why? I don’t under—” His eyes widened, and he darted a sharp glance at Helena. “Is this—this is him?” “Your father.” Her throat tightened, thick with tears she refused to shed. “Perhaps you two would like to speak alone.” She turned away before they could refuse, before they could see her cry. Alanka joined her on the way to the center of the camp, where Helena could smell venison cooking over a fire. “If you want to stay with us,” Alanka said, “I could teach you to shoot. It’s a Bobcat’s favorite thing, next to hitting people.” “I’d like that.” “You can start your training alongside your son.” To Helena’s questioning glance, she answered, “The Wolf Spirit seems to have claimed him. Lucky boy.” Helena stopped in her tracks. What other surprises did these blasted Spirits have in store for her? “So…” The Wolf woman gave a low chuckle. “What took you two so long to get here?” Helena tried to glare at her, but the joy and relief in Alanka’s eyes matched her own, and instead she laughed. “We got lost,” she said simply. Then she turned to watch Kiril and Julian sit together on a fallen tree trunk. Anyone could tell from the briefest of glances that they were father and son. Helena wiped the leftover moisture from her eyes. She would weep no more over their broken family. The three of them were united now, for as long as this new, uncertain world would allow. That night she lay nestled in Kiril’s arms and thought of the Ilios she had left behind. Though its land lay under her body, it no longer felt like it belonged to her. But one day, if the gods and Spirits willed it, peace and honor would reign like never before. Until then, she could only fight, and love, and hope.
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Desire Calls by Caridad Pineiro
Chapter One The piazza always provided a fine selection for dining, Stacia thought as she sat on the railing along the edge of the Bernini fountain in Rome`s Piazza Navona. She gazed at the choices available in various spots around the square. French. German. Italian, of course. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. It had been a day since she had eaten. Placing a hand over her belly, she rose and sashayed toward her first pick, but as she neared the Frenchman, she realized he was beyond loaded. The stench of cheap wine clung to his shirt and oozed from his pores. Shaking her head, she thought of the oft repeated adage all those television chefs used: If it`s not good enough to drink, it`s not good enough for cooking. Or in her case, for eating. That cheap stuff just left a bad aftertaste in her mouth along with a wickedly nasty buzz. She preferred something cleaner on her palate tonight. Which definitely had her bypassing the Aryan god she had noticed just a short distance away from the Frenchman. Germans were always a trifle heavy in her belly. However, the broad set of his shoulders and well muscled chest made her reconsider. She loved her men big and strong and so she lingered by the front of the outdoor café where he was seated. Even made eye contact with him for a moment. Amazing crystal-blue eyes twinkled with interest. That much was clear. Stacia smiled back, thinking that maybe he might be worth a nibble after all. Maybe they might actually even click, finally providing her with true pleasure after nearly two thousand years of undead life. Mr. Tall, Blonde and Brawny rose from his chair, seemingly intent on making a move in her direction, but suddenly an equally tall, blonde and muscled woman joined him. Seeing that his attention was on Stacia, his companion began a harangue loud enough to make heads turn. The man plopped down into his chair, looking like a dog with its tail tucked between his legs. No spirit.That was so not good, Stacia thought and moved onward, still in search of something to satisfy her hunger. She needed a man who could not only take a lickin`, but gave as good as he got. And not just when he was in a fight. It had been a good long while since any man had really satisfied her in bed, one of the downsides of having lived so long. Of being a vampire elder. Even her own kind avoided her at times, aware that with her age came vast power, but also vast hunger. For blood. For sex. For control over lesser vamps. She didn`t want to admit that in her case, she still hungered for love. For real passion and desire. Things she hadn`t felt in way too long. Some of the other elders said that she was foolish to yearn for such things. That she should let go of the last little bit of humanity within her that prompted such desires. Then, and only then, could she truly relish the immense vampire power that her age provided. Stubbornly, though, Stacia refused to relinquish that lingering trace of humanity. Of want for something more than an eternal existence filled with only….
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A fine-looking American caught her eye as he laughed at the antics of his rowdy friends in front of one bar. He was as big and blonde as the whipped Aryan she had bypassed earlier, but as his gaze met hers, she saw steel there. Luscious grey eyes were framed by a sheath of shaggy, sunbleached hair. Stacia circled Mr. Surfer Dude, making eye contact and clearly letting the young man know that this might just be his lucky night. < been had wiles feminine her and smile flirtatious A power. vampire of bit a even using without worked> He approached, leaned down from his greater height and in awfully accented Italian, asked, "Parla Inglese?" "Do we need to talk?" she said with a sexy wink and inclined her head in the direction of a nearby alley. The young man smiled broadly and after a quick glance back at his friends, who hooted and carried on at his "score," he took hold of her hand and followed her. Stacia led him farther back into the narrow alley, although not so far that he would think anything was amiss. Just far enough that he would believe a strong shout could still be heard out in the piazza. Not that she would give him the opportunity to call out. Toward the middle of the alley, the night closed in around them, with only the dimmest light from the full moon above. Clothed in darkness, the young man surprised her by becoming the aggressor, grabbing her forcefully and pinning her to the jagged brick wall. "Like it rough, do you?" she said, but he didn`t answer since with quick hands he had already undone the laces on her leather vest and was gazing down at her breasts as they spilled free. When he bent to suck at them, she moaned, thinking that he was exceptionally gifted with his mouth. Between her legs, the throb of human desire rose up, aching for fulfillment. She quickly undid his jeans, reached past the loose folds of denim to the boxer shorts below. How she loved this new fashion that made it so easy to free him. To stroke the rather magnificent length of him. He bit down on one nipple as she caressed him, dragging a gasp from her. "Sorry," he mumbled, as he lifted the almost non existent hem of her black leather miniskirt, cupped her bare buttocks and urged her upward. With a surge, she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him, then drove down, crying out as the long thick length of him penetrated her. He was deliciously big, much like the rest of him. His own groan was from the gut as she leaned back against the brick wall and he pounded into her, all finesse forgotten as he strove for release. He looked down and watched the play of his hips against hers, as if fascinated by that sight. His blonde curls brushing the naked skin between her legs. Stacia considered the emotions flitting across his face. Passion rose, dilating his eyes into shards of slate grey. Almost charcoal grey, she realized as he met her gaze before dipping his head down again to suck on her breasts. Inside her, heat built. Desire awakened the demon that hungered for so much. She threw her head back, allowed the beast to slowly emerge so that it could experience it all. The dark of the night enveloped them in its secrecy. The strength of his youth brought her closer and closer to completion. The musky smells of their lovemaking pushed her over the edge.
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She called out her physical completion and laid her face against his. Bent her head and kissed the crook of his neck. His skin was damp. Salty.His blood surged, singing through his veins as his heart beat quickened while he strove for his own release. Sweet, sweet blood. Pulsing beneath her lips. In a heartbeat, she finally loosed her restraints on the beast. Her fangs burst forth and pierced the fragile skin of his neck. He called out then in a strangled cry laced with pain, but also with the acknowledgement of passion like no other he had ever experienced -- the passion borne from a vampire`s kiss. Blood spilled onto her lips from her fangs as she drank, experiencing the surge of strength and lust that came from feeding. His sweet young blood brought the rush of life to her undead body. He tasted like the ocean and sun. Salty. So tasty that Stacia could have kept on going until she drained him dry, only he had done well by her tonight, satisfying one hunger while leaving another unfulfilled. The young man`s knees weakened from the loss of blood and Stacia hopped off him. With her greater vampire strength, she gently eased him down to the uneven pavement. He was rather handsome, she thought, gazing down at him as he stared up at her, disoriented. The bite mark at his neck was already healing and come the morning, he would remember nothing. Feel no worse off than if he had a bad hangover, she thought as she quickly closed up her vest. And she would feel -Still alone, she thought, hurrying from the alley as if by doing so, she could escape the bleakness of her existence. Once out in the piazza, she realized that it was time to move on. She would not find satisfaction here. As she strolled through the square, it occurred to her New York would be good this time of year. Lots of fine dining there and the wannabes at the Blood Bank were always good for a laugh. Imagine, wanting to be human again, she thought. What good was that? she asked herself, ignoring the little voice in her head which reminded her that with humanity came -Love.
Chapter Two The Lair was hopping as it always was on a Saturday night. Not that Blake was a regular at that club, preferring the Blood Bank with its edgier clientele and higher volume of vampires. The people here -- not even serious vamp poseurs -- were just interested in a flirtation with the dark side, like visiting an Undead Disneyland. They loved the look of the place, from the faux stone walls to the hundreds of realistic bat bodies clinging to the ceiling above which created the illusion that you were in an underground cavern. Even the bar fed into the macabre fantasy: the sign for The Lair seemed to drip blood from its letters onto the bar’s gleaming stainless steel surface. Blake chuckled at the crowd, thinking that they paled in comparison to those true believers at the Blood Bank. Where a bloke could be guaranteed a nice shot of blood or a nip at a willing neck.
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His friend Ryder, the owner of this club, had no blood of any kind on the drink menu. Not even some hearty beef blood. Worse yet, he had a strict No Bite policy for the real vampires who occasionally dropped by. A shame, Blake thought, as one rather attractive young woman bumped into him and smiled, sending the clear signal that she was interested in his rather fine punk self. He ignored her, glancing through the murky light to the luminous steel counter of the bar, where his former love labored, either unaware of his presence or ignoring him. He suspected it was the latter since as her sire, they were irrevocably connected. But that didn't mean they were meant to be together he had realized some months ago. Blonde, green eyed and beautiful, Meghan stood behind the counter, smiling as she poured drinks and took money. Blake remembered that smile well. Recalled the night they had met at the Blood Bank, where Meghan had gone on a dare with a group of her coed friends. Even done up in her version of Goth, with black denim clinging to every luscious curve of her youthful body, her brightness had shone through. She had clearly been intrigued by his swagger and Cockney accent. They had gone off alone, just to talk at first because after over a century of life, it wasn't all that easy to find someone to connect with. Bullocks, they had definitely connected, he recalled. She had made him laugh. Made him remember just how wonderful spending time with someone could be. That hadn't happened in...forever. When Meghan had agreed to go with him to one of the back rooms at the Blood Bank, he hadn't intended to sire her. He had just wanted to savor her sexy All American looks, lithe body and the promise in her forest green eyes. Revel in the way her sexiness was laced with humor and light after his long life in the dark. But somewhere along the way, he had lost control. The wonderfully sexy and too human interlude had awakened a longing he hadn't acknowledged for some time. When he released the demon, he told himself it was just to take a nibble of all her goodness. To just savor a little longer the lovemaking that had been so fulfilling, so alive with light and passion and just sheer fun. Her skin had been soft against his lips as he bit down on her neck. Her scent, so fresh and clean, had obliterated the earthier odor of the blood. And her body... She had screamed out at his possession, but not just with pain. When she clutched him to her, he realized that he hadn't wanted it to end. Ever. Blake had nearly sucked her dry. By the time the extent of his feeding registered, he had been left with a painful choice. Let her die or sire her. He had taken too much blood for her to survive. So Blake had turned her, earning her hatred as Meghan fought the reality of her new existence. In the past year, he had redeemed himself by saving her life and that of her guardian, but things would never be right between them. Which was why he lurked in the shadows, wishing that he would find someone else who could bring light and love to his life. Someone else to connect with again since his chance encounter with Meghan had shown him that love was still possible for someone like him. You're a pitiful bloke, he told himself, straightening and pulling his black leather jacket closed. It was time he moved on and found another young thing to satisfy him. He couldn't spend the rest of his life worrying about the little chit who would be forever twenty one thanks to his actions. Most women would be pleased by that possibility, vain creatures that they were.
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Turning on his heel, he left The Lair in a burst of vampire speed, exiting out onto the streets of Tribeca. Leaping up the landings of a nearby fire escape until he was on the rooftop of an adjacent building. The moon was full, bathing New York City in silvery light. A nip lingered in the early spring air, not that it bothered his vampire thermostat. But he was a mite peckish and needed a bite of something to ease that hunger. He leapt from one rooftop to the next until he arrived at the familiar alley before the Blood Bank. Blake slipped down from the roof, landing noiselessly on the cobblestones. He sauntered to the door and flashed some fang at the bouncer who let him in past the long line of people waiting to enter. Inside, it was as dim as The Lair, but without all the theatrical touches. Worn chairs and tables bore the scars of the violence for which the Blood Bank was known in the undead world. Opening his vampire senses, he recognized the hum of power that said there were others of his kind here. But more importantly, he detected the commanding vibrations from an elder. A very familiar elder, he thought and glanced toward the bar. Stacia in all her glory. The night had finally taken a turn for the better, Blake thought and walked toward the bar.
Chapter Three With a rather bored sigh, Stacia placed the glass filled with blood from a nouveau yuppie fresh from Chelsea on the gouged counter before her. She had been hoping to run into some familiar faces, but other than Foley, the owner of the bar, the night had been quiet, until... She swiveled on her stool as she sensed a familiar vamp energy and took note of him as he approached. Blake. In his best Billy Idol get-up. His chain-studded jeans tight against lean hips, black leather jacket strained against his broad shoulders. Playfully spiked blonde hair revealed a face with marvelous bone structure. As he realized he had her attention, the swagger in his step increased. A broad smile spread across his face and swept up into his deep blue eyes. Stacia found herself smiling back, even if it was just Blake. When he stood before her, he placed his hands on his hips, drawing aside the jacket to reveal a black Tshirt that clung lovingly to his muscles. "Blimey, luv. It's been too long since you've visited." "Been missing me? That's a surprise," she said and with a wave of her hand, signaled for the bartender to bring Blake a drink. "Why would that be a surprise, luv?" He slipped onto the open stool beside her. When the bartender placed a glass with blood before him, he raised it and offered up a toast. "To old -- We're definitely old, but are we friends?" Stacia laughed harshly and picked up her glass, but didn't return the toast. Eyeing him over the rim of the glass, she said, "A gentleman wouldn't mention a lady's age and as for being friends... Why aren't you afraid of me?" Blake, ever confident and even more playful, leaned toward her and whispered close to her lips, "Should I be?"
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Picking up her hand, she inclined her head toward the direction of the vampire bartender and made believe she was squeezing. The bartender suddenly dropped the glass he held and grabbed at his throat, fighting for air. "Should you be afraid?" she asked, almost hoping that Blake would prove her right and make a fast exit as so many of the vamps at the Blood Bank had done upon her arrival. "A man's got to face his fears," Blake said calmly and sipped his blood, barely glancing in the direction of the barkeep whose sallow vampire skin was starting to turn slightly blue. With a flick of her hand, Stacia released her hold on the vampire and examined Blake, sensing something different about him. Something a bit more...intriguing. He had changed since the last time she had seen him. "So you don't fear me..." "Should I?” he asked again. “Do you have some nefarious plan for me, luv?” His voice was laced with humor and not a whit of the anxiety she usually inspired in other lesser vampires. When he gestured in the direction of the back rooms, she chuckled. "Get real. Me and you? Do I look like I'm slumming?" With a careless shrug, Blake slipped off the stool and with a nod said, "Well, then it's good-bye, I guess. " Stacia controlled her surprise at his seeming nonchalance and watched him walk away, his swagger drawing the attention of quite a few female heads. Stupid human females who didn't realize that to Blake, they were just a possible snack. When he actually sidled up to one, bent that peroxided head and said something to the young woman that had her laughing, annoyance flared through Stacia. She didn't know why. At best, she and Blake were longtime acquaintances. Not friends. Elders had few friends, not even other elders. There were usually too many power plays going on to permit true friendship to develop. Blake's attitude was therefore . . . refreshing. As he and the young woman headed onto the dance floor and plastered their bodies against each other, Stacia decided that it was time she had some fun, as well, instead of just sitting there, moping. Moping was so pitiful. Scoping out the crowd in the bar, she noticed one young man seated at a booth along the far wall. Big and powerful. The black T shirt he wore clung to the thick large muscles of his arms as they rested on the edge of the booth. Artificially black hair punched up the paleness of his face which had obviously been enhanced with makeup, as had his thick dark eyelashes. Like her, he had an earring through his brow, although his was silver. His ears also sported a variety of piercings and when he smiled, the wink of silver in his tongue promised her more pleasure. A vamp wannabe? she wondered. Or just out for a night of play? Finishing her blood, Stacia rose from her stool and walked toward the booth, but didn't immediately engage the young man. While the direct approach generally worked best, sometimes the hunt and chase was much more stimulating. With the slightest glance his way -- although enough to let him know he had been noticed -- she sauntered past him to the dance floor, making sure to stay in his line of sight.
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Once there, she released herself to the music, shifting to the hard beats. They were almost violent in their volume, the strength of the sound driving against her body until it was as if the throb of the bass had melded with her heartbeat. She moved her hips, gyrating in rhythm to the pulse. Raised her hands, which lifted the hem of her black leather vest to expose the pale expanse of her flat midriff and the woven ring of gold through her navel. Warmth came against her skin as a hand snaked around her waist and dragged her to a rock-hard body. Looking up over her shoulder, she smiled as she saw the young Goth man behind her. Felt the strength and size of his physique against her petite frame. As she moved her backside, pressing into him, she realized she had made a good choice. He was just what she needed to welcome her to New York City.
Chapter Four Okay, so Stacia had basically dissed him. That still didn't change the fact that she was absolutely stunning. A goddess. Considering that she was an elder, maybe that wasn't so far from the truth. In the vampire world, the elders were like gods. From the corner of his eye, Blake took in all of her. The black leather she wore looked as if it were painted on the womanly curves of her body. Her nearly black hair was a shock of dark against the ivory of her skin. Sleek and cropped close to her skull, it exposed the perfect shells of her ears with an assortment of golden earrings. As she twirled around the rather large Goth, laughing and playing her sexual games, the golden ring at her brow winked enticingly as did the golden ring through her navel. She was something to behold, he realized, although nothing like Meghan who was like the light of the sun to Stacia's dark night. Fun to Stacia's fear since despite his earlier denial, on some level he was afraid of her. Stacia could take his life with a flick of her finger. He would be foolish not to respect her and yet... There was something different about her tonight. Something almost...human. He tuned out the young woman next to him and kept an eye on Stacia. Not that she needed protection. The young man with her might be a mountain of muscle, but he was mortal. Blake knew that much from the lack of power that came from the Goth. He was no match for Stacia, even if she was such a little thing. He liked his women petite, Blake realized, recalling Meghan. Stacia was of a like height, but much more womanly with all those delectable curves. Not that he was interested, Blake thought. He had enough problems with women in his life and without a backward glance, abandoned his dance companion. Unlike Stacia, who seemed to have few problems finding a man, he thought as he stalked back to the bar, wondering why Stacia's intense dance with the Goth was bothering him so. Maybe because Stacia's idea of a dance was.
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He gulped, fighting the thrum of power she was releasing as she played with the Goth. He wasn't the only one feeling it, he realized as a surge of awakening told him that the other vampires in the club were also experiencing it. Tapping into the spill of her elder power, like chum for vampires. Only the price to be paid for fully experiencing a kiss of that power could be lethal if the elder was so inclined. Tonight, Stacia seemed intent on satisfying other needs, Blake thought, sipping on his wine as he watched her sway against the young man. Run her hands up his arms and over his exaggerated muscles. He glanced down at his own arms. Lean and mean, he had nothing to be ashamed of, he thought, and returned his attention to the antics of Stacia and the Goth. The young man was clearly smitten, unaware that beneath the body that he was so eagerly moving his hands all over was destructive power. Strength beyond that of anyone else in the room. Lust and desire that would ensnare you in its grasp, but then drain you dry if you gave into it. Blake sucked in a shaky breath, feeling the pull of her even across the distance of the club. Feeling himself harden and rise from the spillover of her ardor. But he was not alone. As Stacia faced the bar, their gazes connected and he realized that she sensed his awakening passion. Passion stronger than that of the puny mortal with her. While facing him, she raised her hand up to caress the Goth's face. Blake felt the sweep of her hand as if against his own cheek. So soft. Cold. She shifted her hips back and forth, and he had to grip the edge of the bar as that movement transferred itself to him and his erection strained painfully against the tight fabric of his jeans. All the time, Stacia kept her gaze locked with his, clearly aware of her effect on him. Increasing her caresses and movements until he was nearly undone and she finally broke free from the Goth, done with his weak mortality. She began to head his way, well aware that the pleasure of Blake’s body and blood would surpass that of any puny mortal. And Lord help him, he was ready to give in to her despite knowing it would be a mistake. A major mistake. Stacia could never love anyone. But love was highly overrated anyway, wasn't it? Blake thought as he rose from the stool and walked toward her. The Goth clearly didn't like being left behind wanting. He grabbed hold of Stacia's arm, spun her around so that he could voice his displeasure. With the barest movement of her arm, Stacia broke free from the young man and raised her hand. The Goth dropped to his knees, his face reflecting disbelief at his seeming inability to control his own body. Blake approached and despite his better judgment, laid his hand over Stacia's. Barely half a foot taller than her, it took little for him to bend down and whisper in her ear, "Let the young fool go, luv." Stacia shot him a look, but beneath his hand, the hum of power surging outward warmed his palm. The young man was swaying and beginning to turn blue, but Blake couldn't tell just what Stacia was doing to him until she broadcast the vision she had in her mind.
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He saw it then, compliments of Stacia's power. She was encircling the Goth's heart, slowly crushing the life from it. If she didn't release her hold on him, the foolish boy would soon be dead. "If you finish this -- " "When I finish this," she corrected and almost as if for the fun of it, gave the young man a shake. "Let him go. You've proven your point," he urged and surprisingly, she did as he asked. "Thank you," Blake said, but Stacia shook her head at his words. "Don't thank me, Blake. If you don't know by now, I expect payment for that request," she said and was about to walk away when the Goth's friends surrounded them. As two of them helped their friend back to the booth, another two blocked their way. Their stances were fight ready, their looks surly. Blake raised his hand. "You don't want to do this," he suggested in low tones. "That's right. You don't want to do this. At least, not here," Foley, the owner of the bar, said as he approached the group. The two young men looked at Foley and one of them nodded and said, "Let's take it outside." Blake was about to protest that there was no need, only Stacia and the two men were already stalking away to a back exit to the alley. Shit, he thought, following them. He hated being a hero.
Chapter Five Anger pushed her to rashness. So not a good thing, Stacia thought as she thrust open the back door of the club. It rebounded against the wall with a loud clang before she stepped into the alley. She reminded herself that too many a vampire had let emotion lead them to a stupid act which cost them their lives. But she couldn't let these two go unpunished. A little infliction of pain would suffice to satisfy her honor and temper. Bright moonlight spilled onto the cracked cement walls and the asphalt on the floor in the alley. The better to see their blood with, she thought and turned to face the two young men as they took up positions on either side of her. Blake had followed them out as well, but merely leaned against the wall by the door and crossed his arms nonchalantly, a bored look on his face. The stupid-looking muscle bound one called out to him, "Are you just going to stand there while we kick your girl's ass?" "Bullocks, mate. That woman is so going to make you suffer. I'm just here to make sure you're still breathing when she's done," Blake said and after, wagged a finger in Stacia’s direction. "None of your nasties with these children. We wouldn't want mum and dad to have to spend too much money on therapy," he teased and actually dragged out a chuckle from her, but that humor was short lived. The thick necked oaf and his friend clearly didn't think it funny because they suddenly decided to advance on Blake, until she grabbed the hand of one as he walked away from her. With a deft flick of her wrist, she had his arm bent back at a painful enough angle that the young man slowly sank to his knees.
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His friend, seeing that he needed assistance, immediately swung a punch in her direction, but she caught his fist in her hand, stopping him mid swing. Exerting pressure, she reveled in the wince he gave a second before she used her vamp strength and sent him flying back against the brick wall. His body impacted with a dull thud and momentarily stunned, he sank down onto the floor of the alley beside where Blake stood. Blake looked down at him in amusement. "Score two for the little chit." "Bitch," his friend shouted and despite her painful grip on his arm, he, too, attempted a punch. A second later, he found himself lying on the floor beside his friend, groaning. "Had enough, mates?" Blake said, bending down to talk to the two, but they refused to quit the fight. Since Blake was the closest target, the first youth rose and wrapped Blake up in a bear hug, easily picking him up with his much greater size. He waddled with him in his grasp until they were close to Stacia, but by then Blake had broken free. Blake placed his back against hers as the two men circled around them, not that she needed his protection. As the men came at them time and time again, Stacia and Blake struck out, inflicting damage. It was a little odd to have Blake guarding her back. No one had done that in a long time. It was almost -reassuring, she thought as the two men swarmed around them, darting toward them and back out like nasty gnats. Annoying, but harmless. "This is rather ho hum," she said to Blake as she cut short a jab to her face and followed up with a sharp blow to the youth's nose. Stacia smiled at the satisfying sound of cartilage cracking, not that it stopped her attacker. From behind her came the sound of the meaty impact of a fist and Blake staggered against her back. "Just dandy, luv. I always love getting my face kicked in by some nancy boy," Blake muttered. She chuckled again, but it distracted her enough that her assailant landed a punishing blow to her ribs. The anger she had been trying to corral broke free. With a surge of vamp speed, she landed multiple blows to his face until the young man dropped his arms and just stood there. He seemed stunned for a moment, blood running down his face from the assorted cuts her blows had opened up and from his broken nose. His blood was bright red against his skin. Glistening in the moonlight. Flowing freely. When he recovered from that temporary daze and came at her again, the blood was all Stacia smelled. Warm on her hands as she connected with his face time and time again. Each blow drawing yet more blood. Inflicting greater pain until with one last shot to the man's ribs, he staggered to his knees. Stacia didn't waste a moment, grabbing him from behind and yanking his head to the side to expose his throat. Her fangs burst forth from her mouth, eager for the taste of him. She sank her fangs deep, enjoying the rich taste of his life. Over and over she pulled at his throat, the heat of his blood warming her. Filling her undead body with energy. She savored the moan he gave, tinged with both pain and desire from her vampire's kiss. Between her own legs came an answering throb as his blood and desire awakened that part of her, as well. She wanted more, she thought, sucking even harder while snaking her hand down and finding the young man's rock-hard erection. She wanted to ride him until she heard his last gasping breath of life.
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But suddenly, Blake was there. Yanking her hand away and trapping it in his. Thrusting his arm between her and the young man, who dropped to the ground, alive, but unconscious. The ragged bite on his neck already beginning to heal. She turned on Blake, shocked at his intervention. "You dare to challenge me?" "Luv, I couldn't let you do it," he said, the tones of his voice low and conciliatory, but insufficient to assuage the frustration caused by his meddling. Fisting her hand into the soft leather of his jacket, she picked him up off the ground with her greater strength and held him in the air. With a shake, she said, "Then you'll take his place, beloved."
Chapter Six He had never seen her in such a fine anger, Blake thought, while dangling nearly a foot above the ground. Trying to placate her, he said, "Stacia, please -- " With a flick of her hand, he flew across the alleyway and into the wall. His head connected with a loud crack and stars swam before his eyes. He struggled for a hold on the wall, but soon found himself sliding down to sit on the cold stone floor of the alley. His vision wavered and he forced himself to focus on something as he tried to regain his senses. Her boots. Black. Shiny. Pointy. Coming toward him in a wicked quick beat. Giving him no time, he thought as she once again grabbed the front of his jacket and picked him up as if he didn't weigh a thing. With him in her grasp, she entered the bar. His head was still whirling and something wet ran down the back of it. She walked with him without laboring, her immense elder power giving her strength beyond his. As he shook his head to try and clear his senses, a lot of other things came to him about what the elders could do, creating a cold knot of fear in his stomach. You can't even begin to guess. Stacia’s thoughts entered his head as she obviously knew what he was thinking. I didn't want any problems for you. Things are different now, he offered in apology, but Stacia's only response was to motion with him to the door before them. Even in his dazed state he recognized the entrance to one of the back rooms in the Blood Bank. Foley kept them for his special visitors who would pay a fee for the use of the specially equipped rooms. Not that Foley would dare ask a fee from Stacia or for that matter, stop her from doing what she would with him in that room. "Stacia, please -- " "Don't beg, beloved. It's so unbecoming," she said as she raised her hand and thrust open the door without even touching it. She strode in, shut the door with another flick of her hand and tossed him onto the metal cot along one wall. He wouldn't beg again, Blake thought, even as Stacia exerted her elder's power to keep him immobile as she shackled him to the thick iron frame of the bed. Blake watched as she walked to the far wall which was equipped with an assortment of toys and other devices. As Stacia stood there, considering what to choose, her mental hold on him relaxed and he pulled against the leather cuffs which had him spread-eagled on the bed. But couldn't free himself.
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The cuffs and bed had clearly been chosen with a vampire in mind since they were thick and sturdy. He realized he could not get loose and bit back his concern as Stacia turned and displayed a rather large and nasty looking dagger. She sauntered over, the blade held upright in her hands, plainly visible as if to inflict some mental torture. "Do you know what you did, Blake?" He wouldn't show her he was worried. With what he hoped was a careless shrug -- which was kind of difficult when one was lashed to the bedposts -- he calmly said, "I was only trying to help." Stacia laughed harshly. "Help? You helping me? That's rich." "It's the truth. Things are changing around here," he said again, but Stacia would hear none of it. She brought the blade down to his cheek. The metal was cold against his skin. Leaning close, she said, "Since when do we care whether we drain a human?" "Since maybe some of us know that it's wrong?" he shot back, remembering all too painfully what had happened with Meghan. Stacia was too omnipotent not to pick up on what he was feeling. Bringing the knife to his wrist, she slipped it beneath the leather and said, "Intriguing. You actually feel...regret and love? You fancied yourself in love?" He felt the prick of the knife lightly against his skin and then the cool air of the night as she sliced open one sleeve of his jacket, then reached over and quickly did the same to the other sleeve. He met her gaze as she paused, the knife poised above his midsection and directly above a most delicate area. As she slipped the blade beneath the hem of his T shirt, he shivered from the cold and from the anxiety he couldn't contain. One little slice of the knife -Not yet, beloved. I'll have my satisfaction first. "Well, that's good, luv. I'd hate to pass without at least getting a look," he said, determined to not let her be totally in control. "What? A look? You want a look before I geld you?" she asked with an uneasy chuckle and the knife wavered against his midsection. "If that's the price to be paid for a slight misunderstanding, the least you can do is let me see if what's beneath all that sinful black leather is as beautiful as the rest of you," he said, and surprisingly, he meant it. Stacia was a remarkably stunning woman with her exotic almond shaped eyes, dark and filled with so much emotion. Right now, a slight furrow marred the space above the dark slashes of her brows and that one golden earring. But then a glitter crept into her eyes and was followed by a wide smile across her full lips. "You are ballsy." He chuckled, shot a look down at his naked parts and said, "Definitely." She laughed out loud at that, strode away from him and back to the wall with all the assorted gadgets and accessories. She placed the dagger back into its holder, paused for a second before turning to look at him. She tapped her lips with one finger and said, "You've been naughty, Blake. Very, very naughty." Blake sensed the change in her. The playfulness in her tone that said he had reached past her anger to something else. Something way more interesting, he thought, wondering about the complex creature that she was.
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As she turned away from him and back toward the wall, he realized she was working at something with her hands. A second later, she shrugged off the vest she had been wearing, exposing the long, slender line of her back. The perfect expanse of creamy skin that he suddenly itched to touch, wondering whether it would feel like smooth alabaster beneath his fingers. He had been so drawn to that sight, that he didn't realize she had grabbed a cat o nine tails from the wall until she stood before him, the weapon held in her hand. But even then, his mind was not so much on the pain she might inflict with it as the truly rewarding sight of her naked. Her breasts were full. Her nipples hard with her passion and the color of golden honey, a surprise given her dark coloring. He wondered how they might taste and didn't even realize he had asked the question until she said, "You wanted to see and now you want to taste?" He salivated at the thought of it, but couldn't voice anything else as she brought the cat o nine tails to rest on his thigh, which immediately grabbed his attention. "You are...engaging," she said as she slowly trailed the leather strips studded with small metal balls up his thigh until they rested against his erection. The contrast of the smooth leather snaking around him together with the cold of the hard metal balls was a shock. "I could be much more engaging if you let me go," he said, because all he could think about was having her even if there would be pain afterward. Hell, with women there was always pain afterward. Do you fear nothing? she asked silently as she continued to fondle him with the cat o nine tails, yanking a moan from him with the caresses. Blake met her gaze and in there, he thought he caught a reflection of something familiar. Something they might share. "I fear living the rest of my life without love." She stopped her caresses and a spark of anger came to life in her gaze. "What do you know about living without love? You've been undead but a second compared to my life." "That's right. But at least I've had a taste of it. Can you say the same?"
Chapter Seven Stacia wanted to lash out at Blake. Shred his flesh and cut his manhood to bits for reminding her of all that she did not have. Only... There was something about him she had never noticed before, besides his marvelous body. As she had walked toward him before, she had realized that not even Michelangelo could have done a better job of sculpting the chiseled lines of his body and face. He might be of average height and nothing like the men she normally preferred, but his body was definitely not average. From those lean, defined muscles to his truly extraordinary erection, Blake was an exceptional specimen. Physically, that was. And now it occurred to her that he was remarkable in other ways. That he had the kind of spirit she had found lacking in men for nearly two thousand years. Because of that, she wasn't about to pass up this opportunity. Tossing aside the cat o nine tails, she replaced it with her hand and said, "Do you think you can show me love, Blake? Do you think you have what it takes?" His amazing blue eyes, nearly the color of sapphire now from his passion, trained on the actions of her hand as she stroked him. "Do you think that's what it takes, Stacia?"
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She stopped and yanked her hand away, as if punished, but then picked up her chin defiantly. "What do you want, Blake?" "Let me loose, luv, and I'll show you." Stacia wavered, torn between setting him free and her original plan to geld him. The latter would be much safer for her emotions, she realized, but not nearly as satisfying as the former. But both options unsettled her, making her wonder if the other elders were right in saying that she should let go of that last vestige of humanity that created such disquiet within her. She took a step back from him, torn between violence and desire. Between allowing herself respite in his arms or the satisfaction of vengeance. "Don't run, Stacia," he said and yanked at the shackles holding his arms, as if sensing her sudden indecision. But even as he repeated his entreaty, she was grabbing her vest and running out the door, chased by the sound of his voice as he called out, "You can't run forever, luv." *** Stacia stalked back and forth across the parquet floor in Diego's living room, her heels striking a sharp staccato beat with each step. "Amor, I'm going to have to refinish that floor if you keep that up," Diego said with amusement. She whirled to face him. He sat at an angle in a large wing chair, one leg tossed over the arm of the chair, the other stretched out before him. A glass filled with a rioja from his native Spain dangled from one hand. He was the picture of an indolent royal, which, of course, he had been in another life. Maybe that was why out of all the other wanna be humans at the Blood Bank, the two of them understood each other the best. In past lives they had both been part of the cream of society. It was how they had met nearly three hundred years earlier. And of course, they had both become vampires due to a loved one's betrayal. "He's absolutely insane, Diego. Do you know that?" She snapped up the hand that held her glass of wine and took a long sip. "You know those English fops. Forever lamenting lost love like in those awful poems -- " "Bloody awful," she confirmed and took up her pacing again, but at a much slower tempo, taking an occasional sip of wine every now and then. "Matches his bloody awful hair and that wardrobe with all the black...” Diego paused as he took in her attire - yet another ensemble of black leather, only this time decorated with finely wrought silver filigree. "Sorry, mi amiga. I forgot your penchant for cowhide," Diego quipped and finished off his glass of wine. "As disagreeable as it may be, he has that certain bad boy charm that humans are so susceptible to," she said with a disdainful sniff. "But not you, amiga? So you don't care where he's been hiding himself the last few days?" Diego asked with an arch of a sandy colored brow and a knowing gleam in his grey eyes.
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"He's smart to make himself scarce because the two of us have something to finish. When I do find him -- " "You'll make him suffer?" His question hung unanswered and as she examined his face, she realized her lordly friend might actually like to see Blake tormented. "You have issues with him?" The shrug Diego gave was an attempt at carefree, but the movement was a trifle stiff, plus she could sense the angry vibes mingling with his vampire power. "Thanks to his betrayal, Esperanza was kidnapped and killed." "And yet you let him live?" she questioned and walked to the sofa beside Diego, sat down and trained her gaze on his face, unable to believe that her friend would not have sought vengeance for his lover's death. "In the end, he nearly died to save my life and that of my charge, so I tolerate his presence." "Your charge? As in Meghan? The child I've seen around here?" she asked, pondering why Blake would play the hero since in all the decades she had known him, Blake had only thought of himself. Diego shook his head and tsked. "She's a child to you with all your years, but to everyone else...” "And why would Blake...” She stopped as a look came to Diego's face that explained everything. "He fancied himself in love with her." She tried to tamp down the jealousy she felt with that realization. After all, what she and Blake had shared. . . But they hadn't shared it. She had run away, unwilling to risk exploring the feelings Blake roused in her. "Do you think he can love? After so many years -- " "Anyone can love, Stacia. They just have to be willing to open their heart to it." Heart? she thought. Most would say she hadn't possessed a heart in a long time and yet... "So where has Blake been hiding? At that new club?" "The Lair?" Diego asked, and shook his head. "He's probably holed up in his tiny room, waiting for you to calm down." "I'm calm now," she told her friend, only he just chuckled. "Sí.I can tell how cool and composed you are. So are you going there?" "Going where?" she asked, leaning forward to snag the bottle of rioja from the coffee table and pour herself another glass. "To Blake's room. It's right next to Gramercy Park. Probably makes him feel like he's in proper old England," he scoffed and held out his glass so she would pour him some more wine, as well. She eyed him, wondering what her friend was about. "Why are you telling me this?" Diego smiled, but there was nothing friendly about it. "Because in the nearly three hundred years that we've been friends, you've never left any business unfinished. Especially a challenge to your power."
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Chuckling, she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip. The rioja was spirited and refreshing, reminding her of Blake surprisingly. Not that Diego wanted to hear that. She suspected he was only too eager for her to finish her business with Blake because he thought it would include inflicting some punishment on the punk vampire. But as she sipped her wine, it occurred to her that she had much better things to do with him. That maybe, just maybe, he might be the one to make a difference in her life for the first time in a long time. Downing the rest of her wine in one big gulp, she rose from the sofa. "So are you going to give me directions? I'd so hate to disappoint you by not settling my score with Blake."
Chapter Eight Blake had thought it best to avoid the Blood Bank and Stacia for a few days. Hopefully the time would give her the opportunity to cool down and give him a chance to figure out just what he was feeling for her. It was insane really to be feeling anything but fear. She was an elder. She could end his life by exerting only the smallest amount of her power. Only she hadn't. Even with her extreme anger the other night, she had spared him. She hadn't even truly harmed him, except of course for the humiliation of being found naked and bound by one of Foley's people and of course, the desire for her that had gone painfully unsatisfied. A desire that called to him every time he thought of her. Remembered how magnificent she had looked with her breasts unbound after she had removed her vest. The lean lines of her body and as he had noticed when she danced with the Goth, the ring of gold threaded through her belly button. He grew hard just imagining kissing her there. Tonguing that golden ring and then moving lower until... A sharp rap came at his door, disrupting his fantasy. He wondered who it could be since he didn't get many visitors up on his rooftop. He stalked to the door, eager to be rid of them and back to his musings about Stacia. Throwing the door open, he was alternately surprised and fearful to see her there. "Well, luv, fancy that. I was just thinking about you and here you are." "Really? And you're not in the least bit worried about why I'm here?" she asked, one brow arched in a way that made the ring of gold there almost wink at him impudently. He stepped aside and held his hand out in invitation. "I'm assuming you're here to finish up our business of the other night." Stacia chuckled as she sauntered in, the sway of her hips in all that black leather mesmerizing. Once she was inside, she placed her hands on her hips and looked around, taking note of the collection of cast offs in his small rooftop home. On the floor, thick oriental rugs that had seen better days, but were ruthlessly clean and of high quality. Rich mahogany furniture filled the small space, from the oddly matching tables scattered here and there which held an assortment of candles to the jewel in his room -- a large four-poster bed piled high with a sumptuous collection of linens. "Very nice," she said and headed to the French doors he had picked up from a nearby demolition site and installed to give him access to the rest of the roof. She opened the French doors and stepped outside. He followed, walking with her to the edge of the building which was directly across from Gramercy Park. In the early spring night, a sliver of moon illuminated the park where the branches of the trees were still bare of
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any growth. She looked at him and then around to the wrought-iron chairs and table on the roof, as well as the assorted pots for plants. "I didn't take you for a nature boy," she said and laid a hand on his chest, stroking him through the thin cotton of the T shirt. Blake shrugged as he said, "My family had a farm before...” He stopped, sensing it wasn't the time for recollections about his lineage, but when she looked up at him with her fathomless eyes, he sensed she wanted a connection. He picked up his hand and cradled her cheek, cold as the night and smooth. Like satin. "You're very beautiful," he said and traced the edges of her full lips with his thumb. "Do you think you're the first man who's ever told me that?" she said, a hint of scorn in her tone even as she raised the hand on his chest up to cup his jaw. "No, but I'd like to be the last," he said with a broad grin. He was irresistible, Stacia thought. Handsome and full of spirit. Passionate. Desire rose up, urging her to take the risk. To seek out the solace he might bring to her heart and so she inched up on tiptoe and kissed him. His lips were cold. Firm. He met her kiss tentatively at first, but then relaxed and soon his mouth opened on hers, tasting her. Begging her to open and allow him more which she did, leaning into him as his tongue darted out to lick the edges of her lips and slip into her mouth. Dancing with her tongue until they were both straining against each other, needing more. Arms wrapped around one another, they staggered back into his room and toward the bed, but at its edge he stopped and stepped back a bit. Looking down at her from his slightly greater height, he said, "I've waited too long to rush this." "Me, too," she confessed. With a nod, he slowly undressed her, his fingers skimming her skin as he slipped each button of her silk shirt free. She was naked beneath and as she shrugged off the shirt to expose herself to him, he gasped at the sight of her beauty. Blake cupped her breasts in his hands. Strummed his thumbs across her nipples until she mewled a protest and then he replaced his hands with his mouth. Sucking at her, gently at first, but then just a bit harder as she cupped the back of his head to her. Then he slowly sank to his knees, kissing a line down the center of her. His hands holding her hips as he dipped his tongue into her navel and after, playfully tugged at the golden ring there with his teeth. That tug sent a direct signal to the center of her. She moaned and sat back on the edge of the bed, her knees almost weak from the desire he had awoken. "Easy, luv," he said as he worked open her black leather pants and then slipped his hands beneath to drag them off. Blake paused to admire all that he had revealed. To marvel at the pale skin between her legs. At his perusal, she parted her thighs, exposing the deeper coral of her lips, glistening with her need. With a half glance at her, he slipped between her legs, kissed her there.
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She let out a ragged sigh, but cupped his head to her as he pleasured her with his mouth and tongue, until he felt the quickening beneath his fingers, and his own erection twitched to remind him that it, too, needed more. Vamp speed was a good thing, he thought, as he tossed off his shirt and jeans and returned to give her one last lick before he rose and positioned himself at her opening. Stacia watched the emotions splash across his face as he gazed down at her, hesitating as if asking permission. With the slight shift of her hips, she invited him in. He moved slowly, restraining himself so as to satisfy her. Conscious of her every need as he slipped his hands up her body to caress her breasts. Bent and took her mouth with a kiss that mimicked the motion of his hips, until she was gasping for breath and her heart thundered in her chest. She picked up her knees and cradled his hips, increasing the penetration of his thrusts and he quickened his tempo then. Strengthened the force of his thrusts until she had to hold onto his shoulders to keep with him. Nearly panting with the intensity of his lovemaking. As his gaze locked with hers, she realized he was striving for something besides physical satisfaction. Something was lacking within him much as it was within her. And so she raised her lips to his, wanting to give him that. Wanting to take it from him, as well. "Love me, Blake." With one arm braced on the bed to keep his weight off her, he cupped her head with his free hand and whispered, "You have it, Stacia. You have it, luv." The kiss that followed sent them both over the edge, but even as they lay there afterward, damp and sated, she needed more and he gave it. Time and time again they made love until the first fingers of a rosy dawn crept into the night sky and the sounds of birds tittering out in the park reminded them that it was time to rest. Blake snuggled her against his side and she went there willingly, satisfaction of both a physical and mental kind granting her peace for the moment. As she lay there, savoring the lean lines of his body and the comfort of his arms, Stacia wanted to ask if this was forever, but after two thousand years of existence, she knew forever was promised to no one. So instead she said, "Is this love, Blake?" A boyish grin slowly blossomed on his face and traveled up to his deep blue eyes, which sparkled with promise. "I certainly hope so, luv." The smile shook something loose inside of her and for the first time in centuries, Stacia imagined love was possible for her. Inching upward, she whispered against his lips, "So do I," and kissed him.
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One Night Only by Ann Christopher Rosa Matthews is ready to start living again. Since the death of her husband two years ago, Rosa has devoted herself to raising her young son Brennan, and to pursuing her law career. But it’s time to move on, and accompanying Brennan’s dentist to a fundraising gala seems like a good, safe place to start. But the evening is quickly interrupted by a man from Rosa’s past—her late husband’s best friend. Millionaire Philip Anderson’s contempt for Rosa has always been obvious to her, and now his expression makes it clear that he does not approve of her return to the dating scene. Or could it be that his arrogance is masking other, deeper feelings?
Chapter One Rosa Matthews was beginning to think the red gown was a mistake. “You look amazing.” Greg the Dentist hooked Rosa’s hand over his arm and studied her with an appreciative gaze that made her cheeks burn. “Thanks.” She caught herself twisting her wedding band in her favorite nervous gesture and stopped. Telling herself to get a grip, Rosa worked up a self-assured smile that would, hopefully, disguise the butterflies swooping like bats in her belly. Luckily, the elevator’s ping interrupted the moment of uncomfortable intimacy and the mirrored doors slid open, letting in a burst of jazzy music from a live band somewhere nearby. As Greg steered her into the crowded and candlelit ballroom, Rosa adjusted the glittery silver pashmina around her bare shoulders and wondered how soon they could leave. Yeah, this whole date thing was a mistake, starting with the gown. It was a filmy number that dipped low between her breasts, floated in layers down to her ankles and had a sparkling crystal elephant pin on one shoulder, because she loved elephants. It’d seemed elegant and lovely in the Macy’s dressing room the other day, but she’d foolishly discounted the cleavage factor and the awkwardness of having male eyes—like Greg the Dentist’s here—study her with sexual interest. Discreet and respectful interest, true, but still sexual. No one but her husband, Jake, had looked at her this way in years. But Jake was dead and she was here at a pre-Valentine’s Day breast cancer fund-raiser with her five-year-old son, Brennan’s, dentist, the man famously known for his wide selection of sugar-free lollipops for well-behaved children. With no prior warning, Greg the Dentist (she really needed to think of him as Greg) had asked her out during Brennan’s checkup last week, right after the fluoride treatment. This had prompted her to notice him as a man rather than a blue-masked and rubber-gloved medical professional, and what she noticed was…nice. He had warm brown eyes and a wide smile that put mothers and nervous children alike at ease. To her surprise, after a second or two of stammering she’d said yes. Why not? She was only thirty-five and there should be more to her life than her career as a corporate attorney and her son. Jake had been dead for two years and sick with a brain tumor for three before that. She’d
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been a dutiful caregiver and then widow. Wasn’t it time to have fun with adults again? Dress up? Wear makeup and possibly even…dance? Rejoin the living, Rosa, she’d told herself, but that had been last week, when the actual outing with a man was still several days away. Those days had since passed in a head-spinning blur and now here she was. On a date. And it was all a terrible mistake because she could never love another man the way she’d loved Jake, so why even bother with foolishness like dates? Some of her turmoil must have shown—she was twiddling her wedding band again—because Greg smiled gently. “Nervous?” “Is it that obvious?” “I thought you were going to cancel on me.” “I almost did,” she admitted. “Six or seven times.” “Ouch.” He shifted closer, looking puppy-dog hopeful and pleased rather than hurt. “Thanks for not standing me up.” Before she could register a protest, he leaned in and brushed her cheek with his soft lips and the wiry bristle of mustache. It was over in a blink and she stared at him, stunned at this first kiss in two years. Pulling back, he smiled. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” To her astonishment, it wasn’t. “No,” she said, and they laughed together, the tension broken. This date could be fun after all, she thought. But then Greg shifted and the smile died on her lips as someone loomed into view over his shoulder—someone tall, dark and unsmiling, with a glittering brown crystal gaze that skewered her like an insect to a display board. My God. Caught and guilty, her pulse running at the speed of light, Rosa took a quick step away from Greg because this unexpected ghost from her past wouldn’t approve of another man’s hand on her arm or lips on her face. Oh, no, he would not. Shoring up her courage, she flashed a cool smile and braced herself for what was sure to be an unpleasant encounter of the worst kind. “Hello, Philip,” she said.
Chapter Two
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"Rosa." Millionaire Philip Anderson, her dead husband's best friend and a man who took arrogance to a whole new level, stepped closer. One corner of his lush mouth turned up in a smile as disquieting as it was crooked. "You look surprised to see me." "I am,” she said. She hadn’t seen him since Jake’s funeral. “I thought you were still in Boston, ruling your software empire." The corners of his eyes crinkled with fleeting amusement. “It was time for me to move back home, so I’m ruling my, ah, empire from here now.” “Oh.” Rosa hated, but couldn’t help, the new breathiness in her voice. Nor could she stop the tiny shivers that chased across her arms as Philip watched her with that unrelenting stare. It didn't help that he was so tall and imposing that he made her feel trapped inside her own too-tight skin whenever he walked in the room. The rugged perfection of his harsh features— the black curls, the slashing dark brows, the smooth olive skin, the sleek cut of his cheekbones—all made her feel tacky and inadequate, even now, when she knew she looked great. Especially now, when his black tuxedo gave him a James Bond air of danger and sophistication. He’d always affected her this way. Every interaction they'd ever had had ended with Rosa's belly tied in knots. From the moment Jake had introduced her to his best friend all those years ago, Rosa had felt the sharp edge of Philip’s intense dislike. Why? She’d never known. All she knew was that Philip hated her down to the marrow of her bones and had, with unwavering determination, systematically refused all of her many efforts to befriend him. For this unforgivable injustice—everyone else liked her, why didn't he?—she hated him right back. "What are you doing here?" Rosa kept her chin up and her expression blank. The Prince of Arrogance would not reduce her to a fidgeting mess of nerves. "Raising money for charity." Philip paused long enough to give her a pointed once-over. "I see you're out of mourning." There it was. And it had only taken—what?—thirty seconds for him to try to make her feel bad. A new world record, even for him. Who the hell did he think he was? The sole keeper of Jake's memory? Did he think she should hide in a darkened house and wear black clothes for the rest of her life? Jackass. Defiant now, she let the pashmina slide away to reveal her cleavage and the gown in all its bright glory. Take that. Then she hooked Greg's arm and reeled him in. Angry color rose high over Philip’s cheeks. “Dr. Greg Wood, I'd like you to meet Philip Anderson. Philip is an…old friend."
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It took Philip a second or two to notice Greg’s extended hand. Finally he looked down his straight nose to Greg, who was much shorter, took his hand and cracked open his tight lips. “Pleasure,” he said, managing roughly the enthusiasm of a man about to undergo a prostate exam. Philip’s absolute focus reverted to Rosa, who raised one eyebrow and waited, hoping she looked imperious. "Enjoy your evening," he murmured, and slipped away into the crowd. Rosa floundered for a second, trying to follow his progress as he disappeared. She felt strangely deflated. When Greg offered to get drinks, she took the opportunity to slip through the French doors and out onto the terrace, where it was quieter, to call home and make sure Brennan had gone to bed without incident. He had, thank goodness. She’d just returned her phone to her beaded bag when someone came up behind her. The prickle of awareness and faint delicious scent of expensive cologne—something earthy with a hint of leather, she thought—told her it was Philip, although she was unprepared for him to come so close or for her heart to skitter so frantically. Ignoring her body’s violent reaction—God, it was everywhere: aching in her breasts, throbbing between her thighs; a primal response she’d never had for any other man, ever—she faced him with a growing and unaccountable feeling of excitement. "We need to talk, Rosa," he said, and her senses played tricks on her because she saw heat in his dark eyes and heard desire in his low murmur.
Chapter Three Goose bumps erupted over Rosa’s arms and shoulders, but they had nothing to do with the weather, which was balmy for the middle of February in Cincinnati. The setting and the man were to blame. They were alone on an intensely romantic terrace overlooking the Ohio River from high atop a hillside perch. Thousands of white lights blinked in the trees and everywhere else she looked. Worst of all was the husky note in his black-magic voice and the heat blasting from his big body as he leaned one elbow against the railing and regarded her with that unreadable expression. Something about him was different than it had been minutes ago—softer, maybe—and something primal inside her awakened. Responded. This was dangerous, she realized. Unexpected, unsettling and…dangerous. “Talk?” Drawing the pashmina tighter, she threw one end over her shoulder, realized she was fidgeting, and stopped. "What have you ever had to say to me?" “More than you know." He glanced at her wrap. "Are you cold?" "Yes," she lied.
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Amusement lit his face even if it didn't curve his lips. "You’re flushed." Yeah. She was. Infuriated that he could read her so easily, Rosa swore she wouldn't give an inch to this bully. Hitching up her chin, she mustered all the haughty disdain she could manage. "You came all the way out here to discuss my body temperature?" "No, although the subject does interest me. A lot.” Rosa gaped. “I came out here to discuss your dress." Rosa tried to stay focused and work up some bravado but it was hard because he was crossing all kinds of lines tonight, rearranging her known world. “Y-you don't like red?" "Rosa," he said with utter sincerity as he eased closer, "red is my new favorite color." Flustered and speechless, Rosa searched his expression for the familiar animosity, but it was gone. Something new was there in its place: open sexual desire and appreciation. This unexpected change was so stunning—she would've been less surprised to see Philip turn into a pterodactyl and back again—that it took her an eternity to speak. "What are you doing?" "Letting you know how I feel about you." "That's easy." Another lie. Nothing about this night had been easy, especially the slight tremble that had begun in her legs and now seemed to be spreading throughout her entire body. Rosa locked her knees and tried to ignore the leashed excitement that shimmered around him like an aura and the unmistakable glow of adoration in his face. "You hate me. End of conversation." "I don't hate you, Rosa." He was deadly serious now and she was deathly afraid. This chemical reaction she felt, this…this…sudden attraction, if that’s what it was, shouldn’t be happening between them. She was a widowed single mother who’d left the house tonight for a safe date with a dentist. She was not a woman looking for romance or even sex, especially not with her dead husband's best friend. Even if he was one of the sexiest men she'd ever seen. "Of course you hate me.” God, she couldn’t even think, could barely get the words out. “You’ve hated me since you laid eyes on me."
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"I've never hated you, sweetheart." The aching tenderness in his voice was bad enough, and the endearment was worse, but then something terrible happened. With no further warning, he cupped her face in his gentle hand, stepped closer until they were thigh-to-thigh and belly-to-belly, and set off a nuclear reaction strong enough to incinerate her poor body to dust.
Chapter Four Rosa had never been struck by lightning, but she imagined it felt a lot like this: the scorching heat at the point of contact; the reverberations in every far corner of her body; the earth’s dizzy spin beneath her feet. Far beyond her control now, her body began to issue a series of demands. Her mouth wanted to kiss him, her tongue to suck and her teeth to bite. Her fingers clenched with the urge to run through his silky dark curls, and between her thighs honey flowed for him, hot and thick. Philip. God, Philip. With a low murmur—she couldn't quite hear what he said—he shifted until the heavy bulge of his erection just brushed her sex. That fleeting pleasure nearly knocked her out cold. Yes. Her heavy head fell back and her lids began to close, but then Jake's face flashed through her mind and sanity intruded. Gasping, she broke away. Tried to think, to regulate her heartbeat. Long seconds passed and the connection between them remained, unbroken and brighter than ever. She felt branded, marked. Breathless fool that she was, she wanted him to take those amazing hands and mark the rest of her over-sensitized flesh. Choked with desire, she couldn't speak. He wasn’t doing much better. A shudder racked his body as he braced his hands on the rail and waged an obvious struggle with his control. After a tense moment or two, he looked at her. "Rosa—” "This isn't going to happen." "It's happening. We both feel it." Yeah, she felt it, but that didn't mean she was going to acknowledge it. "I don't understand you. You can’t be that turned on by a dress." "I'm that turned on by you."
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"Since when?" He looked away. Opened his mouth and closed it again. Rubbed the back of his head and finally faced her with color rising over his cheeks. "I don't think you're ready to hear the whole story just yet." "You're right about that." Her fear put her on the offensive. "I don't believe in casual sex. You know that, right?" Grim satisfaction bracketed his mouth. "Good. I’m not planning to have casual sex with you. I assume that means you're not sleeping with the knucklehead who brought you…?" "Greg." At least she thought that was his name, but it was a little hard to remember at the moment. "Greg. And who I sleep with is none of your business." Predictably, he ignored the none-of-your-business part. "I'm going to take that as a no—” She spluttered a protest but he ignored that, too. “So here’s my next question—when can we go to dinner to talk about this?" "Let’s talk now. Why wait? Hmm.” Cocking her head, she pretended to think. “What do you suppose your dead best friend Jake would say if he could see you hitting on his widow? How about that?" Philip paused, a look of utmost tenderness softening his eyes. "Jake is dead, sweetheart. We’re alive." Rosa shook her head. She wanted to cover her ears, to protect her heart. "I like to think he'd want the two of us to be happy together." "I'm not in the market to be happy with anyone. I was happy with Jake, but that's over.” She tried to sound forceful, as though she hadn’t just been rethinking her life choices a little while ago. “Now my life is about my son and my career. Not sex." "Interesting." She was so mesmerized by the dark depths of his eyes that she didn't notice his hand at her shoulder until it was too late and paralysis had set in. She waited…waited to see what he would do. "This is about more than sex to me, Rosa, but let's talk about sex for a minute." He tugged one end of the shawl and the fine cashmere slid across her bare skin with a friction so delicious she almost moaned. "Are you saying you don't want to have sex with me?"
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Chapter Five “No. I don’t want to have sex with you,” Rosa whispered, the biggest lie she’d ever told. Inch by slow inch, Philip pulled her pashmina until the fringes at the far end trailed across the sensitive hollow between her neck and shoulders and down into the valley between her heaving breasts. Agonized, she waited for it to finally fall away and almost wept with disappointment when it didn't. To her astonishment, Philip gathered it up with a careful touch that was almost reverent, as though he’d never held anything so precious and never would again, pressed his nose to it and inhaled deeply. She watched his eyes roll closed, and if she didn’t know better she’d think that the scent of her spicy perfume intoxicated him. Drove him wild, to the very edge of his limits. At last his lids flicked open and he threw the worst possible accusation at her. "You're a liar." “I have to go." Reaching out, he caught her before she could escape. She tipped her face up and didn't even think of pulling away as he settled his hands low on the curves of her hips. Her guilty conscience gave one feeble squirm—she had just been caught in an outright lie, after all—but then there was only Philip. Splaying his fingers, he exerted enough gentle pressure to rub her against his insistent erection and her sex clenched, needing him. Once he’d settled her against him, he ran his hands up her bare back, and then down, around, until his thumbs just brushed the outer curves of her breasts on their descent to her waist. Her hands, meanwhile, had stopped taking direction from her brain and were now resting at his nape, where the tips of her fingers could touch that soft dark hair and anchor him to her. His lips nuzzled her temple and then found their way to her ear, where they rested just long enough to drive her insane with their humid warmth. Rosa shuddered and gave herself up to this suspended moment in time, bewildering as it was. Nothing existed except Philip, whose huge, muscled body felt strange and yet right. Her date, what’s-his-name-the-dentist, didn’t matter. Jake was dead and her fears could be overcome as long as this man was touching her. There was only Philip. “Let me kiss you,” he whispered in her ear. “I’ve waited so long for you… Let me kiss you…please.” The echo of her unspoken response was there, deep inside her, and she didn’t know where it came from, only that it was real: I’ve waited for you, too.
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Unable to wait another second, she turned her head and surrendered. He caught her lips beneath his, and the kiss was tender, unbearably sweet. An approving croon rumbled from the depths of his chest, heating her senses to boiling, and she opened for him, tasting a hint of tart champagne and something darker and more thrilling, something only Philip. Yes. He'd just tunneled his fingers into her hair and angled her head the way he wanted it, deepening the kiss, thrusting and retreating with his tongue, driving her wilder and higher until she was almost obliterated by the driving need to spread her thighs and take him as far inside her body as he could possibly go, when the door to the ballroom banged open behind them. "Rosa?" They sprang apart at Greg's plaintive voice, and Rosa’s hot cheeks glowed with mortification until it felt as if they would light up the starry sky. Flustered, she tried to think. Not about Philip—oh, God, Philip—but about the look of dawning hurt and humiliation on Greg's face. "I'm so sorry, Greg." The apology seemed incredibly inadequate but she owed it to the poor man. "It's not what it looks—” "Yes, it is.” Philip divided his implacable gaze between her and Greg. "It's exactly what it looks like." "What the hell—?” Anger had begun to color Greg’s face, but Philip interrupted him. "I'm…sorry," he told Greg, his jaw tight. "You seem like a decent guy, but you should know— I’m wild about Rosa, and if I have my way, you won't be seeing her again after tonight.” This declaration was so unexpected and outrageous that Rosa and Greg could only stammer with surprise. Philip, naturally, took advantage of the silence. Making sure he had Rosa’s attention, he raised the pashmina to his lips and kissed it. Deep in Rosa's belly, she felt a renewed surge of desire and wanted that horrible man in all his glorious arrogance. His parting words only intensified the want until she had to clench her hands to keep from reaching for him. "I'm coming for you, Rosa,” Philip said over his shoulder as he left with her wrap. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Chapter Six "You're a sticky mess," Rosa told her gooey-faced five-year-old son Brennan early the next morning. She watched him swirl his fork in the half-inch puddle of syrup on his otherwise empty plate, not sure whether to be amused or disgusted. "And that's enough with the syrup." Brennan looked up at her, his wide eyes hopeful. "Can I have more pancakes?"
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"No." Rosa moved to the kitchen sink and began to rinse dishes. She was well aware of Brennan’s furtive fork-licking, but chose to ignore it. Drinking excess maple syrup was one of the biggest joys of childhood and a rare weekend treat for Brennan. "Bacon? Eggs?" Brennan persisted. "You are done." Exasperated now, Rosa turned off the water and flicked Brennan with a handful of suds. He ducked, squealing with laughter and revealing a two-inch gap in his front teeth. "Now get outta here and get ready for your shower. And your haircut." Brennan clamped his tiny hands on either side of his head, anchoring his overgrown sandy curls in place. "I don't need a haircut." "Okay.” She shrugged. “Maybe we can use a barrette to keep your hair out of your eyes. I have a nice pink one you can borrow." That did it. Brennan hopped down from his chair and, shrieking, ran for his life, his feet in their footed pajamas slip-sliding around the corner as he disappeared down the hall. Rosa turned back to the dishes and was still chuckling when her mother-in-law, Lucille, appeared in her fluffy blue bathrobe, her salt-and-pepper hair still pinned under its sleeping net. Lucille had moved in following Jake's death because the heartbroken women had needed each other and now, two years later, Rosa couldn’t imagine life without her. Rosa considered herself lucky to have Lucille's loving support with Brennan, who was a handful on a good day. "Good morning." Yawning, Lucille accepted Rosa’s peck on the cheek and a steaming mug of coffee. "How was your date?" "Not good. I ran into Philip. He's back in town." “Umm.” Lucille sipped her coffee, her expression neutral. That noncommittal umm put Rosa on heightened alert because Philip and Jake had grown up together and Lucille considered Philip something of a second son. "You knew he was back?" "Yes." "You've seen him?" "Well," Lucille said, with the kind of nonchalant expression it took years of practice to master. "Philip likes to stay in touch. See how we're all doing. You know." This information made Rosa feel sulky. So much for his wanting her “for so long,” or whatever he’d claimed; he hadn't even bothered to let her know he’d moved back in town. "He never liked me," she grumbled, but then, from nowhere, a flash of memory streaked through her mind. “Philip, this is Rosa," Jake said. Smiling and thrilled to finally meet the famous Philip, her fiancé's best friend, Rosa extended her hand and found herself staring up into a pair of stunned and stunning brown eyes. Wow.
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Jake had never mentioned how handsome Philip was, but of course that wasn't the kind of thing men talked about. "I've heard a lot about you, Philip.” She tried not to gape, tried to regulate her breathing, tried not to feel the spark of hot awareness that traveled up her arm as he took her hand in his firm grip. “I'm not sure whether any of it’s true or not, though.” Philip stared at her. There was no other word for it. His welcoming smile now seemed frozen in place and Rosa flushed, wondering if she had lettuce from dinner stuck between her teeth. What else could account for this reaction? But then, when enough beats had passed for the moment to become awkward, he sobered, blinked and cleared his throat. If he’d ever smiled at her again between that moment all those years ago and last night, Rosa had missed it. “Jake told me about you, too, Rosa. He said you were beautiful.” There was a strange look in Philip’s eyes now, a new sadness that she couldn’t understand and wondered about later. “He didn’t get it even half right.” “Rosa? Stop your daydreaming, dear.” Lucille’s voice intruded on her thoughts, jarring her back to the present with an unpleasant jolt. "Philip’s car just pulled up out front. He must be here to see you."
Chapter Seven While her mother-in-law went to let Philip in, Rosa panicked. Oh, my God. After one second of paralyzed helplessness, she jumped to her feet, checked her reflection in the tiny mirror over the stove, fluffed her hair and wished she'd thrown on something other than her faded jeans and long-sleeved T-shirt. Ah, well—too late now. At least she’d brushed her teeth. She arrived in the foyer in time to see the tail end of a bear hug between Philip and Lucille. Philip had been laughing—he had a devastating smile, all flashing white teeth and dimples— and he caught Rosa's gaze over Lucille's shoulder. For the first time ever, he didn't treat Rosa to one of his automatic scowls. Instead, his smile widened a notch or two, and Rosa’s knees weakened accordingly. Surely that wasn’t a normal smile; it felt like a gift, a bright rainbow, a wonderful surprise and the promise of beautiful things to come. Rosa’s heart contracted and she had to look away. Pulling out of Lucille's arms, Philip gave the old woman a kiss on the forehead but spoke to Rosa in an intimate tone that was for her alone. "Good morning." How was she supposed to think clearly with him looking so happy to see her? "Hi," she said.
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"Have you got a minute?” he asked. “I don't feel like we finished our conversation last night." The poorly hidden vulnerability and hope in his eyes disarmed Rosa almost as much as seeing him in baggy jeans and a sweatshirt rather than his usual corporate suit and tie. She was used to thinking of him as a glowering enemy rather than an approachable man, and she wasn't sure she liked the change. "That's not such a good—” she began. "Philip!" Brennan, now wearing only blue Batman undies on his narrow backside and sporting wet hair that dripped down his back, appeared at the top of the staircase and raced down the steps like Carl Lewis trying to set a new world record. Reacting quickly, Philip squatted, caught him and swung him in a circle that sent the boy's skinny legs flying. Rosa’s jaw dropped because she'd had no idea that Philip and Brennan were on such good terms. A sneaking suspicion made her glance at Lucille, who had the grace to hang her head and look guilty. Rosa narrowed her eyes at her mother-in-law, making a mental note to deal with her later. "Are you going to play baseball with me at the park today?" Brennan asked. Rosa stifled a snort as the light came on over her head. All those grandmother-grandson trips to the park, all those secret giggles between Lucille and Brennan. She should have known something suspicious was going on. Before Philip could answer Brennan, Lucille, who was obviously anxious to get out of the hot seat, hurried forward to take her grandson’s hand. "You'll see Philip later. Right now, you need to put some clothes on this tiny hiney.” Ignoring the boy’s loud protests, Lucille took him back upstairs. In the echoing silence, Rosa could hardly bring herself to look at Philip. His gaze was too intense, his interest too sharp. And her body's reaction to him was too acute. Especially when he edged closer, took her hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb. "Hi." Hot sparks of unwelcome sensation shot through her. Pulling away, she shoved her hands in her pockets, where they were safe. "Hi. You shouldn't have come." A subtle change came over his face, a hurt he couldn’t disguise. "No?" "No. And you really put me in a tight spot with Greg last night. He was very upset. I’m going to have to find Brennan a new dentist." "I apologized to him. And I didn't come to talk about Greg. I came to talk about our date tonight." "We don't have a date tonight."
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"We absolutely have a date tonight.” Philip flashed that grin at her again and it was wicked this time, thrilling—as tempting as an open box of Godiva milk chocolates. “It's Valentine's Day and I have a proposition for you. Would you like to hear it?"
Chapter Eight It was all Philip could do to keep his hands to himself as he followed Rosa, she tempted him that much. The angry sway of her hips in those low-slung jeans tied his belly in knots. The round curve of her butt taunted him until he had to focus on walking straight. The heavy swish of all that wavy black hair as she tossed her head distracted him with need. Everything about her enticed him and always had. It wasn’t just physical but, man, the physical was killing him right now. He wanted to hold those hips and anchor her to him as she straddled him and pumped, hard and fast, slow and easy and every permutation in between; to bite that bare ass; to sink his fingers into that dark silk as it spread over his lap and she took him in her mouth. His hands shook with the want and his palms were clammy with it. Stay cool, Anderson, he told himself as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Don’t blow it now when you’ve waited this long. Looking as though she was determined to be brave while she faced certain doom, Rosa stalked to the vaulted living room, her body stiff. Once there, she selected an overstuffed chair and sat with an apparent iron rod in her spine that wouldn't let her relax. Clasping her hands in her lap, she looked up at him with suspicious doe eyes that had been so sultry a few short hours ago. "What's this proposal?" she demanded. Ah, yes. He could see where this was going. She planned to listen politely, claim that last night's kiss had been a mistake, reject any further attempts at seduction and get rid of him as soon as possible. That was her plan. Too bad she didn't know that he had a better plan. Settling on the coffee table in front of her, Philip rested his elbows on his knees and ignored her start of surprise; she’d probably expected him to sit a safe distance away, on the sofa. Not this time, sweetheart. His closeness affected her and that was a good thing seeing as how her closeness damn sure affected him. Always had. “I propose that we go out tonight for Valentine’s Day. See what happens.” You’d think he’d suggested a noon skinny-dip at the local pool on the busiest day of summer by the way her face scrunched and flushed with discomfort. “That kiss last night was a mistake. It’s given you the wrong idea. I’m not having sex with you.” She would, and, judging by her passionate reaction to him last night, it would be sooner rather than later, but now wasn’t the time to get into that. “Who said anything about sex? I’m talking about us spending a little time together. It’s called a date.” “We’re not dating. I’m not dating anyone.”
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“You dated that knucklehead last night.” “That was different.” Immediately she clamped her pouty lips together and looked as though she’d like to bite off her own tongue as punishment for saying something so foolish. Her gaze skittered away and refused to meet his. Philip’s heart thudded into overdrive. Watching her face and seeing the color rise in her high cheekbones until her brown skin looked sun-kissed, one thing became perfectly and painfully clear: she was petrified. It’d been years since she’d been with a man, and the man she’d chosen had died on her. Better to hide behind meaningless absolutes like I’m not dating anyone than open herself up for any more heartbreak in this lifetime. And, of course, the chemistry they felt together was explosive and scary. “Of course it was different. That guy last night was safe. You could never fall in love with someone like him.” Philip paused and kept his tone gentle. “I’m not safe, am I, sweetheart?” Their gazes locked and held for the longest moment of his life. He felt the subtle hitch in her breath and saw the instant that her nipples peaked underneath that thin T-shirt. And his penis reacted, hardening into an ache of awareness until he had to shift his hips and change his position. “Tell me something, Philip.” God, she was drowning him in those brilliant brown eyes. “When did you stop hating me?” For long seconds he couldn’t speak—couldn’t trust his heart to keep quiet if he opened his mouth. And, of course, he was scared because she had the power to make the sun shine on his face, or to cast him into eternal darkness with her rejection. But now was the moment he’d waited so long for and he wouldn’t let his fears keep him quiet. He took a deep breath. “Do you really not know how I feel about you? How I’ve always felt?”
Chapter Nine Yeah, Rosa knew how he felt about her; Philip saw the sudden knowledge widen her dark eyes, felt her unease in her new stillness. Trying to deflect him with sarcasm, she kept her tone light. "Never hated me, eh? That must be why you always left the room whenever I showed up. Also why you never smiled at me, never talked to me and pretty much pretended I didn't exist the whole time Jake was alive. You even managed to ignore me every time you came here for dinner, and that was a real trick." Rosa smacked her forehead. "Gosh. Wow. I don't know where I ever got the idea that I wasn’t your favorite person. You'll have to forgive me, okay? I'm so stupid. Duh." A sudden flash of insight hit him: her bravado hid a wound that had scabbed but never healed. Seeing it surprised and pained him; surprised because he hadn't thought she cared enough about him to be much bothered by his aloofness over the years, pained because he would have died rather than hurt her. Ever. "What should I have done," he wondered, "about my feelings for my best friend's wife?"
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She gaped and he took advantage of her silence. "Should I have told Jake, ‘Hey, man, you know your wife, right? I just thought I'd mention that I want her more than I’ve ever wanted another woman in my life. Hope you don't mind.’ I don't think that conversation would've gone so well, Rosa. Do you?" Rosa didn’t move and yet vibrated with something that looked barely controlled, primal. He wanted to touch her, to see if he could break through her walls and shatter her reserve, but he kept his hands to himself and tried to take this slow and easy. "Wanted?" she echoed faintly. "Don't men always want what they can't have?" Oh, no. That wouldn’t work. "Don't do that,” he told her, vehement. “Don't dismiss this. I remember everything about you. I remember the blue dress you wore the day I met you—” She gasped with surprise. “—and I remember that you ordered an amaretto sour when I took you and Jake out for a drink after you both passed the bar exam. I remember the way you touched my arm at my father's funeral—” “Philip—” “—and I still have the sympathy card you sent me. Do you remember what you wrote? I do. ‘I hope that in the days to come you’ll take comfort in your memories and the support of your friends. Love, Rosa.’” He paused, choked on the backlog of emotion. "Are you getting the picture yet?" She was, judging by the sparkle of tears in her eyes, but he still didn’t think she quite got it, so he did a little more convincing. “You’re smart, you’re funny and you’re strong. You took care of Jake when he was dying and you did it with courage and grace. You’re raising an amazing kid, all by yourself. And you make my heart stop every time I look at you.” Ah, hell. He hadn’t meant to say that last part. Too late to take it back now. "My God,” she said. “Why now, Philip?" Taking what felt like an even bigger risk, he reached for her fisted hands, uncurled them and raised one soft palm to his lips. He kissed it and let his eyes roll closed at the thrill of her tiny sigh. "Because you've had two years to mourn and you’ve started dating again. And I can't stay away from you for one more second." One solitary tear trickled down her cheek as she looked to a framed photo of Jake sitting on the mantelpiece next to the simple black urn that held his ashes. Philip had no intention of letting a ghost come between them, so he slid onto the chair next to her, purposely blocking her view of Jake. She watched him with eyes that were wary and, beneath that, sultry. "Don't think about him, sweetheart." Cupping her face between his hands, Philip lowered his head until her sweet breath feathered his lips. "Think about me. Think about us."
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And then he kissed her.
Chapter Ten Philip brushed his mouth across hers, memorizing the shape of her lips, their texture and taste. She tilted her chin up, and that encouragement, along with a tiny mewl of pleasure that vibrated in her throat, was all he needed. An easy stroke of his tongue had her opening for him, taking him deep inside the silky warmth of her mouth until his head spun with the pleasure and his body engorged to rock-hard readiness. He'd had vague thoughts of taking things slow, but that was impossible when he had her fragrant satin curls fisted in his hands and her greedy enthusiasm matched his. Trembling with the force of his lust, sweating with it, he ran his hands down her sides and inched them under her T-shirt—he had to touch her; his life depended on it—raising the soft cotton until it was out of his way. The heat of that silky skin almost blistered his palms, and the hard points of her nipples as she arched into him caused the last of his good sense to disintegrate. Frenzied now, he cupped the heavy weight of her breasts and traced wide loops with his thumbs until, crying out with frustration, she grabbed his wrists, moved his hands so that they covered her nipples and made a choked sound of relief as she murmured his name. Ecstatic and triumphant because he’d known they’d be explosive together (but this reality was so much better than any fantasy) he flattened his palms and circled her nipples, roughening his touch until her cries rose and she panted against his mouth. “Philip,” she whispered over and over again, “oh, God, Philip…Philip.” Was she about to come? Desperate to feel how wet she was, how close, he reached for her zipper, fumbled with it and— "Mommy?" They leapt apart at that distant voice and the sound of running feet, working together to lower Rosa’s shirt. Philip shook with frustration and he clenched his fists, trying to regain control. “Rosa,” he said, needing to say something. But Rosa shook her head and smoothed her clothes, refusing to look at him. By the time Brennan raced into the room, now wearing jeans and a sweater; they'd caught their breath a little, although Rosa’s flaming color was a neon sign that she'd nearly been making love. Thank goodness Lucille was nowhere in sight. She’d know at a glance what they’d just been up to. “Mommy?” "Yes, baby?" Rosa stood and gave her son a shaky smile.
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"Can I play baseball outside?" Brennan held up a ratty glove that had obviously seen a lot of action in his young life. "Absolutely. I'll be right there." "Can you play with me, Philip?" Brennan danced from one foot to the other, too excited to stand still while he waited for his answer. "Absolutely," Philip told him. “Wait for me, okay?” Brennan flashed a joyous smile and raced from the room. Rosa looked as though she wished she could escape with him. "That shouldn't have happened—” Philip had known she’d say this, but hearing it still hurt. "It did happen." "— and it won't happen again." The hell it wouldn't. "Be ready at five o'clock tonight,” he continued, fighting his irritation. They’d just been so close. So damn close. Now he was back to square one, right where he started. “Check with Lucille and make sure she can watch Brennan." Rosa’s jaw dropped. "Are you not listening—?” “Not really. No.” “—and it's better if you don't spend too much time with Brennan. He's desperate for a man's attention, and I don't want him to get the wrong—” "Brennan’s a great kid. I’d love to see more of him." "—idea and I'm not dating anyone, anyway." That pointy chin of hers hitched up, stubborn as a mule family convention. "And I'm not going anywhere with you tonight." He almost smiled at her intransigence, but too much was at stake for this to be funny. "Five o'clock," he told her. "Wear something casual, but red. I like the red." She was still spluttering when he left the room to find Brennan.
Chapter Eleven When the doorbell rang at precisely five o’clock that night, Rosa was ready. She’d had all day to perfect her speech and knew exactly what she’d say, had all her excuses listed and rehearsed: I'm sorry I’ve given you the wrong idea, Philip, but we’re not going to have a relationship. My life is all about Brennan now and I don't believe in casual sex. I've had my great love and no other man could ever compare to Jake. I'd only be wasting your time.
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True, she had put on her sexiest red satin blouse with her jeans, the one with the ruffles that dipped low in the front, and, true, her body was still hot and agitated from the interlude with Philip earlier on the sofa and, yeah, it was true that she'd begun to wonder what could happen if she and Philip began a relationship, but all that was beside the point. The point—and she was going to remember this the next time she saw the flash of Philip’s wicked eyes and felt the rumble of his velvety voice deep in her belly—was that she was not ready for an affair and could never have one with him. Period. End of story. So she was strangely disappointed when she opened the door and Philip was nowhere in sight. What was in sight was a dark sedan idling at the curb and a uniformed chauffeur carrying what looked like six or eight hundred white roses over one arm. "Hi," Rosa said, aware of Lucille coming to stand behind her. "Ms. Matthews? These are for you." Smiling, the chauffeur transferred the fragrant bouquet— oh, wow, it was heavy—to Rosa. "And these." He handed her a two-pound bag of strawberry Twizzlers. Astonished, Rosa took the candy and stared at it, a sudden lump of emotion in her throat. This could not be happening. Philip had remembered both her favorite flower and her favorite candy, and she had no idea when she'd ever mentioned either to him. Had Jake told him? No. She'd bet money that he hadn't. Jake had been many wonderful things—athletic, a decent cook and a great father came to mind—but a romantic wasn't one of them. If forced at gunpoint, she doubted her husband would've been able to name her favorite anything. "There's a card," the chauffeur told her. Rosa had just discovered it tied with a blue satin ribbon to a single red rose amid the white. The white roses are because they’re your favorite, Philip had written in his bold scrawl, but the red one represents a little of my passion for you. P. My God, how that man touched her. Undone, Rosa pressed the card to her heart and wondered what to do now. “Oh, and he said to give you this too.” The chauffeur handed her another card from his breast pocket. Rosa took it warily, not sure how much more sentiment she could handle for the day. Are you wearing red? She snorted with laughter. It must have had a hysterical edge to it, because Lucille hurried forward and held her arm toward the door to steer the chauffeur out. “Please tell Philip that Rosa says thank you. But unfortunately she won’t be able to—”
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“Yes, I will,” Rosa interjected quickly, ignoring the annoying flash of triumph in Lucille’s quickly-subdued smile. She grabbed her purse and jacket from the chair, thinking that a single date with Philip—only this one time—wouldn’t kill her. The passion she’d felt in the last several hours, the excitement and the unspeakable hope were all intoxicating and she wanted more of them. She wanted this time with Philip. Couldn’t she enjoy a few more hours of lightness this Valentine’s Day and then revert to the dutiful widow and single mother tomorrow? What could it hurt? She gave Lucille a hurried hug and transferred the roses to her. “Kiss Brennan for me, okay? Tell him I’ll be back after he’s asleep.” “Don’t you worry about a thing,” Lucille told her. “Enjoy yourself.” “I intend to.”
Chapter Twelve Memories scanned through her mind, and she viewed them through the new lens of Philip’s stifled feelings for her. Things she’d always wondered about suddenly made sense. Philip, slightly drunk at Rosa’s wedding reception, raising his champagne flute to toast her as she stood with her back to Jake, safe within the protective embrace of her new husband’s arms. “To the beautiful bride,” Philip murmured. “A lifetime of happiness.” There was something dark in Philip’s expression, a gaping emptiness that wouldn’t be filled by this sip of champagne or the next glass or even the entire bottle. “You’re drunk,” she’d said, thinking he was mocking her. “Damn straight.” “Philip loves a good reception,” Jake said behind her, chuckling, but Jake apparently didn’t see the disquieting light in his best man’s eyes. “I didn’t get to kiss the bride,” Philip said. Staring up at Philip with her husband’s hands on her hips, Rosa wanted to say no, but there was something about Philip that had always called to her, touched her, no matter how she tried to ignore it. Tilting her cheek, sandwiched between the two men, Rosa accepted Philip’s kiss, which touched the outer corner of her mouth, lingered too long and sparked a flutter of something illicit deep in her belly. Philip pulled away, smiled that crooked smile of unbearable sadness, and disappeared into the crowd on the dance floor.
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“Almost there, now.” The chauffeur caught her eye in the rear-view mirror and winked. “Great.” Another memory slipped forward to take center stage in her mind: Philip comforting her at Jake’s memorial service. She’d been wrecked—barely able to put one foot in front of the other—and yet blessedly numb. Philip took her cold hands in his strong warm ones. “You’ll get through this.” Listless, she shrugged. “If you say so.” “I know so,” he said. “You’re the strongest woman I know.” Emotion colored his cheeks and she saw the rough bob of his Adam’s apple. “And you’re the best thing that ever happened to Jake.” She wanted to sob, to collapse, to die. “Thank you.” “He asked me to look out for you and Brennan…” “Here we are.” Rosa blinked herself out of her daydream in time to see the car turn down a long private drive and roll to a stop in front of an enormous red brick Georgian house with black shutters. She gasped. Was this his house? Philip was there on the porch, wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a thrilled smile a mile wide. He opened the door and she started to climb out, but he climbed in, scooting her across the seat and settling next to her. He kissed her cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.” “Happy Valentine’s Day.” He took her hand and slung his other arm across the seat behind her. She had the fleeting thought that now was the time for establishing ground rules such as no touching, but she couldn’t make her mouth say the words when their fingers intertwined so perfectly and his surrounding warmth felt so right. “I can’t believe I’m here.” She stared back at the house as the car rolled off. “Aren’t we staying at your house? That is your house, right? Or did you just sneak onto the most beautiful property in the city to try to impress me before the real owners discovered you?” He laughed, and then she laughed, and then he had her face in his hands and was kissing her as if he absolutely could not refuse the temptation. “Sorry,” he said when they broke apart. “Couldn’t help myself.” “You’ll be severely punished later.” Breathless, she tried and failed to repress her grin.
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“That is my house, but we’re going to Columbus tonight, so I hope you can stand an hour or so in the car with me. Casablanca is showing at an art theater.” “Casablanca?” She tried to pick her jaw up off the floor. “That’s my favorite—” “—movie, yeah, I know. You mentioned it that night we double-dated and saw Gladiator. Remember?” “And you remembered I liked Twizzlers too, huh?” “Of course.” “I can’t believe you went to this trouble, Philip. You make me feel so special.” “You are special.” Leaning in, he kissed her again, hard and quick this time. “I do have a few rules for the night, though. For one: I get to kiss you whenever I want to.” “Well,” she said, feeling lighthearted and enthralled, enchanted by this man and the possibilities of this night. “I wouldn’t want to break any rules.” “Rule two: let’s just see what happens tonight, okay?” Yes, her heart said, but she was too old and too smart to let her heart run wild with girlish flights of fancy. She was a widow and a single mother with responsibilities, and this was nothing but a moment out of time before she resumed life as usual. “This is only for one night, Philip. I’m not ready for a relationship. I hope you can understand and respect that.” To her consternation, the gleaming light of determination in his eyes intensified. She realized he was about to use every tool in his considerable arsenal to change her mind. Seduce her. And she’d be damned if there wasn’t a tiny rebellious piece of her soul that wished he would. “If I’ve only got one night with you,” he murmured, running his thumb along her bottom lip, melting her resistance bit by slow bit until she knew she’d end the night as a puddle of overheated flesh and overactive hormones at his feet, “I’d better get started.”
Chapter Thirteen After the movie, they wandered out to the lobby to wait for the car, their fingers linked because they couldn’t seem to stop touching each other, and Rosa could no longer remember why they should. Snow was falling outside, drifting to the sidewalk in cotton ball-sized flakes, and Rosa’s feeling of enchantment intensified. Tonight with Philip, she thought, anything was possible. “Favorite line from the movie?” she asked him.
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“Hmm.” Furrowing his brow, he thought for a minute. “It’s got to be Captain Renault saying, ‘I'm shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!’ and then taking his winnings from the croupier before he closes down the casino.” They laughed together and Philip’s brilliant smile was like the sun shining on her face after a lifetime spent in the blackest depths of a cave, it brought her that much joy. Without warning her heart squeezed with the kind of emotion she wasn’t certain she was still capable of feeling, and she had to tell him what he’d done to her, how he’d affected her. Her smile died and she almost wept with the memories. “You hurt me,” she blurted, trying not to sound childish or to let her face crumple with accumulated pain from the long years of his rejection. “Every time you didn’t smile at me and every time you didn’t laugh at my jokes and every time you called the house and you said, ‘Can I speak to Jake, please,’ and never took two seconds to ask me how I was…you broke my heart, Philip,” she said helplessly. “Every single time.” That dark gaze held hers and reflected the same torment back at her, magnified a million times over. “I had to,” he said simply. “It was the only way.” Maybe. She nodded, feeling sulky. Her head knew he’d handled the situation as best he could, but her heart wasn’t quite ready to let him off the hook. Swiping her nose, she gave him a severe look to let him know he wasn’t quite forgiven. “You’ll have to make it up to me.” “I intend to.” “Good.” She flashed him a small smile and felt some of his relief in the squeeze of his strong fingers. And then, as though to verify he still had the privilege, he leaned down and gave her a kiss that was quick but still powerful enough to send quivers through her belly. “What’s your favorite quote from the movie, sweetheart?” One last sniffle and she let the past fall away, focused on tonight, this moment. “It’s at the end when Rick says, ‘Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.’” “That’s a good one,” Philip agreed. “Is this the beginning of a beautiful friendship for us, Philip?” “Absolutely.” He nodded with the kind of utter sincerity that told her he meant what he said down to the last atom in his body. “This is the beginning of many things for us, Rosa.” Satisfied, she nodded just as they saw the car pull up to the curb outside the window. Rosa’s heart fell. What now? Was it time to go home already? So soon? “So.” Philip turned her loose and shoved his hands in his pockets, looking as awkward as she suddenly felt. “I’ve made plans for dinner, but it’s getting a little late and you probably want to go home—” “Dinner sounds good,” she said, relieved beyond all reason that she had more time with him and another opportunity to get to know him better.
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Flashing that killer smile, he grabbed her hand again and pulled her toward the door. Laughing and eager to see what adventures the rest of the night held for them, Rosa hurried after him.
Chapter Fourteen "I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Rosa said. "Just say the word. I'm happy to take you home any time." Rosa shot him a suspicious look, as though she could smell the deception; Philip would not be happy to take her home and would do anything short of forcible kidnapping to keep her here in Columbus for the night, including tell a small and harmless white lie. While she hovered in the doorway of the deluxe hotel suite— very nice, if he did say so himself, with black-and-white furniture, red ottomans, an oversized marble bathroom and even a gleaming black baby grand in front of the 20th floor view of the glittering skyline—he walked to the open door of the first bedroom and gestured to the enormous king-sized bed. "Your bedroom." He walked across the suite and pointed to another door. "My bedroom. Perfectly safe." Tightening her arms across her chest, Rosa glanced first at him, then the table overloaded with food, and then the fully stocked wet bar, where he planned to make her an amaretto sour at the first opportunity in the hopes that she would relax. "I don't have any toiletries or clothes for tomorrow." "Lucille sent along a few things for you." His lips twitched with the effort not to smile. "I told her we might be late tonight." "Lucille will be ejected from my house first thing tomorrow morning." Laughing, he walked to the table, sat down and helped himself to some champagne. Then he systematically explored the covered platters and discovered filet mignon with a blue cheese sauce and sautéed mushrooms, roasted new potatoes and Caesar salad. "I hope you don't mind if I eat while you fret. Let me know what you decide about going home." She grunted and didn't budge from her shadowy post by the door. "This looks good. You should get some while it's hot." He took a break from loading his plate only long enough to sip the champagne, which was crisp and delicious. "Or did you ruin your appetite with Twizzlers and popcorn?" There seemed to be a slight un-squaring of her shoulders, as though she’d begun to relax. "Thank you for taking me to the movie. I can't believe you went to all this trouble. I've had the best time." Philip froze, his rumbling stomach forgotten, because all these compliments couldn't be a good thing. “Is that your please-take-me-home kiss-off?" She hesitated and then said, very softly, "No."
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The husky note in her voice made Philip’s heart stumble to a complete stop. He waited, too scared to breathe, too excited to blink, to see what would happen next. Emerging from the dark alcove into the mellow light from the nearest lamp, Rosa did something that surprised the hell out of him: she began to unbutton her blouse. Philip couldn’t believe his eyes. "Oh, my God." Holding his gaze—a nuclear strike couldn’t have made him look away now—Rosa kept walking and kept unbuttoning until finally, ten feet away, she dropped the blouse to the floor in a slither of silk. Philip gaped at the bounty before him, the only one he’d ever wanted. She’d revealed gleaming brown shoulders, a taut belly framed by curvy hips, and two aroused breasts whose dark nipples strained against the sheer black bra, and she was just about killing him. “Rosa. ” Her dewy lips curled into a woman's knowing smile and his urgent body hardened completely in response. And then she went to work on her jeans. He was dry-mouthed by the time she'd shimmied out of them. He stared at the triangle thatch of hair that was barely hidden by a little scrap of black lace nothing, and, lower, the lush thighs and toned legs, as undone as a teenager glimpsing his first pair of breasts. She came to stand between his legs and, almost afraid to touch her, to do anything that might make this precious moment implode, he slowly reached out, gripped those satiny hips, buried his face in the plump valley between her breasts and inhaled her. Rosa, Rosa, Rosa. He lived for her, breathed for her. His heart pumped only for her. She was every dream he’d ever had, every fantasy, and this reality, this moment, was the best thing that had ever happened to him. But…he had to ask. Had to make sure. Cursing his own uncertainty— just keep your mouth shut, idiot, just touch her while you can—he raised his head and croaked his question with a hoarse voice he barely recognized as his own. “What are you doing, Rosa?” Stroking his hair, she opened her mouth and, with one sentence, gave him everything he'd ever wanted and the only thing he needed. "I'm making love with you.”
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Chapter Fifteen A weird sound erupted out of Philip’s throat—part laugh, part sob, part growl—and he tightened his fingers on Rosa’s flesh, in a sudden fury at this woman whose every laugh, smile and unexpected action tore him to pieces. What was she trying to do to him? Did she think this was a game? Did she not know what this moment meant to him? How long he'd waited and dreamed of her exactly like this? What did it mean to her? He frowned up at her, his fear and desperation making him crazy. Her pliant body stiffened, but she didn’t pull back and he wasn't letting her go anyway. “You don’t have to do this.” “I’m dying to do this,” she told him. Cursing her for reducing him to this mess and unearthing the secret he'd hoped to hide, at least for a little while longer, until he was sure she could return his feelings, he flung the words at her like a weapon. "I'm in love with you." Capturing her reaction so that he would remember it every day of his life, he inched his fingers under her panties to the petal-soft flesh between her thighs and watched her eyes darken. "No-ooo," she said on a moan. "Oh, yeah." Her nipples, he noticed, had tightened down to hard points, as irresistible as fresh blackberries. Pulling her closer and ignoring her bra, he opened his mouth over one and sucked it, hard. Rosa cried out, the sound choked and earthy, and her head fell back as though she was on the verge of passing out with the pleasure. Good. Crooning and stroking now, he glided his fingers in all that hot, thick honey, taking care to lubricate the hard bud that was the center of their joint existence. Her hips undulated and he worked her, back and forth, slow millimeter by slow millimeter. "Ah-ahh.” Her voice rose and her face contorted with a terrible beauty that was exactly what he’d imagined and somehow a billion times better. “Don’t stop," she panted. “Don’t stop.” She was close, he knew. It had been years since she'd made love, so it wouldn't take much, but he wanted her to know who she was with. He was driving her wild and there was no room for any ghosts between them. "Open your eyes. Look at me." As though in a trance, she obeyed, staring down at him with glittering eyes. Her face was flushed and bright and a thrilling sheen of sweat ran across her forehead and between her breasts. His rigid penis jerked, straining for her against the tight front of his jeans. Ruthlessly tamping down his own lust, Philip stroked her again and watched the need heighten. "I'm in love with you and I want you to love me—”
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"I can't—” she began. "—and I want your body”—he dipped his fingers inside her silky core this time, and her knees buckled— “and I want your soul, and I want your heart.” “Ah.” He heard the rising crescendo in her breathy cries, felt the building tension as she writhed against him. "Philip. Philip." God, his name sounded good when she said it. "I want every part of you." Pulling his fingers free, he sucked them into his mouth—delicious— and watched her almost swoon as he tasted her. "I want you to watch me make you come." This was too much intimacy for her; the sudden wariness in her eyes was a dead giveaway. Too bad he wasn't in a merciful mood. "Please," she whispered. "Watch me." "Please. Don't." He did.
Chapter Sixteen Reaching between them again, Philip brushed her swollen wet sex with a whisper-light touch and her body jackknifed. Surging to his feet, he caught her before she collapsed and, kissing her, absorbed her astonished cries as she came and came and came. He carried her to the bed. At least Rosa thought he did, but since she wasn't entirely conscious, there was no way to tell for sure. After several seconds of convulsive pleasure so piercing it seemed to shoot from the top of her head and through the soles of her feet, the world went black and silent. The next sensation she felt was the coolness of fine sheets against her back and she roused herself because she had no intention of missing one glorious moment of his lovemaking. Trying to catch her breath, she opened her arms to Philip, who'd already ditched his sweater. He loomed over her, a hidden fantasy come to life, and his potent masculinity staggered her— nearly blinded her. A perfect inverted triangle, his rippling shoulders and abdomen narrowed down to a flat waist. Beneath that, the heavy bulge of his arousal strained the crotch of his faded jeans. Knowing that she'd done this to the most powerful man she'd ever known was almost more than Rosa could bear. He reached for his zipper but Rosa experienced a new surge of excited energy and touched his hand. Stopped it. "I'll do that." Philip’s chest began to heave and his lungs pumped like bellows.
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Nothing on earth could be sexier than this man watching her with such glittering need. Feeling sensual and shameless, she rose to her knees with the grace of a cat. Arching her back, she reached behind to unclasp her bra and toss it to the floor. Philip’s breath hitched and he went utterly still. Rosa crept across the bed on all fours, pausing only long enough to glance up at Philip with the kind of wicked smile she knew would drive him insane. “God, Rosa.” His throaty voice was the barest whisper and all the encouragement she needed. Giddy with excitement, she eased that zipper down—it was hard to budge it, he was so aroused—reached inside his black boxers and took his engorged length between her palms. She rolled first, then squeezed, needing both hands because of his size. Philip tensed and groaned and, just like that, the power between them made a cataclysmic shift. With feminine power surging through her veins, Rosa laughed as she took him in her mouth. There was no time for laughter after that. Cupping the flexing globes of his rock-hard butt and enjoying the feel of his fingers clenching and unclenching against her scalp, Rosa bobbed and sucked until his hoarse cries filled the room. She kept up the torture long past the point when her jaw and tongue began to ache, ready to torment him all night, but Philip broke away. Feverish with excitement now, desperate and needy, the clenching between her thighs at full strength again despite the fact that she'd just had the best orgasm of her life, she rose to her knees and waited. His gaze, wide with wonder and so wild it was almost feral, locked with hers. Several long beats passed and Rosa simultaneously wondered how on earth they had gotten to this point and why on earth they had taken so long. The spell between them, whatever it was, strengthened, and in that moment Rosa doubted she would ever be free from it. With sudden impatience, Philip kicked his way out of his boxers and jeans and reached for a condom in his wallet, which he’d tossed on the nightstand. Falling back on her elbows, Rosa spread her legs and nearly wept with relief as he crawled over her and settled in the cradle of her hips.
Chapter Seventeen Philip took the ripe plum-like head of his penis and inched inside Rosa in a slow torture that had his name pouring out of her mouth, over and over again. She almost couldn’t handle the pleasure. She arched and writhed, trying to get away. She scratched his back and held on, trying to bring him closer.
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It had been years, yeah, and she'd missed sex. Her supple woman's body needed a man's touch, and she'd never been embarrassed about guiding her husband's hands or asking for what she required. The decision to make love with Philip tonight had been partially about that need. Partially about the explosive attraction between them and the way he'd always stolen her breath with a look. Mostly it was because he called to something elemental and undeniable inside her. But…this thing between them, whatever it was, was vast and overwhelming and she wasn’t ready for it. Not the hot friction as her unused body stretched to accommodate him, the gentle but unyielding thrust of his relentless hips or the utter focus with which he watched her every reaction. “This is too much.” Tears collected in the corners of her eyes and though she never cried and hated for anyone to see her cry, they rolled down her temples and into her hair in an endless trickle. Sliding her hands over the warm living marble of his sculpted arms and chest, she gripped his round butt and absorbed every flex and every release of his muscles. She couldn’t open her legs wide enough; couldn’t hold him tight enough; couldn’t take him deep enough. “Too much. Too much.” With his fathomless eyes wide open, he licked his way deep into her mouth, matching his tongue’s easy rhythm to the surge and withdrawal he was doing between her thighs. Every in-stroke seated him to the hilt and rubbed against her swollen wet lips; every out-stroke left just the tip of him inside and her greedy body begging for more and then more again. Meanwhile, his caressing hands on her breasts, her face, her hair—everywhere they could reach—should have soothed her but only drove her up and up until her tears and her cries went on forever with no beginning and no end. “I’ve waited for you.” They were chest to chest as he spoke, the hard slabs of his pectorals abrading her nipples until they tightened down to buttons of exquisite sensation and she felt the thunder of his heartbeat and the rasp of his emotion. “I’ve waited and waited for you.” “I’m so glad you did.” “Why are you crying, sweetheart?” “Because you feel so good. So good. I want to die, you feel so good.” A smile, slow and devilish, filled with pure masculine satisfaction, hitched up one corner of his mouth. “Why else?” “Because I needed this.” One of his heavy brows rose and her heart skipped because she knew—should have known—that he’d make her confess everything. “I needed you.” He froze, buried deep inside her. To her astonishment, she saw the sudden flash of tears in his brown eyes and one fell, splashing her nose as he kissed her again, long and sweet. “Why are you crying?” she asked when he raised his head again. “Because,” he whispered, “You finally needed me.”
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There was no warning. Just a well-placed next thrust that sent her over the edge into a beautiful oblivion where spasms of pleasure wracked her, his rigid, shuddering body drove her deeper into the bed and their ecstatic cries filled the night. After five minutes of recovery, he reached for her again.
Chapter Eighteen They made love all night. In the bed again, doggy style this time after a pause to eat the delicious but-now-cold dinner he’d ordered. With Rosa on top the next time. In the enormous marble tub the last time. An orange dawn was breaking against the black sky by the time they collapsed into the downcovered bed and he spooned her against him with one hand on her breasts, one between her legs and her butt nestled tight against his groin. When she woke up, the sun was high in the sky and he was gone. That one night had addicted her to his presence and, drowsy and bewildered, she reached for his warmth, lost without him. He wasn’t anywhere in the enormous bed. “Philip?” Blinking, she levered herself up on her arms and looked around. No answer. It took her a minute of forlorn wandering—she paused only to wrap a white terrycloth robe around her deliciously sore body—to realize that he wasn’t in the bathroom, wasn’t in the other bedroom, wasn’t anywhere. Gone. He’d loved her and left her and now he was gone. She was beginning to reel when she saw the card perched atop a brightly-wrapped blue and gold box. Dread, sudden and cold, permeated the fluffy warmth of the robe. With shaking hands she opened the note, trying to brace for whatever he’d throw at her now. Sweetheart— One night isn’t enough and I’m an all-or-nothing person. I can’t have half of you. I just can’t do it. So here’s what I want: I want to marry you. I want to raise Brennan with you. I want more children with you. Come to me when you’re ready to discuss our future and you’ve said good-bye to Jake. I can wait. I love you,
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P P.S. Call the front desk for the limo when you’re ready to go home. Thirty seconds of stunned numbness descended on her but then she opened the present and saw what was inside: A silver barbell baby rattle inside a Tiffany eggshell blue box for their unborn children. A new baseball glove for Brennan. Worst—and best—of all, a diamond eternity band inside a black velvet box for her. It was the wedding band that did it. Raising her left hand to her face, she stared at the plain gold band she was already wearing and remembered. That she’d had a husband. That she’d sworn to love him her entire life. That her love hadn’t saved him from brain cancer. That he’d died and she’d made love to his best friend with his ring still on her hand. Shame washed over her in great, sickening waves because what kind of woman was she? Living and loving—yes, she loved Philip and probably always had on some level—while her husband was dead? Leaving her precious son for a night of illicit pleasure in a hotel? Thinking about a life with someone else? Philip, of all people. Philip. Who was dark, brooding and intense on a good day, so different from her laid-back husband and his boyish smiles. Philip, who touched her in ways no one else ever had, who unlocked secrets of her body even she’d never known. How could she have fallen in love with two such different men? And how could she let Jake go when she couldn’t even bring herself to scatter his ashes? What would poor Jake say if he could see her now? When he was sick, they’d talked in general terms about her remarrying, but he probably didn’t mean for her to marry his best friend. And what—God, what?—would she do if anything ever happened to Philip? Because she couldn’t endure the death of another man that she loved. Not in this lifetime. Pressing her precious gifts to her heart she collapsed to the bed and wondered what she was supposed to do now.
Chapter Nineteen Why, Rosa wondered, looking up from the romance novel she held in her blanket-covered lap, couldn’t she just mope in peace? Didn’t Lucille see that she needed to be left alone? It’d been two weeks since her night with Philip and Rosa was still in a shell-shocked state of inertia that wouldn’t let her make any sort of decision about her future. Since it was currently Brennan’s afternoon quiet time in his room, Rosa was curled up in the overstuffed chair nearest the fire with a steaming cup of English breakfast on the side table, a book, her blankie, and a whole lot of leave-me-alone written all over her face. Why did Lucille have to bother her? “What is it?” Rosa asked with no real curiosity.
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“A letter.” Lucille, looking teary, offered her a white envelope. “From Jake.” Rosa recoiled as though her mother-in-law had threatened her with a pistol. “What?” “He wrote it about three months before he died. He wanted you to have it when the time is right.” Lucille paused and nodded. “I think the time is right.” “What—” Rosa couldn’t get her voice to work at full strength. “What does it say?” Lucille gave her a gentle smile and extended the letter again. “Read it.” Rosa took the letter and stared at it. When Lucille would have walked off to give her some privacy, Rosa caught her hand and tugged it until she sat on the chair’s arm with her. Rosa couldn’t face this alone. She opened the letter, which was written in her husband’s degenerating scrawl as the cancer robbed him of his ability to write. Dear Rosie— I’m dying. We both know it even though we can’t bring ourselves to talk about it. I’m in God’s hands, so I know I’ll be fine. Brennan is in your hands and you’re the strongest woman I know, so he’ll be fine. But what about you? Will you be fine? I know you’ll go through the motions of life, for Brennan’s sake, but I want you to be happy. That’s why I’m writing. If Mama gave this to you, it must be because you’re involved with Philip. He’ll come for you. I know he will. I know him too well not to realize that he’s in love with you. He can’t help the way he looks at you, and since I love you myself I recognize the signs. “Oh, God,” Rosa cried. “Shhh.” Lucille smoothed her hair. “It’s okay. Go on.” Rosa swiped her eyes and kept reading. Here’s what I want to say, Rosie: it’s okay. Don’t feel guilty or sad. Be happy. If Philip makes you happy, be with him. If he doesn’t, don’t. Find someone who makes you smile. Do it for me, okay? I don’t want your life to be over just because mine is. Live, Rosie. Live. Your loving husband, Jake. The letter fluttered out of her limp fingers and to the floor. After a glance at Jake’s urn on the fireplace, Rosa dropped her head into her hands and sobbed—with sadness and love for her lost husband and with relief.
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Overwhelming, breathtaking and blessed relief. Lucille gathered Rosa into her arms and kissed her forehead, rocking her. “Philip moved away after Jake died because he wanted to give you time to grieve and he didn’t trust himself. He moved back a year ago because he couldn’t stay away. I’ve been keeping him updated on you and Brennan. I hope you don’t mind. I told him you’d be at the gala with a date. I told him you were ready to move on with your life. He’s a good man, Rosa. In my heart, he’s my other son. He loves you. But if you can’t love him, it’s time for you to let him go.” Rosa raised her head, laughing and crying with so much emotion it was as though a Hallmark store had exploded inside her. “I have no intention of letting that man go.”
Chapter Twenty “Someone’s here to see you.” Philip, who’d been dictating letters, looked around at his secretary, irritated. He was always irritated lately; irritation was his new black. It had been over two weeks since that one glorious night with Rosa, and his mood was definitely showing the strain. Pushing back his starched shirtsleeve, he checked his watch. “I don’t have anything for another hour.” Roberta, who’d been with him since the dawn of time and apparently didn’t realize how close she was to being ripped to shreds, flashed him a cheerful smile. “You’ll want to make time for this gentleman.” “Yeah? Well, who the hell is it?” Roberta giggled. Giggled. “He didn’t leave a name. I’ll send him in.” “Hold up,” he called after her, but Roberta had already disappeared. Cursing, Philip jerked the microphone headset off and tossed it to the desk, and that was when his office door swung open and a Reds-baseball-cap-wearing Brennan poked his head inside. Brennan smiled his gap-toothed smile. “Hi, Philip!” Philip gaped. “Wow.” Brennan raced inside and stared all around the office, reminding Philip of a first-time visitor to Times Square. “Is this your desk?” He smoothed one small hand over the gleaming walnut on his way to the window, upon which he pressed his nose and left a damp smudge. “Hey, wait. That’s Great American Ball Park!” Breathless and excited, he paused long enough to look to Philip for confirmation. Philip couldn’t speak. He was afraid to trust either his eyes or the violent pounding of his heart, so he stalled for time, clearing his throat. “What, ah…what are you doing here, little man?” “Thanks for my new baseball glove.” Brennan held it up. “Mommy says you’ll show me how to break it in.” “Absolutely.” Overcome, Philip pressed his lips together so he didn’t start bawling like a baby. Then he pulled the boy in for a hug, savoring the smells of sunshine and shampoo on Brennan’s wiry body. Brennan submitted for three seconds before he broke away and trotted back to the door, nearly plowing his mother down in the process. “I’m going to get some chocolate from Miss Roberta’s candy jar, Mommy,” he said as he disappeared.
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The second Philip caught sight of Rosa with her bright red coat, white beret and smile, watching him with love in her eyes, he lost it. A crazy half-laugh, half-sob rose out of his throat and he tried to stifle it with the back of his hand. No dice. “Hi,” she said. “Hi.” An arrested second or two passed and then she’d reached for him, he’d reached for her and suddenly they were in each other’s arms and he was touching his precious Rosa, kissing every part of her he could reach. The beret was the first to go; he yanked it off so he could run his fingers through the brilliant black silk of her hair. Angling her head, he kissed her forehead and cheeks, eyes and mouth, and she kissed him back with undisguised joy. Peeling off her coat—why did this woman wear so many clothes?—he dropped it to the floor and ran his hands over her back and butt, hips and thighs, remembering everything about her. “I’ve been a busy girl,” she told him when he let her catch her breath. “Is that so?” “Umm.” There was a new seriousness in her eyes, and when he lowered his head to kiss her again, she put her fingers on his lips, stopping him. “I scattered Jake’s ashes in the garden. He loved his garden.” Knowing both what this had cost her and what the symbolic act meant for their future, Philip could only nod; he didn’t trust his voice when his chest was so tight. “And I took off my wedding band so I can be ready for my new wedding band. Assuming you still want to marry me after we spend more time together, that is.” When she held up her bare left hand to show him, he took it, kissed it. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” “I think that’s all the old business I needed to take care of.” “You have been busy, haven’t you?” “Told you,” she said smugly. “I want to try a little experiment,” he said, pulling her closer. “I’m going to say a sentence and you just say the first thing that pops into your head. Got it?” “Hit me.” It was all Philip could do to talk. He’d hoped for her, dreamed of her, but the joyous reality of holding this woman in his arms was so much more than he’d ever expected. To think that they had a future together— would build a family—was almost too much of a blessing. Almost. “I love you, Rosa.” She smiled and he’d never seen anything more beautiful. “I love you, Philip.”
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Rafferty's Romance by Teresa Southwick Social worker Amanda Everhart is a woman on a mission: raise enough money to expand the Good Shepherd Home for Children, the place she grew up after her mother died and her father disappeared. A fund-raising gala brings back many of the home's past residents—including one Amanda hoped she'd never see again: Luke Rafferty! Rafferty was the resident bad boy, nicknamed The Ruffian by the other kids, and constantly in trouble with Sister Margaret, the home's director. Amanda saw through his tough exterior to his soft heart—but he broke her heart by running away with another girl! Amanda can never forgive Luke for leaving her behind, but the self-made billionaire just might be the answer to her prayers….
Chapter One The Ruffian was back. Amanda Everhart stared across the crowded room at the man from her past. Her heart pounded; her palms started to sweat. He no longer looked like the tough teen he’d once been, but she would have known him anywhere. In a traditional black tuxedo, Luke Rafferty was now every inch a sophisticated, smooth, sexy man. The one she’d never managed to forget. The Bellagio ballroom on the Las Vegas Strip was drenched in glittering light from the chandeliers overhead. Men and women in formal wear separated her from Luke. A lifetime ago he’d been the boy everyone at the Good Shepherd Home for Children called The Ruffian—capitalized. He was civilized now, but his black wavy hair and dark eyes had always made her think of a pirate. Whoever had said not to judge a book by its cover hadn’t crossed Luke’s path. He’d plundered and pillaged her heart as surely as any buccaneer on the high seas. She’d believed that he would take care of her, but like everyone else she’d put her trust in, he’d left. She’d never expected to set eyes on him again. She turned away and bumped into Sister Margaret, director of the children’s home. “Sorry, Sister.” “No harm done,” the nun said. Sister Margaret wasn’t more than five feet two in her low-heeled black shoes. For this occasion she’d worn a matching black skirt and jacket instead of cotton slacks and shirt, but her short, gray-streaked brown hair looked the same as always. On the up side of fifty, Sister was the force of nature who kept the home for abandoned children going. Tonight’s event was all about another building to take in more children no one wanted. “This is an impressive turnout,” Amanda said, deliberately not looking in the direction she’d last seen Luke. “Your fund-raising committee did an outstanding job of coaxing Las Vegas’s rich and famous into the open.” Sister’s pale blue eyes sparkled with excitement. “Now it’s my job to coax them into giving money until it hurts.” Amanda laughed. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Sister. Tell us what you’re really up to.” “Turning children away isn’t an option. You wouldn’t be chairwoman of the committee if you didn’t know better than anyone why we’re here.”
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Once upon a time Amanda had been one of those throwaway kids. She was all grown-up now and could take care of herself after earning a bachelor’s degree in social services. Now she did her best to help the littlest victims. There were too many of them and finding homes was difficult, making this project incredibly important. Without the Good Shepherd home Amanda didn’t even want to think about what would have happened to her. Now she prided herself on not needing anyone or anything. Except, of course, donations for her project. Amanda was in charge of the committee, but someone else had taken care of sending out the invitations, including the ones to alumni of Good Shepherd. Obviously Luke had received his, but the real mystery was why he was here. He’d hated the home and rode his motorcycle out of there one minute after midnight on the day he’d turned eighteen. “Oh, look,” Sister said. “Maggie Shepherd is here. Do you remember her?” “She was at the home when I was there, but we lost touch after she left.” Unlike Luke, Amanda had missed Maggie. She studied the beautiful, dark-haired young woman in the high-necked black cocktail dress that concealed more than it revealed yet managed to be incredibly sexy. “What happened to her?” “She went to college, then into the convent.” “She doesn’t look like a nun to me,” Amanda commented. Sister laughed. “She didn’t take final vows. The convent’s loss is the secular world’s gain. Actually, she’s going to work in child care for The Nanny Network. She was very good with the kids at Good Shepherd while she was there.” “We all pitched in,” Amanda reminded her. Everyone except Luke. She glanced around and her gaze found him almost instantly. He was easy to spot since he stood head and shoulders above most of the men there. Unfortunately, like Moses and the Red Sea, the crowd of people between them chose that exact moment to part and he saw her. The smile that turned up the corners of his mouth was a clear indication that he recognized her, too, but the warmth never reached his eyes. Suddenly he was in front of her. “Hello, Amanda. It’s been a long time.” Not long enough, she thought.
Chapter Two Luke Rafferty stared down at Amanda and his pulse revved like the engine of the chopper he’d ridden fast and hard to get away from her. It wasn’t hard to calculate the amount of time they’d been apart. Every year on his birthday he didn’t celebrate another year, but added three hundred sixty-five to the total number of days since Amanda Everhart had sliced and diced his heart. He wished he could say she hadn’t lived up to her beauty potential. Technically he could say that, but it would be a lie. She was stunning. Light caught the gold in the sun-streaked brown hair pulled away from her oval face into a knot of curls behind her ear. Her green eyes, always serious and solemn, turned darker as she regarded him gravely. There was still a hint of the dimples that deepened when she smiled, which she wasn’t doing now. The strapless gown made from sheer material shot with silver revealed the swell of her breasts and sent a jolt of need shooting through him. The sensation was completely unexpected—and most unwelcome.
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“Hello, Luke.” The pulse in her neck fluttered. She glanced at the older woman beside her. “Sister, you remember Luke Rafferty?” “I do.” She held out her hand. “But I’m sure he’d like to forget me.” The tough-as-nails nun wasn’t someone he was likely to forget. Too many times to count he’d ended up on the business side of her desk. “How are you, Sister?” “Excellent, thank you.” She squeezed his fingers, a no-nonsense grip that accurately reflected the woman herself. “Aren’t you the one they called The Ruffian?” A nickname he’d taken great pride in deserving and couldn’t help smiling about now. “One and the same.” Sister nodded, studying him in that critical, miss-nothing way that had intimidated everyone but him. “If that fancy suit is any indication, you’ve done very well for yourself, Luke.” “I can’t complain.” He could, but had learned long ago that it was a waste of energy. “Good.” The older woman nodded with satisfaction. “Success stories have a way of making people open their wallets. And that’s why we’re here.” Others maybe, but not him. “It’s a remarkable turnout,” Amanda said, a breathless quality to her voice that produced images of tangled legs and twisted sheets. “Speaking of that,” Sister said, “I’m here to be the muscle and squeeze money until my victim screams for mercy. I need to mingle. Have fun, you two.” Strictly speaking, what he had in mind wasn’t classified as fun, but he planned to enjoy it. “Good luck with that, Sister,” he said as she disappeared into the crowd. Looking up at him Amanda pressed her full lips together. “Actually, I need to circulate, too. If you’ll excuse me—” “Not yet.” He made a point of looking her over from head to toe, the act meant to throw her off balance. Unfortunately her delicate beauty had the same effect on him. “We have some catching up to do. If success is measured in loveliness, you’ve done all right, too.” “Thank you,” she answered politely. Would she still say that if she knew why he’d come tonight?
Chapter Three Amanda had given an automatic response to Luke’s compliment, but more than anything, she’d wanted to demand an explanation for why he’d left her behind all those years ago. “Are you cold?” he asked. “No.” The trembling was from the chaotic feelings pouring through her. She still had an emotional investment in Luke, but no way would she expose the weakness. “You look well, Luke. As Sister said, very successful.”
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“Something Sister didn’t expect while I was a resident at the home.” “Resident?” She laughed. “Didn’t you used to call yourself inmate Rafferty? And then you got numbers tattooed on your shoulder?” “It was my birthday.” “Still,” she said. “You were underage. That was what pushed Sister Margaret over the edge. More than once I remember her saying that you would try the patience of a saint and she hadn’t earned that rank yet.” “I survived on the street and got by just fine on my own until the state of Nevada interfered and turned me over to Sister Margaret. My background made taking orders and following rules hard to swallow.” She remembered his restlessness, all the times he’d lost privileges for things like poker games in the recreation room, sneaking out to get that tattoo, shoplifting a locket for her, beating up a boy who bullied the younger kids. He’d argued that doing the wrong thing for the right reason made it right. Sister hadn’t agreed. Every time he was in hot water he’d vowed to run away from Good Shepherd and Amanda had cried, begging him not to go without her. He’d reluctantly stayed because she’d been too young to go with him. But when his eighteenth birthday approached and she realized he’d be turned out of the home when state funding stopped, Amanda hadn’t been able to bear the idea of being separated from him. She’d initiated an all-out campaign to change his mind, convincing him she was old enough to know she wanted to be with him forever. How right she’d been. Her hero worship had turned into the kind of love that didn’t go away just because he eventually abandoned her. And right now she was feeling seven kinds of stupid to still be so attracted to him. He moved closer, his jacket sleeve brushing her bare arm, making her more nervous, which didn’t seem possible. He was taller, broader in the chest now. He’d filled out in body and certainly in his life. The deck had been stacked against a rebellious kid who had no one and she wondered how he’d overcome the odds. Amanda took a step away from him. “How did it happen that someone who pushed back against the rules ended up being so wealthy and successful?” “I’m a risk-taker, Amanda. It’s easy when you’ve got nothing to lose.” He slid his fingers into the pockets of his tuxedo pants looking like a confident man of the world. “I managed to accumulate a small financial stake and made some unorthodox investments that turned a profit. I reinvested and diversified. Now I own more than one lucrative company because long ago I got a lesson in the wisdom of not putting all my eggs in one basket.” She noticed his eyes darken and knew that lesson had been painful. Who hurt him? She knew someone had and was surprised that she could still read his emotions. “You make amassing a fortune sound simple, Luke.” “Hardly. But, nothing worth having comes easily.” Love was worth having and for her, loving Luke Rafferty had come pathetically easily. Even if she’d known he would leave her behind and take another girl with him when he left, she wasn’t sure she could have kept herself from falling for him.
Chapter Four Luke was well aware that he was worth a fortune, but it hadn’t come so easily. He’d gone to college and worked. Rented a crappy room and slept when he was too tired to function. On the upside, it had been the best way to keep his mind off Amanda.
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If only that were as easy as making money. Luke had thought the past was buried until his secretary had put the invitation to this fundraiser on his desk. He’d glanced at the pertinent information and was just about to shred it when a name caught his eye. Amanda Everhart. She was chairing the committee for the children’s home expansion. He felt like a fool, but even after all this time just seeing her name had been enough to get him here. A waiter held out a tray with glasses of champagne. Luke grabbed two flutes then handed one to Amanda. “To success,” he said, touching his glass to hers. “Success,” she echoed, then took a sip of the bubbly liquid. “Now—” He stopped, breathing in the sweet scent of her skin, hating that his heart rate kicked up as she filled his senses. “You know all about me. What have you been up to?” “I’m a social worker for Clark County—Children’s Protective Services. It’s my job to make sure that abused, neglected and abandoned children are taken care of.” “A noble profession.” One she was good at if she could still make lost souls believe in themselves, as she’d done with him. But he’d found out she wasn’t willing to put that belief to the test when push came to shove. He’d needed her; she was his home. But he wasn’t worth the risk. “Noble, but challenging,” she said. “There are too many children who need homes and it breaks my heart to turn anyone away.” Then she was very different from the girl who’d turned him away. He glanced around the crowded ballroom. “So this event is important to you?” “I don’t have the words to explain how vital. Children want to be safe and secure. When I get called in there’s a crisis situation. There are more ways to desert children than you can imagine. Death of a parent is the easiest to explain unless the other parent is responsible for it. So many little ones have seen the worst and it’s crucial to get them into a protected environment as soon as possible, to reverse the emotional damage. Tonight is all about raising money and providing a home for these kids. So whatever you can donate to the cause will be greatly appreciated.” Clouds gathered in her eyes as passion filled her voice. Damned if he didn’t want to pull her into his arms and make everything better, just like he’d done the first time he’d met her. The two of them were taken to the home and waiting in Sister Margaret’s office. Amanda was afraid and struggling to hold back tears, but couldn’t manage it. The sight of her—so delicate, so scared—had touched something in him that had never been touched before. When he’d reached out to her, she’d clung to him and he’d felt like her hero. He’d never been anyone’s idea of a hero. If only he’d known right then that she was setting him up for failure. Little did she know that someday she would need him. Showing up tonight at her shindig was all about seeing the look on her face the moment she was sorry she hadn’t loved him enough to follow through on her promise to go away with him.
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Chapter Five Finally the evening was over. After managing to escape from Luke, Amanda had spent the evening circulating among the invited guests and chatting up her cause. It would take a few days before numbers were totaled to know how successful the evening had been. For her, personally, it was an unqualified disaster. Luke wasn’t the only person from her painful past that she’d faced. But face them she had and now it was time to go home. She settled her silver shawl around her shoulders and grabbed the matching evening bag from the table and headed to the exit and the chance to finally be alone. In the wide, chandelier-lit hall, she saw Luke, black jacket held by one finger and rakishly slung over a broad shoulder. All night she’d felt his presence and was relieved when he’d walked out hours ago. “Luke, I thought you’d left.” “Now I’m back.” “Too late. Everyone’s gone.” “Except you,” he said. “Yes.” Alone with him was proof that no good deed goes unpunished. “Are you here to give more money to the Good Shepherd Home for Children Development Fund?” “More would imply that I’ve donated already.” “Did you?” “You’re like a dog with a bone. And the answer is, no. I didn’t open my wallet.” “I’m sorry to hear that.” More than he knew because preliminary estimates were that they’d fallen far short of tonight’s goal. The country’s economic downturn wasn’t helping the kids’ cause. Her shawl slipped off her shoulders and she knew he noticed when heat and intensity slid into his eyes. “Then why did you come back?” “For you.” Her heart hammered against the inside of her chest and she thought surely he could hear. All those years ago she would have given anything for him to say those words, that he’d changed his mind and chose her. Now it was too late. “I don’t think so.” “Let me be more specific. Have a drink with me. Or a cup of coffee.”
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She stared at him, trying to read the unreadable expression in his eyes, then pulled her wrap tightly around her. “It’s late and I’m tired. And it’s probably not a good idea.” “I disagree. Just a drink. What have you got to lose?” Everything. She’d learned to make it on her own without leaning on anyone. She was independent and strong and worked hard to be that way. She didn’t need the bad boy from her past messing with her mind. “Look, Luke, I’m not sure what game you’re playing. Surely there are any number of women who would jump at the chance to spend the rest of the evening with you for drinks, coffee—or whatever. In fact, tonight was old home week. There were so many familiar faces from the past. So many people we knew from our time at Good Shepherd. Did you see Diane Coulter? You remember her, don’t you? As I recall, she’s an agreeable sort of girl.” “What’s your point?” “My point is that she went with you when you left Good Shepherd. Maybe she’d do the same tonight.”
Chapter Six Leaning a shoulder against the wall, Luke hoped he looked casual because he didn’t feel that way. What game was she playing? Amanda was acting as if she were the wronged party when she was the one who hadn’t shown up as promised the night he left Good Shepherd. The past was dead and calling her on the attitude would imply he was still emotionally invested in what happened and nothing could be further from the truth. “I spoke with Diane tonight. And her husband.” “I see.” The hostile expression in her eyes said she didn’t see anything and was ticked off. Mentioning Diane had done it. For reasons he couldn’t explain, Luke felt the need to give her details. “As you are no doubt well aware, as soon as a kid turns eighteen they age out of the system and no longer receive funds from the state.” “It’s my job to know that.” “Diane was almost eighteen and would have had to leave the home with nowhere to go. I’d made no secret of the fact that I was out of there and she asked for a ride.” He shrugged. “I gave her one.” “And you dropped her off on the nearest street corner?” she asked. “Apparently your opinion of me is pretty low. Given that, I wouldn’t expect you’d believe this, but I didn’t dump her somewhere.” “What happened?” It was like someone dragged the words out of her. She didn’t want to ask but apparently was too curious not to.
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“We hooked up—” “Of course you did.” “Let me rephrase. We became roommates. To share expenses. It was all about survival.” Amanda’s big green eyes looked wounded as she stared up at him. “I’ve heard that in certain situations people share body warmth for the same reason.” “It was strictly platonic.” Not that Diane hadn’t wanted more. She’d come on to him, but Luke wasn’t in to her, not in that way. More than once he wished he could have cared, but Amanda had mutilated his heart and the wound was still too raw. “We were friends and there were no benefits involved. We split expenses down the middle.” “I see.” “Eventually she met a guy. We parted ways when she moved in with him.” “That sounds like Diane. Never let an opportunity to take advantage pass you by.” “Some would call it seizing the day. Taking a chance—” Luke stopped and sucked in a breath as he struggled to suppress his anger. The phrase “never let ’em see you sweat” was a cliché for a reason. Show no weakness or your adversary will use it against you. But he was puzzled. Tonight when he’d chatted with Diane, she openly teased about what an idiot she’d been not to hang on to him. He was on the Fortune 500 list and in a national magazine as sexiest billionaire bachelor. He wasn’t after being coveted for his money, but he wanted Amanda to admit that she was wrong to turn her back on him. They also said success was the best revenge. So far he wasn’t feeling it. “Look, Amanda, I’d just like to have a drink.” “Why?”
Chapter Seven “I’d like to talk about old times,” he said. All those years ago Amanda had told Diane how she felt about Luke. Diane had been her roommate at the home. So many nights when the feelings were too big to keep inside, she’d bared her soul to the girl who was worried about what would happen to her when she had to leave Good Shepherd. Amanda wanted to believe that Luke hadn’t had a romantic fling with Diane. She could understand him helping the girl, because he’d had a soft heart that no one recognized. But apparently not soft enough, because he had never come back for Amanda. She wanted to ask why, but wouldn’t because then he would know how much he still mattered after all this time. Amanda knew Luke didn’t care about her but still wasn’t ready to say good-night and watch him walk out of her life again. She wanted to have a drink with him. She wanted it more than her next breath, which was exactly the reason she couldn’t do it.
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“What if I told you I’m married?” His mouth turned up at the corners. “I’d say that your last name is still Everhart, you’re not wearing a wedding band and you’re throwing up a smoke screen because you’re afraid to be alone with me.” Had he acquired mind-reading skills or was she just that easy to read? “Look, Luke—“ She let out a long sigh. “I don’t want to talk about the past. My focus is the future—for the kids I’m trying to help. All my energy has to go into them.” “So you have no personal life?” He straightened away from the wall and moved a step closer. “I didn’t say that.” “So there’s someone special?” “I didn’t say that, either.” She wouldn’t tell him there’d been no one special for her since him. She wouldn’t give him that much power over her ever again. And she definitely wasn’t going to spend any more time talking to him. “All I’m going to say is good night.” Amanda stepped sideways, to walk past him. He reached out a hand and curled his fingers around her wrist, stopping her. “Not so fast, Mandy—” No one called her that. Only Luke. His voice was silky, sexy, seductive. With just a hint of gravel, the tone and his touch made her skin tingle. Suddenly the huge hall seemed to close in on her and she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. “Please let me go,” she begged. “In a minute.” He slid his arm around her waist and nestled her to him. This wasn’t the first time he’d pulled her against him like this, but he’d been a boy then. Now he was a man, all hard muscles and firm strength. It was the same and different—in a heart-pounding, breathless, trembly kind of way. When he lowered his head, she stood on tiptoe and met him halfway, touching his mouth with her own. She heard him groan when she slid her hands up over his chest and around his neck. He tightened his hold on her and brushed his tongue over her bottom lip, demanding entrance. She opened to him and he swept inside, taking as well as giving. “Oh, Mandy—” His voice was ragged. The sound broke his sensual spell and let in rational thought along with a realization that wasn’t pretty. What she’d done, what she’d let him see, was a big, fat mistake.
Chapter Eight
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“Amanda, it’s not your fault. I agreed that going glitzy for the event was the best way to put people in a giving mood.” Words to comfort, although Sister Margaret still looked troubled. “Never doubt that you did the right thing.” Two days after seeing Luke, Amanda sat in the nun’s office to update her on the amount of money that night raised. She’d raised things all right, like pulse rates and old feelings, proving that kissing Luke had been the wrong thing. Unfortunately, what she hadn’t raised enough of, was funds. “Remember, Sister, the totals are soft. We still have donations coming in from people who received invitations but couldn’t attend.” The nun looked up from the report. “It’s not enough to begin construction.” “I know.” Sister had been her friend, cheerleader and mother, playing each role when she’d needed it most. Sister Margaret had truly been there for her always and she’d so badly wanted to return the favor. “We’ll think of some way to raise what we need.” “There’s a global economic crisis. Money is scarce and people are desperate. Unfortunately, that makes this project especially important.” Sister removed her reading glasses and set them on her scratched-up old desk. “When times are hard, people tend to take out their problems and frustrations on the ones who can’t fight back. More kids are abandoned and abused.” Amanda knew it was true. She was on the front lines, getting the police calls to pick up children in the worst possible situations. Every single kid deserved to live in an environment where they could grow, learn and simply be safe. It wasn’t right for any little one to be hungry, or hurt or at the mercy of adults who were obsessed with getting their hands on a drug for another high instead of giving a hug to the ones they should love the most. “I’ll contact local news programs. There are some people at Mercy Medical Center who will open doors for me with some wealthy benefactors.” Amanda tried to think of more options to erase the concern in Sister’s eyes. “You are such a dear girl, Amanda. There’s an inherent sweetness about you that was always there.” Sister smiled, but it was small and sad. “I believe it’s what Luke Rafferty responded to. He had such a wild, independent streak, but you had a way with him. I like to think we here at Good Shepherd had something to do with the success he’s earned and the way he turned out, but it’s my opinion that you influenced him more than anyone.” If that were true, he wouldn’t have disappeared from her life without a word. But she hadn’t come here to talk about Luke or the past. “Don’t worry, Sister. It’s going to be okay.” “I always tell the children that God gives us what we need when we need it, but I’m having trouble believing that.” Sister’s mouth trembled as a tear slid down her cheek. Amanda was shocked. She’d never seen this woman cry. “Sister? What happened?” “Social services called me about placing two children at Good Shepherd. Little girls—three and five years old. We only had space for one.” She brushed the moisture from her cheek and her eyes were bleak. “How can I choose? The need is so great that it makes my heart hurt.”
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Amanda felt frantic to help the woman who had done so much for her. “I’ll do something, Sister. I’ll get this done. I’ll make some calls—” It was the first time Sister had ever looked utterly hopeless. “Who hasn’t already given what they can? Who’s left to talk to?” Luke. She would contact him and this time Amanda planned to use her mouth for talking instead of kissing.
Chapter Nine Luke hadn’t expected to see or hear from Amanda again after kissing her. The last thing she’d said to him was something about snowballs in hell before that happened. Since she was now sitting across from him in the nightclub at Green Valley Ranch Resort, the lost souls in the underworld must be scrambling for overcoats. This wasn’t hell, and the dim lights, mirrors and chrome interior were anything but warm. Luke wasn’t complaining because the view was to die for. He reached for the drink on the small glass table between them and watched her toy with the wineglass in her hands. “I was surprised that you called me, Amanda.” “Being the head of the Good Shepherd Home expansion project gives me access to all the contact information on our list of contributors.” “Not how you did it, but that you did it at all.” Luke had planned to get in touch with her after letting the effects of their kiss sink in. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the pleasure of tasting Amanda’s mouth, but she was just a girl then. Now she was a woman, with the soft curves to prove it. He’d thought about little but her since watching the sexy sway of her hips in that seductive silver dress as she’d walked away from him. Wanting more from her had bordered on obsession, but how to achieve that goal was a big question mark. Unlike most women he met, Amanda seemed disinclined to fall into his bed. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” she said. He knew that. She’d wanted to discuss the issue over the phone. He’d insisted on a face-toface meeting. Call him a bastard. Most people in his business circle did. Instinctively he knew that his purposes would be better served if she had to see him in the flesh. Despite her profession and dealing with the harshest of life’s realities, there was still an innocence about her that got to him, as much or more than the very first time he’d met her. If he could exploit that, he’d do it in a heartbeat, because he very much wanted to know that she regretted what she’d done to him. “I’m listening.” With every part of his body. “It’s about the expansion project for Good Shepherd.” “So you said.” Luke took another sip of Rémy Martin from his glass, never taking his eyes from her mouth.
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“Earlier today Sister Margaret made me aware of the pressing need to add more room to the children’s home. I intend to leave no stone unturned in making that happen.” “And I’m one of the stones?” “In a manner of speaking.” “You have heard the expression can’t get blood from a stone?” he asked. Her green eyes were big and beautiful and pleading. “Before you say no, please listen. When you were at Good Shepherd did you ever see Sister Margaret shed a tear? Did she ever once look like she wasn’t the Rock of Gibraltar?” “Mostly she looked like she wanted to wring my neck. Or tar and feather me. Or both.” Older and wiser now, he knew he’d given her ample reason for it. “When I left her today she was terribly upset that she couldn’t take two little girls who had nowhere to go.” Amanda set her wineglass on the table. “I’m here to ask you to change your mind about donating to the expansion fund.” “Why should I?” “Because it’s a worthy cause and I promised Sister I’d do everything in my power to get the project done.” What Luke thought of as his close-the-deal instinct went into high alert. He hadn’t expected to see her again and had resigned himself to the fact that he didn’t always get what he wanted. Now she was here for a handout and had just handed him an idea. His body tightened with need for the woman across from him. “Everything?”
Chapter Ten Amanda saw Luke’s eyes smolder when he said everything. A shiver slid down her spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with awareness. She wasn’t the naive girl he’d once known; she knew what he was saying but hoped to appeal to his charitable nature. “Sister Margaret only wants to save kids. Too many are neglected or abused and have to be taken from their families for their own good. From your own experience you know that many run away from the situation and live by—” “I know exactly what survival on the street means. They’re using sinks in public restrooms to wash off the grime. Scrounging food from Dumpsters. Begging for a few coins while people walk by as if you’re invisible.” He tossed back the remaining liquor in his glass. “I don’t need your pity, Mandy.” “I don’t feel sorry for you.” Not now. But once upon a time she had grieved for what he’d been through and vowed to make him happy forever. “Your eyes give you away, Amanda, but they always did. It’s nice to know some things don’t change.”
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And how she wished some things were different. She still wanted to put her arms around him and take away the hurt he tried so hard to keep anyone from seeing. He’d told her about his mother dying of cancer, then running away from home because of beatings. His father didn’t hit him, but the parade of his father’s women did and Luke left because he wanted to hit back and knew it was wrong. Amanda had thought him noble and heroic. She’d once believed her love could protect him from his dark past, but that was romantic nonsense that made her feel stupid and foolish. No one would make her feel that way again. Not even Luke. Especially not him. If Luke was hurting now, he had no one but himself to blame. “This isn’t about me. Sister Margaret needs your help. She has no ulterior motives for her work, Luke—” “And you’re implying that I do?” “Do you?” “Of course.” Her heart pounded. “Are you going to tell me what they are?” He swirled the ice in his empty glass as he stared at her. “The best education I received was on the street. If you can make it there, you’ll make it anywhere.” “I thought that was New York.” She tried to make him smile but couldn’t manage to melt the cold expression. “You never get something for nothing.” “Are you telling me that you won’t help build the addition to the home?” “I’m asking what you’ll give me if I do,” he countered. With an effort, Amanda met his heated gaze. “You mean the glow of doing something nice isn’t enough?” “Don’t make the mistake of confusing bad boy makes good with bad boy is good.” Obviously, appealing to his better nature wouldn’t work. She decided to stop dragging this out. “All right, Luke. I’ll bite. Tell me what you want in exchange for your help.” “I’ll give you whatever you need to make the development project happen if you spend the weekend with me.” Although she desperately wanted to, she knew turning him down wasn’t an option. When there was no choice, it was remarkably easy to make a deal with the devil.
Chapter Eleven
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Luke watched Amanda walk through his expansive home in Malibu with its wall of windows that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. He’d spared no expense in decoration or technology. Shutters closed with the press of a button. Music or TV came on the same way. One look from this woman turned him on from across a room. He didn’t like the weakness and had struck a bargain with her to get her out of his system once and for all. It was Friday night and he had two more days to make that happen. “So, what do you think?” he asked, sliding his fingers into the pockets of his slacks. “You might want to be more specific. Are you talking about the limousine to the private executive air terminal at McCarran Airport? The Gulfstream jet that you own like regular people own cars? Or this—” She threw out a hand to indicate the spacious, high-ceilinged family room with the biggest plasma television money could buy. “Any or all of it,” he answered. “Offhand I’d guess that you’re showing off. Trying to impress me.” “Is it working?” “That depends.” She glanced around the room, then back at him. “How big is it? This house, I mean.” Even the dim light showed the pink of embarrassment in her cheeks. “Six thousand square feet—give or take a square foot or two.” “Do you get lost?” “No.” He’d only been lost once and she’d been responsible. Surviving her rejection had made him tougher, stronger. What doesn’t kill you and all that. She shook her head and sighed. “I’ve never been very good at finding my way around.” “I’ll get you your own personal GPS system.” She smiled. “I guess the tried-and-true trail of crumbs to get from point A to point B without getting hopelessly turned around isn’t high tech enough for a man like you.” “Define ‘a man like me’,” he said. She turned away from the view of the sun shining low in the sky over the ocean and folded her arms beneath her breasts as she slid him a nervous look. “Wealthy. Enigmatic. Ruthless, I think.” “You’re implying I would do anything to get what I want?” “That’s for you to say.” She caught her top lip between her teeth as the pulse at the base of her neck fluttered. “Would you?”
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“Do you want me to lie?” Her eyes turned a shade of green that was like the ocean on a cloudy day. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” This from the diva of deception. But digging up the past was definitely going in the wrong direction. “And it won’t be the last.” “Do the private jets and ocean-view mansions make up for selling out?” she asked. Selling out? Because he was successful? Or because he wouldn’t put up the money for Good Shepherd without strings attached? Instead, he said, “If you’re asking whether or not all my expectations are met, I’d have to say yes.” It all proved that he’d crushed out the softer side of his nature, the part of him that had cared for a skinny, green-eyed orphan who always looked at him as if he’d hung the moon. “So why did you bring me here? What do you expect of me?”
Chapter Twelve Amanda wondered if she’d said that out loud until a predatory gleam slid into Luke’s eyes and told her she had. “I don’t expect anything you don’t want to give,” he said. “You bought the weekend with me so I’d sleep with you.” It wasn’t a question. He folded his arms over his wide chest. In his worn jeans and white shirt with sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms dusted with dark hair, he cut a masculine pose that was pretty irresistible. “Is that what you want? Sex?” Yes, she thought, knowing she couldn’t tell him so. He hadn’t denied any of the words she’d used to describe him. Wealthy was a given, what with this fabulous house and idyllic location. Enigmatic? He’d proven to be unknowable. All those years ago she’d thought she knew him as well as she knew herself. He’d told her about his abusive home life, his hopes and dreams. He’d promised to take care of her but it was a lie. So ruthless described him pretty well. If she let on how deeply and profoundly attracted she was, he surely would use it against her. The same way he was using her devotion to Good Shepherd. Originally he’d asked her to have a drink with him, just so they could talk. “What I’d like,” she said, “is to get to know you. Again.” “Okay.” “As easy as that?” she asked. Without answering, he said, “Have you ever taken a walk on the beach at sunset?” “I grew up in Las Vegas, but California isn’t that far.”
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“It’s a lifetime’s worth of far. It’s serene and wild at the same time. The waves pounding on the shore churn up treasures from the ocean or batter the castoff shells into oblivion.” “I never knew you to be so poetic,” she commented. He shrugged. “Living by the water brings out the best in me.” “If that were true,” she said, “you’d write a check and send me on my merry way.” “Maybe it’s best for us to spend some time together before I make that donation. Are you afraid of me, Mandy?” “Of course not. And just so you know, I can swim.” “And why would I need to know that?” She wasn’t sure why she’d said it, although it probably had something to do with feeling as if she were drowning. “In case you decide to throw me to the sharks.” He looked amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you don’t trust me. Have I given you reason to feel that way?” “Not recently.” His slight frown had confusion around the edges, but he didn’t question her comment. He simply held out his hand and said, “Come with me. It will be romantic.” She hesitated, staring into his dark eyes, wondering where he was going to take her. Then the corners of his mouth turned up, showing a glimpse of the young man she’d once known, the one who could hurt her the most.
Chapter Thirteen It was breezy by the water lapping on the shore and, with Amanda beside him, Luke turned into the wind. He’d never taken the easy path and now was no exception. She’d accused him of selling out, and he figured that was because he’d turned his back on the home he’d resented for trying to clip his wings. After leaving Good Shepherd behind, being on his own had been a badge of honor. Pride. Before seeing her again it had been enough. Now he recognized the loneliness. He had the uncomfortable sensation that a weekend he’d intended as a lesson to her was going to bite him in the backside. “The children at Good Shepherd would love this,” she said, looking at the sand, sea and sunset turning wisps of clouds in the sky shades of orange, purple and pink. “Can’t you just picture the little ones digging in the sand with plastic shovels and buckets? The older kids would bodysurf and play in the water. They’d get to be carefree.” “What about you?” he asked, looking down. The wind blew the hair back from her face and there was nothing to hide her beautiful features. Something in his chest tightened, then shifted almost painfully. Amanda looked up, puzzled. “What about me?”
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“Do you ever get to be untroubled?” “Of course,” she answered, too easily. “I have days off.” “But can you turn your mind off?” Her expression grew pensive. “You’re asking if I ever don’t think about the kids and that would be a big no.” “Why?” “That’s like asking why my favorite color is green or what makes me unable to resist a sugar cookie.” She shrugged. “I’ve always loved kids. You remember when we were at Good Shepherd?” “Yes.” He tried to forget, but lately it was harder. “One of the rules was to help with the other children. For me it was never a rule to be followed. I’m drawn to them. Even on my time off if I’m out shopping or seeing a movie, my attention is snagged by a little one in a stroller, a tiny baby cry, a toddler challenging parental authority. I just have a thing for children.” He remembered. She’d been like the pied piper. They’d followed her around and competed for her attention. She’d never been short-tempered or impatient, at least not that he saw. Besides her loveliness, it was another quality that had drawn him to her. The nurturing instinct that he’d never experienced before or since. He hadn’t realized until now how much he’d missed that, and her. He’d always liked her and that was another thing that hadn’t changed. It was possible he felt more than “like” for her. Now what? He’d bought her for the weekend, but maybe he should take her back to Las Vegas before he did something he’d regret. She was only here because of her devotion to children and the home. She might not care for him, but she was a caring person or she’d never have accepted his bargain. He stopped walking and looked down, noting her shiver in her light sweater. After taking off his jacket, he dragged it around her. “Do you want to go back?” “You promised me romance.”
Chapter Fourteen Amanda wasn’t sure what made her remind him about romance except that the warmth from his body enveloped her along with his jacket and sent a different kind of heat pooling in her belly. It was hard to think straight but one thing was crystal clear. She could be in a mall or on the moon with Luke Rafferty and it would be romantic. As they stared at each other a wave crashed on the shore and raced toward them. Just in time, Luke swung her into his arms, rescuing her from a soaking.
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“My hero.” Past and present, she realized. “Hardly.” His arms tensed. “But I’m definitely wet.” “We better go back,” she said. He nodded, set her back on the wet sand, then turned back the way they’d come. After climbing the private stairway to the house and leading her inside, he left her while he went to change. The phone rang and when he didn’t answer, the machine took a message. “Luke, it’s Hildie. Just wanted to let you know that Nevada Partnership for Homeless Youth was giddy with excitement over your generous donation and said you’re off the hook for tonight’s benefit. They were most understanding that things come up for a busy man like yourself even though you haven’t missed one. Ever. They’ll look forward to seeing you as usual next year. Have a wonderful weekend.” Amanda was stunned. Luke acted as if he didn’t care about anyone, yet he was obviously a major benefactor to an organization that helped homeless kids. When he walked back into the room wearing black sweatpants and carrying two brandies, she wasn’t sure whether or not to pretend she hadn’t eavesdropped. In the end, she had to ask. “Nevada Partnership for Homeless Youth?” Then she added, “Hildie left a message.” “My secretary.” She didn’t want to analyze the relief that flooded her when he clarified his relationship with the smoky-voiced woman. “So you do have charity.” “A charity,” he said, ducking the praise. “A center in Las Vegas where kids can go to get a break from the streets, take a shower, do laundry and get information on social and educational services.” “Because you know what they’re going through.” He set the brandy snifters on the glass coffee table. “The biggest misconception is that homeless teens choose a life of drugs or prostitution. In so many cases they take off because home isn’t safe for them.” She sighed and shook her head. “You, sir, are a big fibber.” “Excuse me?” “You go out of your way to make everyone think you’re tough as nails when you’re really like the gooey marshmallow in a s’more.” “Do not say I’m sweet.” He grinned the grin that had always made her insides turn to jelly. Now that she was all grown-up she knew it was sexual heat making her melt. “And if you blow my cover there will be hell to pay.”
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Maybe, but there were all kinds of hell. Somewhere she’d read that good girls go to heaven; bad girls go everywhere. Right now she wanted to be the girl he would take wherever he was going. In the next instant his grin disappeared, replaced by a look of longing, so intense it was almost a physical ache. He took her face in his big, warm hands and settled his mouth on hers, a touch so soft and gentle it was more persuasive than an all-out assault on her senses. Her resistance dissolved and there was no way to say no way when she’d been waiting for this moment forever. She was going to hell and couldn’t find the will to care.
Chapter Fifteen Amanda had never found a kiss more thrilling. It was like finding a piece of herself that had been missing, making heat and desire swell inside her. A needy moan gathered in her throat and she couldn’t hold it back. The effect of the strangled sound on Luke was dramatic and instantaneous. His breathing grew ragged as he gathered her into his arms. “I want you, Mandy,” he said against her hair. “I always have and couldn’t seem to make it stop.” Just a little while ago in this room she’d asked what he expected of her and he’d answered that he didn’t need anything she didn’t want to give. When he flat-out questioned whether or not she wanted sex, she’d put him off. Said they should get to know each other again. She’d loved the boy she’d known; he’d become a good man, though he tried to hide it. Then he wondered if she was afraid of him, and bravado made her say of course not, although she had been just a little. She wasn’t afraid now. She slid her arms around him. “I’m here and there’s no reason to stop.” He pulled back to look into her eyes, his own smoldering with passion. “Are you sure?” The fact that he gave her a choice convinced her. “Very sure.” Luke took her hand and led her down the hall and into the master bedroom with a mattress as big as a small country. After pressing a button on the nightstand, the window covering swept aside, revealing a view of the full moon shining on the ocean. It was breathtaking, but that probably had more to do with the man slowly unbuttoning her blouse. Within seconds she was naked, proving that a man driven by purpose could accomplish goals in record time. She expected to be shy and embarrassed but the appreciation in his expression made her feel bold. White shirt, pants and boxers dropped beside her clothes, showing that a woman handled with tenderness and sensitivity was a match for any man. “You’re even more beautiful than I imagined,” he said. He’d imagined her? There was no response to that except a glow inside, so she stepped close and rested her palm over his pounding heart. The dusting of hair tickled her fingers even as it highlighted his masculinity. He drew in a shuddering breath, then swept the comforter and blanket down,
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exposing the cream-colored silk sheets beneath. He scooped her into his arms and settled her in the center of the mattress. “You won’t regret this—” Amanda touched her index finger to his mouth, stopping him. “Just kiss me, Luke.” His smile was wolfish, predatory, but turned her on more than she would have thought possible. She pulled his face to hers and kissed him as her blood caught fire and her heart pumped it to every part of her. He trailed kisses down her neck, the amazingly sensitive spot beneath her ear, over her breasts, belly and the inside of her thighs. When she thought it impossible to stand more pleasure, he brushed his thumb over the bundle of nerve endings at the apex of her femininity. When she was on the edge, he reached into the nightstand, pulled out a foil packet and covered himself. Gently he entered her and at the same time they both sighed with contentment before his thrusts increased in intensity. Moments later she shattered into a thousand points of light while his strong arms held her together. Then he buried his face in her neck and he groaned out his own release. When their breathing slowed to something approaching normal, he gathered her close against him. That’s when sanity returned and dragged her misgivings along for the ride. Sleeping with Luke was going to cost her big-time.
Chapter Sixteen More than anything, Amanda wanted to snuggle into Luke’s warmth. The sensation of his strong arms around her brought back memories of the two of them against the world. Some of the kids at Good Shepherd, especially the ones from unstable, abusive situations, could be aggressive before counseling and Sister Margaret worked their particular brands of magic. Luke had made it clear to everyone that anyone who messed with Amanda messed with him. And there would be serious consequences. No disrespect to the children’s home that took her in when her father disappeared and her mom died, but Luke had made her feel connected to someone in a way she never had before. He’d been her shelter physically as well as emotionally. In this very bed he’d satisfied her body, but now her feelings had never been more exposed and vulnerable. She felt unsafe in a way she never had before. “Earth to Amanda. You’re awfully quiet.” She pulled the sheet and molded it around her, keeping it in place with her arms. “Just catching my breath.” He turned on his side and raised up on his elbow, resting his cheek in his palm. “Are you all right?” “Fine.“ Such a lame word, but she didn’t know how to explain that being with him had been the most perfect experience of her life.
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He didn’t respond and she sneaked a glance at him, noting his frown. Dark eyebrows were pulled together as he studied her, his expression indecipherable. Without a word, he got up, pulled his pants on and walked away, returning with a terry cloth robe that he set on the end of the bed. Then he opened the sliding glass door and walked onto the patio. Amanda slipped into the robe, then followed him outside. Sea-scented air cooled her hot cheeks as she heard waves crashing below. It mirrored her own emotions—peace blending with pandemonium and the result was confusion. When she had agreed to a weekend in exchange for his donation, she’d known ending up in his bed was probably going to happen. And she’d been okay with it, believing the experience would put to rest any lingering feelings for this enigmatic, magnetic man. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, she realized the foolishness of the rationalization. If anything, her feelings were more intense than ever. His broad, bare shoulders were highlighted by the moon’s silver light. Without turning around, he said, “I love the ocean. If I could pick anywhere on earth, I’d choose to be right here.” “It is beautiful,” she agreed. “I have a home in the mountains, a villa in Italy and an apartment in Manhattan. But this is my favorite place.” “Why did you bring me here?” she asked. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “As opposed to New York or Italy?” “As opposed to getting a room in Las Vegas.” She was afraid to read anything into the fact that he’d taken her to his favorite place on the planet. During the years after Luke she thought she’d found love but could never make it last. Now she knew why. Intimacy with him had shown her more clearly than she would have imagined that she’d never come close to knowing what it was like to love a man. Until now. Worse, she knew with complete certainty that she wouldn’t survive losing him a second time. “What’s wrong, Mandy?”
Chapter Seventeen Luke knew something was bothering her. He’d known the moment Amanda hid beneath the sheet. Maybe because their physical connection had been so complete, so compelling, so consuming, he’d felt the instant she’d withdrawn and the absence of her warmth went clear to his soul. “There’s nothing wrong, Luke. I’m fine.” There was that four-letter word again. He had another one for her. Liar. She’d never been good at concealing her feelings, which had made her betrayal more devastating, because it was so unexpected. She still wore her heart on her sleeve and that made him wonder about what had happened all those years ago. He couldn’t believe her feelings for him had been a complete lie.
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He looked down at her. Normally romantic, the silvery moonlight allowed him to see the bruised expression in her eyes and he fought the urge to take her in his arms. “Mandy?” Her gaze jumped to his. “I’d like to go home.” No. He wasn’t ready for that. When they went back to the real world, she would be out of his life again and he wanted to put off the loneliness as long as possible. “According to our agreement, there’s still one more day left.” “For what?” She folded her arms over her abdomen as if holding herself together. He read between the lines and knew she believed that he’d gotten what he wanted and should let her off the hook. If he was being honest with himself, he’d have to admit he planned to have sex with her. But he’d never planned to make love. He’d never intended for the experience to rock his world, or make her look like she did now. “Did I hurt you?” “Not tonight.” This wasn’t what he’d pictured. Amanda wasn’t the first woman he’d brought here, and he knew that the trappings of his wealth were pretty impressive. The most beautiful women on the planet wanted to be with him. All except this woman. Fate was a fickle mistress or she wouldn’t be the only one he wanted. “Not tonight” meant that he had hurt her before, and he couldn’t stand the idea of doing it again. He couldn’t have her and he couldn’t let her go. “Your things are in the guest room where you’ll have complete privacy.” He chanced a glance at her before staring out to sea again. “I’m sorry, Mandy.” As she walked away, he thought he heard a small sound. Crying? It tore him up, but he resisted the urge to go after her. He’d already done enough damage for one day. Revenge was a double-edged sword. He’d told himself that he only wanted to see her face when she realized what she’d turned her back on. Instead, he’d found out what he gave up on when he left Good Shepherd without her. He kicked himself for not going back to change her mind. Now he’d manipulated her into being with him by using her unselfish love for the children’s home. Taking her to his bed was the best moment of his life—and the worst, because she’d never forgive him for it.
Chapter Eighteen Amanda stood outside Sister Margaret’s office feeling as if she were ten years old again and about to face a scolding for feeding her dinner to the dog. This was far worse. She knocked on the door, then opened it. Sister looked up and smiled. “Amanda, just the person I wanted to see.”
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The nun looked so happy, especially in contrast to the last time they’d talked. Sister had shed tears because there weren’t enough beds for children who needed them. Now she’d find out that it could be even longer before the construction could start. Thanks to Amanda’s idiotic deal with Luke. He’d turned her world upside down years ago when she’d been hardly more than a child. Grown-up now, her reaction to him was a woman’s. A woman in love. What in the world had made her think she could go away with him and come back to life as she’d known it? It would be bad enough if she was the only one affected. But now the expansion project was in jeopardy and it was all her fault. “I have a confession to make, Sister.” She twisted her fingers together, before the nun’s words sank in. “You wanted to see me?” “Yes. I have so much to tell you.” Then she frowned. “But confession sounds awfully dramatic. Maybe you should go first.” As much as she would like to put this off, the sooner she got it off her chest, the better. “It’s about the building fund for the home.” “I see.” Sister studied her and frowned before standing to walk around her desk. “What in the world is troubling you, child?” Loving Luke, making love with him, had opened her eyes along with her heart. What scared her was knowing how much it was going to hurt when the weekend was over. Firsthand experience in loving Luke and living without him had clued her in to what she could expect. So she left him without a word before the weekend was over. She hadn’t held up her end of the bargain and she had to tell Sister that the expansion project wouldn’t get the funding. She also had to tell Luke the truth about her feelings. And she owed herself a second chance. When she was a girl, running after him to straighten things out hadn’t been an option. But she was grown-up now and wouldn’t make the same mistake. If he couldn’t forgive her, so be it. But she couldn’t live with herself if she didn’t at least try. “Amanda?” Concern swirled in Sister’s eyes. “What is it that you have to tell me? Are you ill?” Did heartsick count? She shook her head. “I’m fine. Physically.” “Then what? It can’t be that bad.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve done something. To come up with the money for the expansion. I wanted so badly to make it happen because you’ve always been there for me and I wanted to give something back.” “What in the world did you do?” Amanda braced herself for a look of disappointment and disapproval. “I made a deal with Luke Rafferty. One weekend with him in exchange for the money to start construction. But I—I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain. He won’t donate to the building fund.” “I guess not, since he already gave me a very generous check.” Sister looked puzzled. “I received it just before you walked in.”
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“Mandy?” She turned and saw him in the doorway.
Chapter Nineteen “Why are you here, Luke?” Amanda stood in front of Sister Margaret’s desk and stared at him in the doorway. “I knew you’d be here. Sooner or later. I was prepared to wait as long as it took for you to show up.” He knew this place was her safety net. For a time he’d believed she cared about it more than anything—or anyone. Now he knew he’d been wrong. She would do anything for someone she loved and he hoped he was that someone. He wouldn’t let her get away again—not without putting up a fight. Sister cleared her throat. “I’m glad you’re here, Luke. There’s something I need to tell you. Both of you. Just before you arrived, I was about to tell Amanda something that came to my attention after the fund-raiser.” Amanda glanced between them. “I don’t understand.” “Then pay attention.” Sister sat in her chair and set her linked fingers on the desk, then looked at them over the half-glasses on the end of her nose. It was what Luke had always thought of as her scare-thecrap-out-of-you expression. He’d never let on to her that it worked. The chip on his shoulder wouldn’t let him reveal that this place had been a haven for him, the only place he could ever remember feeling safe. The time he spent here had made all the difference in his life. Somehow he’d absorbed the skills he’d needed for success. Work ethic. Honesty. Giving back. He was ashamed of using Good Shepherd to get Amanda’s attention. Somehow he’d fix it. “Luke? You look distracted. Are you listening?” “Yes, Sister.” The meek tone earned him a shocked glance from Mandy. “Do you both remember Diane Coulter? She was your roommate, Amanda. And the girl who left with you, Luke.” “Yes,” they both said and exchanged a surprised glance. “After the fund-raiser she came to see me. It turns out that she was responsible for disrupting the scheme you two had to run away.” “You knew about that?” Amanda asked. “After the fact. Not much gets by me but there was no reason to say anything. It seemed things had worked out for the best. Without my intervention,” the nun added. “But this seems to be the day for confession. Back to Diane’s.”
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“What did she do?” Amanda asked, a shocked expression on her face. “You gave her a note for Luke because you were delayed meeting him. Becky Martin was having a meltdown and—” “She was five,” Amanda said. “She had nightmares and I was the only one who could get her to sleep. That night I couldn’t leave her. I wrote a note to Luke asking him to wait for me.” Sister nodded. “Diane threw away the message and told Luke you didn’t love him enough to go with him.” Luke felt as if he just took a punch to the gut. “She lied?” “It would seem so.” Sister’s eyes narrowed on him. “And apparently there’s more mischief in the air. Amanda told me about your deal.” “I can explain, Sister.” Luke squirmed just like the teenage boy he’d once been. It wasn’t any more comfortable now than it had been then. “Your intentions need no explanation.” Sister Margaret gave him a wry look. “I live as a nun, not under a rock. Diane’s actions, on the other hand, must be brought to light.” “Go on, Sister,” Amanda urged. “After seeing you both at the fund-raiser, she felt terribly guilty for causing so much trouble and keeping you apart. Now she’s a happily married woman with a baby on the way. She wanted to make things right so that the two of you can find happiness like she has.” Sister Margaret stood and before leaving them alone, said, “That’s the truth of what happened. And if you want my opinion, it’s time to stop acting foolish, let go of the past and admit to each other what everyone at that fund-raiser could see.”
Chapter Twenty “I can’t believe I was so wrong,” they both said at the same time. Amanda looked up at the only man she’d ever loved. “I’m sorry, Luke. I should have known there was something weird going on.” He took her hands in his as he stared into her eyes. “How could you? There was an innocence about you. It’s what made me want to protect you from the first moment I saw you. You’d never break a promise. I was an idiot not to come back for you.” “Maybe it happened this way for a reason.” “What do you mean?” he asked. “We were so young. The odds of making a success of our relationship then were astronomical against us. It’s possible that we weren’t meant to be together then, but to meet again when we could actually make the adult choice to be together.”
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“You’re saying the forces of Cupid were against us?” Humor danced in his eyes. “Just the opposite. Cupid detoured us so that when we found our way back to each other we’d have a better chance of making romance work.” “I have to question the wisdom of inflicting that kind of pain in the name of a good romantic outcome.” Luke pulled her into his arms and brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “On the other hand, I can’t argue with the results.” “Which are?” “I’m holding you.” He dragged in a shuddering breath. “And I never intend to let you go again.” “And just how do you plan to make sure that doesn’t happen?” He looked at her and heart-pounding intensity glittered in his eyes. “Marry me, Mandy.” “Luke, I—” Touching a finger to her lips, he said, “Before you answer, you should know that no matter what you say I’ll be here for you. I swear to you that I’ll never leave you behind again.” “Is it all right if I say something now?” “We’re soul mates. I knew it right away. There’s no other reason for me to open up to you and only you. There’s no one else for me. Never has been, never will be.” She sighed. “This habit of yours to not let someone get a word in—no wonder you managed to become such a wealthy and successful man.” “What can I say, I don’t take no for an answer.” “You won’t have to.” She smiled up at him. “I love you, Luke Rafferty. It wasn’t my innocence that made me reach out to you that first time. It was my infallible ability to judge people. From the first moment I saw you, even with your bad-boy mask on, I knew you were a hero. I would love to marry you. We’ve always been two halves of the same whole. Better together than we are apart.” “Thank God.” “Actually, I think Sister Margaret is the one we need to thank.” “I pledge my undying gratitude to either or both,” he said, cupping her face in his hands. “And to you I pledge my love—forever.” His kiss sealed that vow and promised a whole lifetime filled with Rafferty’s very special brand of romance.
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Manhattan Cinderella by Trish Wylie It was the dance that did it… Caterer Erin Giordano may have gotten caught up in the glitz and glamour when she was thrust into the spotlight and asked to model the famous Harlequin Diamond at the last minute. She may have been mesmerized by the gorgeous billionaire—the gem’s owner—who acted as her escort for the evening. But she never, ever would have kissed a complete stranger without even exchanging two words with him, had it not been for their sensual dance! Especially if she’d known the truth about Nathaniel Van Rothstein….
Chapter One It was the dance that did it. It wasn’t the fact that Erin Giordano was a last-minute stand-in for a sick model; a tad surreal when she was only there to arrange displays of her designer cupcakes on raised podiums around the grand ballroom. It wasn’t the fact that she was poured into a stunning designer dress the minute a tentative okay left her lips. Or that after a somewhat frantic makeover, she had a million-dollar diamond hanging from her neck. Or that the next thing she knew, the billionaire who owned the diamond was her escort for the evening…though in fairness, he was a big part of it. She had her eyes closed when she first heard Nathaniel Van Rothstein’s voice. It had been the first thing to drag her out of the whirlwind of activity around her, demanding she open her eyes and blink through a haze of hairspray. But it was worth the effort. It was one of those mythical moments when everything else faded into a blur of muted sounds and melting color around him. Much taller than Erin’s five feet ten—which was deliciously sexy to a woman who was usually left feeling like an Amazon—he had ruffled brown hair and eyes the exact shade of melted dark chocolate. But beyond his initial question of whether she was ready, and an almost lazy examination of her from head to toe, he didn’t have much to say. At least not to her. For the rest of the night he stayed glued to her side, sometimes placing a large hand against the inward curve of her back to guide her through the throng at the charity event. Occasionally they stopped so he could talk with people he knew. Keen interest in the famous Harlequin Diamond Erin was wearing forced them to smile frequently for photographs. And then came the dance. After what felt like hours, they turned away from the last group of people and faced the dance floor. A melancholy saxophone began playing, then the lights dimmed and mirrored globes on the ceiling created what looked like spiraling stardust around them. Erin gazed upward and smiled, enthralled by the magical wonderland, and that was when she felt a shimmer of awareness wash over her. So she looked at the man who stood beside her. Really looked. And was mesmerized all over again. He was studying her intently in return, what looked like curiosity in his darkened eyes. Then a large upturned palm was held in front of her in invitation. Such a simple gesture. One he backed up with a small inclination of his head toward the dance floor. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to slip her hand into his….
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Drawing in a deep breath when a long arm circled her waist, Erin placed her free hand on the expensive material of his dark jacket just above his elbow. She looked up at him as his warm fingers closed around hers. And then they began to sway to the hauntingly seductive music, her body echoing the rhythm of his. She should say something. Surely one of them should try and make idle conversation? But she was rendered speechless. They moved with a fluidity that suggested they’d danced together hundreds of times. He studied her hair, her face, following the line of her neck to her shoulder. Then their gazes tangled again, and Erin could have sworn his eyes were smiling at her. Lord, he was gorgeous. No wonder she couldn’t think straight. Damping her lips, she silently pleaded, Say something… Dense lashes lowered, he studied her mouth. Then he glanced sharply upward to search each of her eyes in turn while her heart skipped a beat with the instinctual realization that he wanted to kiss her. Erin had never kissed a stranger, let alone one who hadn’t made the effort to so much as talk about the weather. So in a rare demonstration of willfulness, she lifted her chin. No. The answering smile knocked the air out of her lungs. Suddenly she was warmed from the inside out, her heart was beating harder against her breastbone and—heaven help her—she was turned on in a way she’d never been turned on before. Someone in the crowd jostled her, knocking her forward. The shock of her breasts crushing into the hard wall of his chest made her gasp and step back as if she’d been burned. But when she tried to step away he squeezed his fingers tighter and ran the pad of his thumb over the rise and fall of her knuckles. She looked up and found his head bowed to study their hands. When he took a step forward, she lifted her palm and laid it hesitantly against his chest, directly above his heart. She didn’t know why, she just felt she had to touch him. He looked up into her eyes once more. Dropped his gaze to her mouth. Then their eyes met again. Erin took a small step forward, her brows wavering a minuscule amount in question. What am I doing? Lowering his head, the soul-shattering warmth in his smile answered, This. Erin felt her lashes grow heavy. Their mouths were inches apart, she could feel his warm breath against her skin… “It was the dance that did it,” she told her enthralled friends forty-eight hours later. “I would never have kissed him if it wasn’t for that dance.” Clare leaned closer. “You can’t leave it there!” “I Googled him yesterday…” “And?” “Let’s just say he’s no Prince Charming.”
Chapter Two
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Nate parked his Lamborghini Murciélago outside the restaurant. Giovanni’s. That was it. Time to find his mystery woman and discover why she’d run for the hills. Inside the restaurant he found every cliché associated with Italian cuisine. Checkered tablecloths, a tenor singing opera on the sound system, burning candle stumps melting down the necks of old wine bottles. But there was a warm atmosphere to the dimly lit room. And he barely had the door closed behind him before he was greeted like an old friend. “Come in, come in!” a beaming woman with dark hair in a neat bun spoke with the lilt of an Irish accent. “Are you meeting someone?” Nate found what he sought in the dinner crowd. “She’s over there.” The woman turned in the direction he’d indicated with a pointed finger. Then she looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Which one?” “Dark hair. White shirt.” “Erin?” To his surprise the woman took a step back and looked him down then up, nodding firmly as if he’d passed some kind of test. “About time we met you.” Next thing he knew he was being guided through the tables. “You should have said your boyfriend was coming.” Nate was frowning in confusion when his gaze locked with Erin’s. Her eyes widened, her jaw dropped, she even blushed. Then she blinked, and her gaze shifted to the woman at his side. “Momma—” “Get up, get up.” Her mother waved her other hand in an upward motion. “We’ll get you a table in the corner, away from the crowd…” Nate glanced at the curious expressions of the two women Erin was with. “Perhaps you’d prefer we sat with your friends?” Not that it was his first choice. But then neither was meeting her mother before he knew her name. “Nonsense!” her mother said with a look of admonishment. “I tell Erin—you gotta make the time for a man. She never makes time. That’s why she’s not married, y’know. We’d have had her married five times already if it wasn’t for—” “Momma!” Her eyes flickered to his long enough for him to see her increased embarrassment, then she shot her mother a silent plea. So Nate cut her some slack and reached out his hand, offering his upturned palm the same way he had before as he threw a smile at her mother. “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He looked back at Erin as she frowned at him. “Doesn’t it, sweetheart?”
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The question brought her stare sharply upward. Roll with it, he told her without words. And she did. But she ignored his hand. Five-star restaurants had never given him the attention he received in the next twenty minutes. Considering who he was, that was saying something. He’d never met three generations of a woman’s family so fast, either. Her father, Giovanni, a sister who took on Erin’s waitress’s duty, a grandmother who came in from the house they apparently all lived in next door. Nate managed to answer their questions without blowing Erin’s cover until eventually he was sitting back with a glass of red wine and enough food to feed an army on the table in front of him. If it wasn’t for his fascination with the woman visibly squirming in the seat opposite him, he’d have been exhausted. “All your boyfriends get this welcome?” She grimaced. “Look—Mister Van Rothstein—” “Nate.” When she hesitated he smiled lazily. “It’s my name.” “I’m sorry you walked into this, but—” “Is there a boyfriend?” “That’s none of your business.” “Is now.” “Why is it?” Nate watched as she dampened her lips the way she had before he kissed her, the memory of it causing the same visceral reaction it had when she’d kissed him back. “There are lines I don’t cross.” She glanced around the room and mumbled, “No boyfriend.” “Your family thinks there is…” “Because the only way to stop my family finding one for me, was to tell them I already have one. They think I’ll end up like Great Aunt Carlotta.” She aimed a pained expression at a random point over his shoulder. “She had cats.” “You don’t like cats?” “I have nothing against cats.” “Carlotta must be scary, then…” Long lashes flickered as she searched his eyes with the same emotive look she’d had when they’d danced. Without artificial polish, the soft sheen of her midnight hair and the natural
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prettiness of her features made her look like a different woman. Less ethereal, possibly? More real? There was just something about her… Nate was determined to discover what it was. Among other things. She asked the obvious. “Why are you here?” He dug into the pocket of his jacket and pushed a cell phone across the table. “You left this behind. I’d never have found you without it. New York is a big place.” “Why would you want to find me?” Reaching for a fork, he loaded it with pasta in a rich, creamy sauce before calmly informing her, “To finish what we started.”
Chapter Three “Excuse me?” Who did he think he was? There were men who did that? And she’d struck him as the kind of girl who would—? Erin shook her head as she blinked in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?” Chewing on a mouthful of her father’s carbonara as calmly as he’d said the words, he swallowed before answering in the same deep rumble he’d used to get her attention the first time. “You ran away.” “I had to get changed and take the subway home. I wasn’t supposed to be there as long as I was.” Technically it wasn’t a lie. Truth was, she had run away. The kiss had both terrified her and somehow been too right—at the same time. And since Erin didn’t believe in love at first sight and was now in possession of more information about who she’d kissed, she didn’t regret leaving. She just wished she’d remembered her cell phone…. “Mmm.” He concentrated on loading his fork again. “Last-minute stand-in. I was told that when I called the modeling agency. They were very apologetic.” “I was the only random bystander tall enough for the dress.” “I doubt that’s the only reason you were plucked from the crowd.” “The shoes were too small.” “Can’t say I noticed when you were running away.” Erin scowled at him as he lifted the laden fork to his mouth. “I didn’t run.” “And you had a subway train to catch. Don’t tell me—midnight curfew, right?”
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Funny guy. Frankly, he was making her wish he’d spoken to her that night. If he’d opened his mouth she would probably have been less attracted to him. Leaning back in her seat, she folded her arms across her breasts and continued scowling at him as he ate. He was too good-looking for his own good. Erin bet this tactic usually worked for him. Add a family fortune similar to that of the Rockefellers or the Vanderbilts and he probably hadn’t slept alone since he hit puberty. It was amazing the information Google could bring a girl’s way…. “I handed your diamond back, the agency team paid me, I did everything I was supposed to do. There really isn’t anything to finish. I appreciate you returning my phone, but you could have let me know where to pick it up or had it couriered over.” Swallowing, he pointed the prongs of his fork at the large bowl in front of him. “This is really good.” “I’m sure Papa will sleep better knowing you think so.” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t like me much, do you?” Oh, gee, she wondered why that might be. “What changed in the last forty-eight hours?” he added with one of the intense stares that made her toes curl inside her shoes. “You liked me then…” Erin lifted her chin and willed her cheeks not to burn. Darned Irish complexion let her down every single time. She could blame her mother for that. “I Googled you.” “I think you’re the first woman to do that.” “I doubt it.” Her eyes narrowed at the sight of her friends waving as they left the restaurant. Deserters. “You’re the first one to tell me you did.” He shrugged. “Kinda stands you out of the crowd.” “Don’t worry. I’m not stalker material.” “Not sure I’d complain if you were.” When he had the gall to wink at her, Erin’s jaw dropped a couple of inches. Nate shook his head. “No one ever tell you not to believe everything you read?” “Photographic evidence is hard to deny.” “And you saw…?” “Women.” She smiled sweetly again. “Lots of women.” The fork hovered in front of his mouth. “Jealous?”
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How did he get his head through doors? The fact that he wasn’t that far off the mark didn’t help, either. She had been jealous when she found the first couple of pictures. But the more of them she found the more she understood what kind of man he was. “You’re not my type.” “What is your type?” Walked into that one, hadn’t she? With no idea why she was still talking to him, Erin took a breath and found the strength to look him straight in the eye. “A guy who doesn’t serial date would be a start.” “Glad we’re not jumping to conclusions. I might say from what I’ve learned so far this evening that you’re commitment-phobic. Would that be accurate?” “No.” She frowned. “I just haven’t—” “Met the right guy?” Well, yes, as it happened. Wasn’t that usually the case nine times out of ten? He then astonished her by asking, “How do you know it’s not me?” “You’re telling me you’re actively hunting for ‘the one’?” “No.” “Then I don’t understand—” “Dinner. Friday night. We’ll talk about it.” He set his fork down and pushed the bowl back an inch to indicate he was done. “I’m not going out with you.” “I’ll pick you up here. You live next door, right?” Erin frowned. “I won’t be here. And I have to work early on Saturday morning.” “We’ll stick to your curfew. And we’ll eat somewhere close.” He pushed his chair back, light glittering in his melted chocolate eyes the way it had when they’d danced. “Eight o’clock. And if you’re not here I’m sure a member of your family can tell me where you are….” “I’ll tell them we broke up.” “I’ll tell them I’m winning you back.” She sighed heavily. “Could you be any more annoying?” “You’ll find out Friday, won’t you?”
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Pretty much her entire family made a point of saying goodbye to him as he left, while Erin shook her head and blinked into the middle distance. What just happened? *** A constant stream of flowers, every hour on the hour, started arriving the next day. One ridiculously large bunch was for Erin’s mother, who told everyone foolish enough to step through the doors of the restaurant that her daughter’s boyfriend had sent them. If the person was someone she knew, it led to a gushing soliloquy of how good-looking he was, how thoughtful to have sent them, etcetera, etcetera. While Erin suffered the worst guilt trip of her life. When every table in the restaurant and in the house next door had flowers, the gifts started arriving. Perfumes, baskets of expensive toiletries, balloons attached to boxes of handmade chocolates… “Remind me again why we don’t like this guy?” her friend Madison asked. Clare reached into the beribboned box. “Any man who sends gourmet truffles can’t be all bad.” “He probably has the place they come from on speed dial.” “You need to find out what he’s like with children and small animals.” Clare waved the box temptingly under Erin’s nose. “Not having one? They’re seriously good. And it’s not like you ever put any weight on, no matter what you eat.” Madison batted her lashes. “We hate you for that.” “You’ve said,” Erin said as she shooed the box away with the back of her hand. “It’s bad enough he won over my mother in sixty seconds, now I have to deal with you two after a couple of chocolates?” “Really good chocolates,” Clare pointed out. Leaning her forearms on the tabletop, Erin looked around at the faces in the Mexican place they’d found to have lunch off Fifth and Broadway. A day shopping in Manhattan with her friends had seemed like the ideal escape from the constant stream of gifts arriving in Brooklyn. It was clever, she’d give him that. He wasn’t giving her a chance to forget him. Not for one single second…. “I should never have told my mother I had a boyfriend.” Madison smiled. “Honey, your mom had a half dozen friends of second cousins lined up. You had to do something after the last guy tried to teach you the internal workings of a spaceship.” “Do you think I’m commitment-phobic?” The question made her friends stare at her in silence for what felt like forever, so Erin lifted her brows.
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“Of course you’re not!” “Where did that come from?” Since he’d said it, it had been rattling round her brain and tangling up with guilt about her nonexistent boyfriend, and paranoia had set in. She wondered if it was why she’d kissed and run. Maybe it was an easier way to satisfy a need for romance if there wasn’t a possibility of anything in the region of dating. Erin didn’t have a particularly good history with dating. But then if her mother hadn’t decided to ‘help,’ she might not have had so many disastrous experiences. When her cell phone chirped on the tabletop, she picked it up. “Hello?” “Eight o’clock.” Trying to remain unaffected by his voice, she lifted her arm and checked her brand-new designer wristwatch. “No. It’s ten to two.” “So am I winning you back?” “You never had me to begin with.” “Is that him?” Madison mouthed. Erin nodded. “If I go on a date with you, will the avalanche of gifts stop?” “What gifts?” The smile came through in his voice. “I’ll see you at eight.” “Determined, isn’t he?” Clare said as Erin set her phone down. That was one word to describe him. “He’d have to be after that phone call,” Madison added. Great. Now she was a shrew. Erin sighed heavily. “Okay. Work with me.” Madison blew a puff of air at a blond corkscrew of hair and leaned forward. “Your Mom is setting you up on blind dates from hell ‘cos you’re the only daughter she has left to plan a wedding for—and we all know how much she loves a wedding. But you’ve been so wrapped up in work lately you’re practically a hermit, so even if you found Mister Right you wouldn’t have had time for him….” “Am I going to feel better at any point?” Madison rolled her eyes. “You need to have fun. Let the gifts come. Go on a couple of expensive dates with this guy. Hell, have a fling since he’s so hot. But have some fun. Call it evening the score for all the women he’s dated and dumped, if you like.”
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“Two wrongs don’t make a right,” Clare softly pointed out. “You’re suggesting Erin use him the way it looks like he’s used women in the past. And there’s no actual proof he’s done that, is there?” That was Clare, always the mediator, always the optimist, despite the fact that Erin had immediately dismissed the idea of evening up the score for womankind. “Don’t compare him to Quinn, Clare. Quinn’s a good guy under that layer of cockiness—we all know that.” The mention of her best friend’s name made Clare’s voice even softer than before. “How do you know Nate isn’t if you don’t get to know him?” Erin didn’t know which was worse: finding out he was the womanizer the evidence suggested, or discovering he was a good guy underneath all the arrogance. “You don’t have to sleep with him,” Madison clarified, “just have fun. Sometimes to find your Prince you gotta jump a few lily pads and wade through the frogs.” There was a certain logic in that. Not that Nate was within hitting distance of anything resembling a frog. But it wasn’t just his looks that made him dangerous. If he added charm to his abundant self-confidence and the talent he had in the kissing department there was a very real possibility she could get in way over her head. And his life and hers? Worlds apart. “Not like he’s gonna give up on dinner anyway, is it?” No. It wasn’t, but, “I’m not kissing him again.” “Wanna bet?” Madison winked. There was a distinct grimace from Clare. “Don’t make a bet. Those things are dangerous….” “Okay, spill.” Erin did what she’d always done: she focused on someone else’s problems. It had always been easier than dealing with her own. And anyway, she had six hours until she had to deal with Nathaniel Van Rothstein. Five hours fifty-nine, five hours fifty-eight, five hours fifty-seven…
Chapter Four The restaurant Nate brought Erin to put him in mind of a Hollywood movie, the kind that opens with a swelling Gershwin-like tune and a shot of the New York skyline from beneath the Brooklyn Bridge. Looking around the handsomely lit dining room with its Parma gold walls, bistro wicker chairs, fine napery and glassware made him wonder why he’d never been there before. He should see more of the city outside of Manhattan. It might have helped with his growing restlessness over the last few months. He looked at Erin and stifled a smile as she toyed with the stem of her wineglass. Still wasn’t happy being there, was she? “Having dinner in silence, are we?” he asked.
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Erin looked him in the eyes, then her gaze flickered away. “I thought you might need to rest your ears after being barraged with all the dirt from my childhood.” “I’ve never met a family that kept photo albums in their workplace.” “Oh, believe me, if there’s a way to embarrass me, my family will find it.” A small smile flirted with the corners of her lips. “Just be thankful you didn’t pick me up at the house. They have enough home movies to make sure you don’t see daylight for years.” “Is that why you hide your boyfriends?” “Actually, you’re the first one I’ve managed to hide.” The irony of the statement seemed to amuse her, and for a brief second she forgot where she was and who she was with and smiled. Then her gaze flickered to his again and she remembered. It was like the sun disappearing behind a cloud. Teasing it back out immediately became Nate’s mission for the evening. “Stands me out of the crowd the same way you did by Googling me, I suppose.” Whatever she saw in his face was apparently enough to get her to soften some. One finely arched brow disappeared beneath her bangs as the color of her eyes muted to a mossy green. “Keeping score, are we?” “You’re determined not to like me.” He made it a statement of fact rather than a question. Not because he was playing hardball the way he did during working hours but because he knew it was true. Underneath her obvious embarrassment when he’d turned up early and spent time talking to her family again, there had been what almost felt like shyness. But the moment she was alone with him, she’d changed again, a combination of caution and suspicion making her study him with narrowed eyes when she thought he didn’t notice. “There’s no point in trying to like you.” They were interrupted by the arrival of a waiter, so for a few minutes Erin sampled portions of roasted pancetta-wrapped breast of hen, corn bread stuffing, braised leeks, sautéed spinach, glazed organic carrots and roasted garlic au jus. With an almost reverent respect to each flavor that both amused and fascinated Nate. “Good?” The question made her eyes sparkle with enthusiasm. “Mmm-hmm. First taste of early autumn.” Nate searched his memory for the last time he’d dated a woman who was so appreciative of food. Another first. It was refreshing as hell. And coupled with the way she would take a sip of wine and use the tip of her tongue to slowly savor the last taste of it from her lips, it yelled sensualist at him. Would she show the same indulgence in everything that appealed to her senses? Now that he could work with… As if she knew what he was thinking, a flash of awareness shimmered across her eyes. She blinked a couple of times, swallowed the food in her mouth, her moist lips parting so she could
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draw in a breath that made her breasts rise against the square neckline of her figure-hugging cream sweater. Every cell in Nate’s body sparked to life the way it had the night they’d danced. When her gaze dropped briefly to his mouth, he smiled a slow smile. She felt it, too. Searching his eyes, she angled her head and studied him some more. Her eventual conclusion: “You see me as some kind of challenge, don’t you? I ran out on you, and since I’m guessing that doesn’t happen to you very often, it made me interesting….” “Psychoanalyzing me?” “Trying to figure out why someone like you would feel the need to pursue someone like me—it shouldn’t matter to you whether I like you or not…” Shouldn’t, but did. Nate had no idea why. “Don’t go out to dinner often, do you?” “Not to a place as nice as this, no. Why?” “When’s the last time a guy sent you flowers? You’re welcome, by the way.” “I thanked you for the gifts. It was the first thing I said when my mother finished telling you about the time my sister flushed my goldfish down the toilet.” “No—you said you appreciated the gesture but it was unnecessary and it could stop now.” Nate turned his attention to his food. “And in fairness to your sister, she was four, and it was hardly the first goldfish it ever happened to.” “Except most of the ones it happened to were already dead.” “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” There was a moment of stunned silence and then, finally, a low, “What?” “That’s why I’m here. And no, I don’t know why. But I intend to find out. Does that answer your question?” When he lifted his chin she was staring at him. She looked like the proverbial deer caught in headlights. “Erin?” When she continued staring, Nate lifted his brows. It took a hand waved in front of her face before she blinked. Then she shook her head and went back to her food. “I hear they do a really good chocolate marquise here, with a terrine of hazelnut and vanilla ice cream…” Nate smiled. *** I couldn’t stop thinking about you.
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The words echoed in her mind for the rest of the evening, and Erin had only a vague memory of the conversation that followed. Either he was way better at the seduction game than she’d given him credit for, or— She forcibly plumped the pillows beneath her head. Okay. So she didn’t have a second option. But she was working on it. At least she would have if it wasn’t for one small problem… She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, either. It was why she’d looked him up on the Internet, unwittingly starting a chain reaction. First came jealously, which was ridiculous when they hadn’t spoken a word to each other. Next came frustration at her reaction, then anger at her frustration, and when she finally decided to talk it through with her friends, Nate arrived with her cell phone. Then she factored in how much she’d thought about the kiss. The one that had practically been elevated to fantasy status in her mind. Every time Nate glanced at her mouth over the dinner table, she’d convinced herself she could feel his lips on hers because of that kiss. Darn it! When her phone rang, she turned over on her bed and answered it, fully expecting to hear Clare or Madison asking how her date had gone. “Hello.” “You really do have a midnight curfew, don’t you?” Erin jerked upright and looked around her, drawing the covers up with her free hand as if he was in the bedroom with her. “Are you okay?” Dumb question. Of course he was. And if he wasn’t why would he call her? She backpedaled. “Why are you calling me?” “Because I said I would?” Yes, she remembered that part. But she didn’t think he’d meant so soon. A part of her had even hoped it was the “I’ll call you” that meant he wouldn’t. Because the instinctual need to run had continued growing exponentially the more she thought about him. “It’s a long drive from Brooklyn to Manhattan. You can keep me company.” “They built a bridge, you know.” Erin shook her head, staring into the darkness. “This better not be one of those phone calls…” “What phone calls?” “I think you know.” She found herself smiling as she slid back into the pillows. She imagined she could hear an answering smile in the deep rumble of his voice. “Remind me to ask you for the Web site address where you discovered what a great guy I am. I have a team of people ready to start litigation.” “Good luck with that.”
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“Want to know what I think?” “Honest answer?” “I think you should forget what you read…” There was a slight change in the intonation of his voice that suggested he’d turned his head, while the almost predatory purring of his sports car sounded in the background “…and get to know me on your own. You might be surprised. I’m generally loved by children and small animals and I’ve never murdered a goldfish.” Erin rolled her eyes. “Yep, cute as a kitten, that’s you.” “No middle ground with you, is there?” “I’m starting to understand why there are so many pictures of you with different women. They all run away, don’t they?” “Thought about it again tonight, didn’t you?” Random babbling and the way she’d pretty much slammed the car door in his face at the end of their date had obviously given her away. The constant hint of a smile on his face throughout dinner should have told her he was on to her. But technically it should be easier to be more like herself over the phone when he wasn’t distracting her with the way he looked, so she took a deep breath and gave it a try. “Yes.” “Want to tell me why?” “Not so much.” The moment of silence surprised her. He was giving up? Perversely, Erin was disappointed. What did that say about her? “Okay, then—different question.” And it was going to be worse, wasn’t it? “Why are you so quiet around your family?” Nope, she was wrong, that one she could do. “You’ve met my family. You had difficulty getting a full sentence out. That should tell you something.” “Yes, but you’ve had your whole life to learn the rhythm.” “Maybe I’m the shy one.” It wasn’t far from the truth. But it earned a low rumble of laughter. “Says the girl who kissed a stranger without saying a word to him.” “I’m told conversation is a two-way street.”
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“So talk to me.” The huskiness of his voice gave his words just enough of a seductive edge to warm Erin’s body and make her settle languidly beneath the sheets. “What about?” “Tell me something I don’t know.” She chuckled softly. “That’s a long list.” “Start from the beginning.” The purring engine stopped, the silence increasing the sense of intimacy. “Fill in the blanks the photo albums left out.” “I have to be up at six.” “Doesn’t have to be all at once. I’m not going anywhere.” Blinking up at her bedroom ceiling, she wondered why hearing that didn’t tap in to her need to run. But she didn’t make a sarcastic comment or hang up. Instead she searched her mind for a place to begin. “Once upon a time in a land called Brooklyn…” A low chuckle of deliciously masculine laughter echoed in her ear.
Chapter Five Erin slapped Nate’s hand away. “Would you quit it?” She widened her eyes in warning. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to decorate one of those? And it’s not like you’re aiming for one of the simple ones…” Aiming for anything simple had never been his style, but Nate didn’t say that. He figured she knew by now. The bigger the challenge, the more he relished it. It was probably part of his continuing fascination with her. It sure as hell wasn’t because he made a habit of pursuing a woman who held him at arm’s length physically for two long weeks and counting. But considering their conflicting work schedules and the fact that their nightly phone calls had allowed them to learn more than they probably would have otherwise, he supposed it all evened out. Not that he planned on the lack of physical contact continuing for much longer. When he tossed a lazy smile her way, she caved. “All right, fine, you can try some of the ones that aren’t decorated….” Reaching over a tray of cupcakes adorned with intricate curls of pink icing and topped with perfect miniature daisies, she lifted one of her ‘spares’ and handed it to him. Then she watched as he peeled the case back on one side and bit into it, her gaze lowering to his mouth as he chewed.
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The intensity of that gaze was distracting enough for it to take a moment to think of anything but kissing her until neither of them could breathe. But then what had looked like a completely innocent cupcake caught him by surprise—proving to be superrich chocolate with a taste of cherries and the slightest hint of red wine. His brows lifted as he looked down at his hand. “Wow. What’s in this?” An answering smile lit her up from the inside, bringing back the sunshine he always sought out. “It’s a Cabernet cupcake. Secret recipe. Want to try a different one?” Nate nodded. “Is this a Great Aunt Carlotta recipe?” Carlotta was more than the family’s spinster aunt, Nate had learned. She’d been Erin’s godmother, and had taught her to bake when she was a child. During one of their phone calls, Erin had talked about how the ritual had bonded them together. Nate suspected she’d needed that when it would have been easy to feel lost inside her large, gregarious family. “One of them. I’ve embellished some over the years and played with different flavors. Try this one.” Miniature chocolate chips dotted the rich pumpkin and cream cheese cupcake, and it tasted just as good as the last. So Nate enthusiastically worked his way through a chocolate ganache and then a mocha while wondering how in hell Erin managed to stay so slim while doing what she did for a living. His gaze slid leisurely over her from head to toe as she continued adding finishing touches of icing roses, pretzel-winged butterflies and swirls of creamed icing depending on the orders. It wasn’t hard to see why she’d been chosen as a last-minute stand-in to wear the diamond. But now that he knew her better, he knew she was completely unaware of how beautiful she was. Another first. The majority of beautiful women Nate dated or had been around had invested a lot of time and money in how they looked, viewing themselves with either harsh criticism, massive ego or a high-maintenance combination of both. But not Erin. Whether she was in a designer evening dress, soft sweater and tailored pants, jeans and a Yankees T-shirt or the white shirt/black skirt uniform she wore when she helped out at her family’s restaurant, she never obsessed about how she looked. And she was equally sexy in everything as far as Nate was concerned. When she caught her lower lip between her teeth and narrowed her eyes in concentration, he smiled. “How many of these do you make in a week?” “A lot more than I used to thanks to word-of-mouth recommendations.” She glanced up at him and he saw the softened green in her eyes. “It’s why I have so many early starts. I’ll have to hire help when I open the bakery.” “How long till you open?” The question lit her up again. “Few weeks. Since I moved back to my parents’ place, I’ve saved the deposit a lot faster. Helps take the sting out of living with your mom and dad at twenty-seven if it’s for a good cause…”
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Nate knew how much the bakery meant to her. She’d talked about it during their phone conversations and the enthusiasm in her voice had made him smile. It was her dream. She’d spent years working toward it and had a hunger for it he understood. She was lucky. It had taken him a lot longer to find something he got as much pleasure from work-wise; one of the disadvantages of being born into money was everything could be too easy. But then one of the advantages of having money was he could do what he wanted with it…. “I’ll put up the deposit for you.” What had been intended to make her happy had the opposite effect, her inner light snapping off as if a switch had been pulled. “No. You won’t.” “It’ll give you more to invest in the business.” There was a moment when it looked like she might revert to defensive mode, but she took a calming breath and turned away. “I appreciate the offer, but no. Thank you.” “Why not?” He folded his arms. “Because it’s nothing to do with you.” “It’s not a partnership offer. I have my hands full running a half dozen companies already. It’s a gift.” “It’s not the same as flowers and chocolates, Nate.” Which was exactly why he wanted to give it to her. Flowers and chocolates didn’t feel like enough anymore. He’d gift-wrap the whole damn store and hand it to her if it made her light up from the inside the way she did. “Not like I can’t afford it.” “I know. But that’s not the point.” “Then what is the point?” Turning again, she lifted a brow at his determined stance. “Can we drop this? If you want to spend the day seeing what I do then we need to get going…” There hadn’t been raised voices, but it still felt like an argument to Nate. What bugged him most was he knew there was more to it than the issue of money. She was still trying to stop him from becoming entangled in her life. And it was getting to him. But if he pushed too hard she’d run, wouldn’t she? Nate stared into her eyes as it hit him. As far as he was concerned, her days of running were done. Maybe it was time she understood that, too.
Chapter Six Falling for Nate was a bad idea.
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Erin silently reminded herself of that as she stole another sideways glance at him. No matter how gorgeous he was, how much fun he could be when he set his mind to it, how much easier it had gotten to talk to him or how many million times a day she thought about kissing him again—she could not fall in love with him. There was no modern-day equivalent of a happily-ever-after up for grabs, not with him. She would never fit into his world. He had to know that as well as she did. The Van Rothstein’s were Manhattan royalty. And Erin Giordano? She could cater quirky cupcakes for glittering parties where his kind sipped champagne and looked down on the rest of the imperfect world from their penthouses. But she was a passing fancy, nothing more. Predictably he looked sideways at her and smiled a slow, knowing smile. He knew he was getting to her, didn’t he? The fact that he hadn’t pushed when it came to physical contact hadn’t gone unnoticed, frustrating and relieving her in equal measure—or so she told herself. He was allowing her space, and she lo— She appreciated that. Even if it did make her excruciatingly aware of every movement he made, every breath of air he took and every single moment his gaze rested on her. She couldn’t remember ever being physically aware of a man on a cellular level. But it had been like that with him from the getgo, hadn’t it? Like they’d danced hundreds of times before… “So you’re coming to Sunday dinner I hear.” “I can’t help it if your mother loves me.” Erin rolled her eyes. “And I’m playing basketball with Morgan, Evan and Quinn in the morning,” he said, nodded firmly. “Your friends love me, too.” It was quite the vacation he was taking from the world he lived in. Not content with charming her family, he’d invited himself to the weekly dinner tradition she had with her friends and won them over in less than an hour. Everyone loved Nate. “You’re obviously irresistible.” She sighed. “Begs the question of how you’re able to keep your hands off me…” Turning her gaze toward the river, her feet impulsively made the turn onto the boardwalk. “Finding the answer to that keeps me awake at night.” It wasn’t a lie. Erin was finding it more difficult to resist him by the day. But she knew instinctively he could break her heart in a way it had never been broken before. Erin had hoped one day she would find a man she could love with all her heart. Someone she could stand beside through good days and bad. A partner, a best friend, a lover—all wrapped up into one. It was the way it was supposed to be. She believed that with every fiber of her being. If she couldn’t have that then she was happier to stay single for the rest of her days with her heart intact than she was to live her whole life aching for someone she could never have. And her heart was already aching….
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When they reached the railing, Manhattan spectacularly sparkled against the night sky and reflected in the flowing river below. It was magical. She was looking at his world from hers. On the outside looking in. The way it would always be. Nate turned, leaned against the railing and studied her with hooded eyes. “So what’s the problem?” “You have an ego the size of a small county?” She stifled a sad smile. “You’re attracted to me.” “I was wrong, it’s a large country.” “I’ve been patient, Erin.” “I know you have.” Her answer was soft, even though she didn’t know why he had. It went against everything she’d assumed about him and the statement he’d made about finishing what they’d started. She just didn’t get him at all. Then he did what she’d been aching for him to do for a long time and she watched, hypnotized, as he reached out a large hand. She held her breath and waited, her heart a tight fist in her chest until impossibly gentle fingers smoothed her hair back from her cheek, whispering over her skin as she exhaled. When he stepped closer, her eyelids grew heavy. The need to surrender was overwhelming. She could feel heat radiating from him, could see the intense warmth in the dark pools of his eyes. Maybe, just for a moment, she could give in to temptation. Again. Another memory to hold on to when he got bored and went back to his life. Her gaze dropped to the wickedly sensual curve of his mouth. His fingers moved to tilt her chin up. Looking into his eyes, Erin was completely and utterly mesmerized. It had been her downfall last time, too. But this time she wavered, knowledge that she hadn’t had before making her fearful of the repercussions. Until Nate spoke in a husky rumble, his voice filled with frustration. “I’m done being patient.” As her lips parted, he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers, a contented moan leaving her lips as he took control. Firm, warm, practiced lips became insistent for response. So she kissed him back. She had to. It was a biological imperative. When she reached up and set her palm on his cheek, Nate snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. When she moved her thumb against his smooth skin, long fingers threaded into her hair to angle her head so he could deepen the kiss. Erin had never been so utterly consumed. Her imagination hadn’t elevated their first kiss disproportionately—if anything it hadn’t done it justice. No wonder she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. But this time it tapped into a hidden, ravenously hungry part of her that made her moan louder and shift her body restlessly against his.
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“We need to stop,” Nate said in a rough mumble against her swollen lips. As their ragged breathing sounded in her ears, Erin knew he was right. It was neither the time nor place. Not that her body seemed to agree… “We do,” Erin mumbled back while continuing to kiss him before her subconscious added a whispered, “I can’t fall for you.” Nate’s head lifted. A roving gaze studied her face. Then he smiled a purely sexual smile that flipped her heart over in her chest. “Yes, you can.” No. She couldn’t. She shouldn’t. But she moved her hand to the back of his neck and lifted her chin, her mouth seeking his again. Then she let go, and kissed him with the full ferocity of her pent-up emotions. It was already too late, wasn’t it? They’d been dancing since the first time he held out his hand. And now she had to wait for the music to end.
Chapter Seven Nate smiled indulgently. “Ready?” She glared sideways at him, then looked up at the ornate stonework before her gaze slid down to the double doors. “Remind me again how I was talked into this?” “There wasn’t a lot of talking involved.” Stepping in front of her, he ducked down to look into her eyes. “It’s just dinner.” “With your family,” she said, frowning. “I swear, if you hadn’t conned me—” “Well, we’re here now.” The fine-boned hand he reached for was cold, so he threaded their fingers and squeezed in reassurance as he tugged her up the steps. “‘Dinner somewhere nice in Manhattan,’ he said.” “This is somewhere nice in Manhattan. Next to Central Park.” “‘A few people I know,’ he said.” “Known them all my life.” “‘A birthday dinner, so I have to be there,’ he said.” “My mother can be unforgiving that way. But this way, I can keep my date with you, too.” “I bet all the people who do business with you read the fine print with a magnifying glass.”
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Waiting for her to take the final step, Nate stepped in and silenced her with a kiss. It would be all too easy to tug her back down the steps and take her to his penthouse to spend hours kissing her. Especially considering how much fooling around they’d been doing since the kiss on the boardwalk a few weeks ago. But instead he waited for her to lift her long lashes and calmly ordered, “Take a deep breath.” She did. “And exhale.” Her shoulders dropped at the same time. “I hate you for this.” A little more than an hour and a half later, he hated him, too. If the day he’d spent making deliveries of cupcakes hadn’t been enough to point out the differences in their lives, then the way his family treated her compared to how hers had treated him would have highlighted it in spades. They looked her over like she was breeding stock, explained parts of the dinner conversation to her like she was a complete imbecile. Then his mother’s best friend discovered Erin had catered the designer cupcakes at the charity event where the family diamond had come out of hiding. “Those lovely little cakes with the flowers?” “Yes, some of them had flowers.” Erin smiled politely as her coffee was poured. “How very clever of you.” Nate ground his teeth together, his gaze shifting to Erin as she reached up a hand to tuck a shining strand of hair behind her ear. There was no need, it was already there. It had been there the dozen other times she’d checked it, too. His mother looked at her as if the new information changed her breeding potential. “How long have you been in business?” “Well, actually—” “So many good catering companies in Manhattan.” “We’ve kept every one of them in business,” his father added drily. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of yours, Erin—what did you say it was called?” “She didn’t.” Nate kept his tone flat. “Well, there’s no need to take that attitude, Nathaniel,” his mother said, lifting her nose in the air. “I might employ her services for another event. I’m sure Erin would be very glad of the business, wouldn’t you, dear?” “She does fine without our help.” “I—” Erin’s mouth closed when he frowned at her, her lashes lowering a microsecond too late to hide a flash of what looked like anguish.
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But she had nothing to feel bad about. Even if he hated that she’d changed her personality to fit the people around her. She did that a lot. It was why she’d always seemed different to him each time he met her. With her family she tended to put the needs of others before her own. With her friends she was bright, animated and funny. Not that she wasn’t all of those things and more when Nate was around, but when they were alone she was several other things, too. Sassy, quick-witted, feisty and his personal favorite: frisky. She was incredible. She shouldn’t change for anyone. Least of all people who put shadows in her expressive eyes. Nate hated those shadows. And he’d had enough. His duty was done. Tossing his napkin down on the table, he pushed his chair back and glanced briefly at Erin’s look of astonishment as he walked round the table to her. “We both have early starts. Happy birthday, mother. Dinner was wonderful as always.” “Nathaniel—” Drawing Erin’s chair back from the table, he smiled at each of the dinner guests in turn. “Eleanor, Oscar…Dad—I’ll see you in the office.” His mother wasn’t happy. “But we haven’t served the cheese platter. You adore the cheese platter. There’s a wonderful selection from France this time.” Setting a hand to the inward curve of Erin’s spine, he gently but firmly guided her toward the archway. His mother was right. He did adore the cheese platter. When he was a kid he used to pray for the arrival of the platter. It was a neon exit sign. “I’m sure, as a caterer, Erin would love to sample some really fine cheese…” When his mother turned her patented guilt-trip expression on Erin, Nate increased the pressure on her spine. She lurched forward a little, scowled briefly at him and then stepped away to smile warmly at her hosts. “It really was a wonderful dinner, Mrs. Van Rothstein, thank you. Happy birthday. You have a very lovely home, too….” “Thank you, dear. Mansions of this size are a little thin on the ground on the other side of the river, I’m sure.” It was the last straw as far as Nate was concerned. What possessed him to think bringing Erin to dinner was a good idea? Had he been insane? But it had been worse than he’d thought it would. From the way she sidestepped his touch in the hall, he knew she was thinking about running again. And frankly he couldn’t blame her. So angry he could barely see straight, he took her home in silence. He didn’t even kiss her good-night.
Chapter Eight It should have been one of the happiest days of her life. But standing arranging cupcakes inside the display cabinets of her new store, Erin had never felt worse.
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She missed him. Easily remedied if she answered any of the calls he’d made, but enough was enough. It was glaringly obvious she’d ignored her own advice, but the decision to stop dancing with him was the right one. Eventually Nate would stop calling. She wouldn’t blame him. Not when she’d embarrassed him so badly in front of his family that he felt the need to remove her from their company so fast. He could see she didn’t belong there. Dinner at the Van Rothstein’s had snapped her out of the fantasy. When she’d foolishly started to think maybe— There was a knock at the door and a large man in a suit standing outside. She stepped around the counter. “Erin Giordano?” “Yes.” He held up a package and a clipboard. “I have a delivery for you.” Reaching up to turn the locks, Erin frowned. Who made a delivery so late at night? The paperwork was from a security firm. “What is this?” “I can’t hand over the package without a signature.” “Yes, but what is it?” The man remained impassive. “You signing for it?” Five minutes later the door was locked and she was staring at the parcel on the counter as if it might sprout legs. There was only one way to find out. Wide eyes were staring at the gift dangling from her fingers when her phone rang. The voice in her ear said, “It’s yours.” Swinging round, she found Nate standing on the sidewalk outside. “I can’t accept this,” she whispered. “Well, that leaves us with a bit of a conundrum. Because I have to give it to you. It’s a family tradition.” Erin found her voice. “It’s a million-dollar diamond.” “Did I ever tell you the story that goes with it?” She shook her head. “You know it hadn’t been seen in public for years.” When she nodded he took a step closer. “There’s a reason for that. It skipped a generation because my grandmother never approved of my father marrying my mother. He married an even older family name than ours. It was
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never what you’d call a love match. Not in my grandmother’s eyes, anyway. She was right. Probably why there’s only one of me.” Erin thought about her two brothers and three sisters and immediately felt how lonely it must have been for him growing up in a huge mansion. It made her ache. “So the diamond came to me when my grandmother died. I ignored the tradition that goes with it when I allowed it to come out in public that night.” “I don’t understand.” Taking a step back, Nate examined the storefront. “Is this the only exit?” “There’s a fire escape off the kitchen, why?” “Just checking which direction you might go.” He looked into her eyes as he stepped under the light above the door. “This is the end of the line, Erin. No more running. I mean it.” She felt emotion clogging her throat. “I can’t keep doing this with you.” “I’m assuming there’s more to this than the fact that I didn’t kiss you good-night.” “You knew this was coming.” “Want to tell me why?” No. But she knew she had to. “We both know this will never work.” “Do we?” Erin swallowed hard and held up her hand, the diamond swinging on the end of its fine chain. “Diamonds and cupcakes, Nate. They don’t exactly go together.” “Says who?” When she glared at him with wide eyes pleading for understanding, he pushed his free hand into the pocket of his jeans and took another deep breath. “I take it I’m supposed to be the diamond in that analogy?” Dumb question. But before Erin could point out he wasn’t the kind of man anyone would ever refer to as a cupcake, a flash of realization crossed his eyes. Then a hint of a smile tugged on the corners of his mouth. “This better not be what I think it is.” Sighing, Erin dropped her arm. “What do you think it is?” “Some archaic notion about class…” “It’s got nothing to do with class. Or money. Okay—yes—it does have something to do with money. But not the way you’ve just put it…” “When you Googled me, how far did you get?”
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“I got bored after the fifth page of beautiful women.” “Did you read anything that wasn’t on the equivalent of a gossip column?” “Like what?” She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Anything about the Van Rothsteins.” “Stupidly rich, own large chunks of Manhattan, that kind of thing?” The hint of a smile made it up to his eyes. “Immigrant family, enough mixed blood through the generations to attach us to at least a dozen countries in the world. I think my father felt he was improving the pedigree when he married my mother. We’re mutts. We just happen to be mutts with money.” That’s how he saw himself? With his fancy education and Ivy League colleges and a family mansion overlooking Central Park and—? “The way my family treated you last night should have shown you how much better you are than them.” Erin’s brows wavered. “I drove straight back to the house and argued with my mother for two hours. It won’t happen again, trust me.” The determination in his voice made her stare at him in wonder. Dressed in comfortable jeans and a simple gray T-shirt over a long-sleeved white vest, with his short hair slightly mussed and his intense dark-chocolate gaze warming her from the inside out, he was the most devastatingly gorgeous male she’d ever seen. But standing there so quietly confident he suddenly didn’t seem so out of reach to her anymore. She wondered why… “Know what I think?” Erin slowly shook her head. She doubted she ever had. “I think you’re scared. That’s why you’ve been putting obstacles in the way.” When she sucked in a much-needed breath of air, her lower lip trembled. Nate’s deep voice lowered. “What happened the night we met—it’s rare. To find something that special and lose it? That’s scary.” Hot tears began to form against her lower lashes, and when she blinked she jostled the first one free. “I guess we all go back to basics when it comes down to it.” He watched the tear streaking down her cheek, frowning for a moment before his gaze lifted to tangle with hers again. “Fight or flight. You ran. You’ve been running ever since. And giving yourself a long list of reasons why this could never work.”
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“While you fought for it.” Her vision blurred as the realization hit her. “I couldn’t let you go. Even when I didn’t know why.” “You know now?” “I knew the day we made the cake deliveries. You’re there for the happiest days of people’s lives. Birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, baby showers. You smiled all day. You know when you smile you light up a room? I always thought that was a cliché…” “I love that doing what I do let’s me share in those moments. It was Carlotta’s gift to me. She told me happiness can be hard to find, that we should make the most of it where we find it. But when I lost her, I learned how much it hurt to lose someone you love. I used to be braver, I swear I did. But you—” “Let me in.” Erin stepped forward and turned the locks. Then they both turned off their phones as he crossed the threshold. He smiled at her. “About that diamond of yours…” When she held up her hand, the diamond turned, catching the light as Nate closed the door behind him without breaking eye contact. “Did I mention it’s only worn by Van Rothstein brides?” Framing her face in his large hands, he used the pads of his thumbs to wipe the last traces of tears from her cheeks. “So the tradition continues…” What Erin could see in his eyes blurred her vision again. It hadn’t been wrong to kiss him that first night—it felt so right—she’d just run in the wrong direction. Setting her palm firmly over his heart, she smiled back at him. “I never believed in love at first sight. But I think my heart knew who you were.” “I love you, you know.” “I know now. I love you, too.” Erin lifted her chin as he lowered his mouth to hers. And they didn’t need words after that. One day in the future, Erin hoped she could tell their children the story of how they’d met. How the famous Harlequin Diamond had handed a legacy of love through the generations to them and how it had taught her to believe in the possibility of happily ever after in the real world. And she knew she would always start their story the same way. It was the dance that did it.
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The Cinderella Valentine by Liz Fielding Polly Bright has just landed a much-needed job as a waitress at the Chelsea Bella Lucia. But on her way to report for duty, a series of mishaps leave her unfit to be seen by the guests of the posh eatery! Will the surly, but sexy, manager, Luc Bellasario, send her packingor has this Cinderella met her very own Prince Charming?
Chapter One Polly had allowed herself plenty of time. She was leaving nothing to chance. She'd even used two alarm clocks, set at five-minute intervals, both of which had performed on cue. Emma Valentine had come through for her with a life and a sanity-saving job at Bella Lucia, her famous family's chic, elegant, A-list group of restaurants. Hard work, but big tips. This was not the day to turn over and go back sleep. The busincrediblyarrived on time and dropped her off at a spot a mere two-minutes walk away from the classic, ornate Georgian building in the heart of Chelsea, where the first of the fabulous Bella Lucia restaurants had opened fifty years earlier. For once in her life, Polly hadn't messed up. Even the sun was shining. "Excuse me?" Polly turned to see a harassed mother encumbered by a three-year-old, a baby and a buggy struggling to get off the bus. "Would you mind?" In an all's-right-with-my-world glow, Polly took the buggy and did what she'd done a hundred times when babysitting her nieces and nephewsflicked it open. The buggy didn't open. It sprang wide like a hungry tiger, taking a chunk out of her tights. As she bent to check the damage, the three-year-old generously thrust the rusk he'd been chewing into her. A thick beige smear appeared on the front of her waistcoat. She was already off balance when a speeding motorbike, skimming the curb to dodge the traffic, finished the job and dumped her in the road. It could have been worse. She could have fallen under a bus. All was not lost, Polly thought, as she picked herself up. She was early. With luck she'd be able to slip into the staff washroom, clean up and change into the spare pair of tights that she'd fortuitously slipped into her bag before Mr. Valentine saw her. She scooped up a strand of hair that had sprung loose, tucked it behind her ear, rang the bell on the wrought-iron gate that guarded the rear entrance and was buzzed through. It was only then that she discovered what she should have known the minute the buggy attacked her: she had carelessly left her luck, like a forgotten umbrella, on the bus. Not missed until the heavens opened up and she actually needed it.
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Right now the sun was shining, but, as the man blocking her dash to the staff washroom slowly turned, she could have sworn she heard a clap of thunder. Maybe that was because he bore more than a passing resemblance to the devil himself. His hair, a pelt of thick, crisp curls, was a glossy black. His nose proclaimed that his ancestors had once ruled the known world. His brows were bold, straight, dark and not even the sensual curve of his lower lip could override the impression that he was more used to giving than taking orders. All he lacked was a pair of little horns, although curls that thick could hide a lot. His eyes, the colour of warm treacle, might have softened the image, but they were regarding her with a long, critical look that took in her hairshe could feel her own curls springing free of pins loosened by her fallthe sticky smear of rusk decorating her left breast, her torn tights. "Polly Bright," she said quickly, getting that in before he could voice what he was so plainly thinking. She met his eyes head on, and offered her hand in the manner of a woman whom, despite appearances to the contrary, knew what she was doing. He did not take it. Wise move, she decided, realizing too late that, in her attempt to save herself, she'd placed her hand in a patch of oil. "It's my first day," she added, but with rather less conviction. "No, Miss Bright," he replied as, with the slightest movement of one hand, he addressed her appearance, "it is not." Polly, entranced by the soft, seductive, fall-into-bed accent that matched the Roman nose and Mediterranean colouring, was, for a moment, oblivious. Then what he'd actually said sank in. Not? Not! Oh, no, she wasn't going to take that, allow this long-legged demon to dismiss her without even giving her a chance to explain. This job was too important. It was an opportunity to get back on her feet, to prove to her family that she wasn't a complete screw-up. It was a chance to start again The familiar sounds of a kitchen gearing up to serve a hundred plus diners reached her and, name-dropping like mad, she said, "Emma Valentine will vouch for me." Polly had met Emma Valentine, the Chelsea BL's chef, when she'd been booked to give a cookery master-class at Polly's catering college. Not that Polly was taking part; her exclusion was punishment for a piece of nonsense involving an ice sculpture. Polly had found Emma in the student washroom, throwing up from nerves; she'd fetched her some ginger ale, distracted her with the woeful tale of "Little Willy," made Emma laugh so much that she'd taken Polly into the class as her assistant leaving the principal with no option but to accept this fait accompli.
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"Or Mr. Robert Valentine," Polly continued. Emma would be up to her eyes at this time of day. "He interviewed me." "Mr. Valentine is at the Mayfair office this morning and his daughter is in Meridia organizing the coronation banquet." In other words, what kind of nerve did she have thinking either of them would have spare time to pull her irons out of the fire? "Max Valentine is in the office," he offered, with a touch of amusement. "Maybe you'd prefer to have this conversation with him?" "No!" She'd met Max when she'd come for her interview. He was scary, unlike his father who was a sucker for a smile. "No," she repeated, "I'm sure he's busy." "Then I'm sorry, Miss Bright, but all you have is me." Well, if life gave you lemons, you made lemonade. She tried the "sucker" smile. "And you are?" "Luc Bellisario. I may not be a Valentine, but Bella Lucia was my great-aunt, if that makes me an acceptable alternative?" Seductive sarcasm, she noted, but then he was not just some uppity Italian waiter with a power complex. Not even an Italian restaurant manager with a power complex. He was family "This lunchtime I am acting manager of this restaurant," he continued, without waiting for her to confirm that he was. "And you, Miss Bright, are not in any state to polish its floor, let alone serve food to the people who dine here." "Mr. Bellisario" She pulled out all the stops, reprising the smile that had worked so well on Robert Valentine. "Luc." Then, with a sweeping gesture that took in her bedraggled appearance, she appealed to his sense of fair play. "You don't imagine that I set out from home looking like this, do you?" "That," he replied, unmoved, "is beside the point." "No!" Then, because actually he was right, "Well, yes, obviously it is, but I had an accident." As he frowned, his brows drew down at the centre, emphasizing the devilish look, drawing attention to his eyes. They were, she realized, threaded with streaks of gold lightning. "What kind of accident? Are you hurt?" "Hurt? Oh, er, no." Surprised into a genuine smile by this evidence that he was, after all, human, she said, "I had an argument with a buggy." She raised her leg, apparently to display the damage, but well aware that they were one of her better features. The buggy, she realised belatedly, had taken more than nylon. "You are bleeding." His ex-pression softened a little and the devil took on a different role. Pure temptation.
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"Oh, no," she said, not entirely in response to this statement. Men, even sexy Italians, had been banished from her life. Then, using his concern to her advantage, she said, "Well, not much." She rubbed at her elbow. "A bit of a bump when I fell off the pavement, that's all. The motorcycle barely touched me" She ground to a halt as she realized she was coating her shirtsleeve with oil. About to assure him that all she needed to do was clean up and she'd be ready to go, she decided to save her breath. Luc Bellisario, rot-his-socks, was right. Who, in his right mind, would let a disaster like her practice the dangerous art of silver service in a restaurant full of the rich and famous? "Okay," she said. "Okay?" he repeated, totally Italian. Totally gorgeous. "I give up. There's always an opening at Burgers-R-Us." Luc watched the woman rescue a pale blonde corkscrew curl that had escaped its pin, smearing more oil on her cheek as she tucked it behind her ear. She was a disaster, no question, and after learning that Robert Valentine had employed her, his first response had been nothing short of astonishment. His second had been to send her home. Losing a day's paymore importantly, a day's tipswould give her time to dwell on the standards required from staff working in a restaurant like Bella Lucia. His third His third had been purely physical as she'd smiledthe real smile, not the one calculated to turn him into her slaveeclipsing the late September sun, heating him down to the bone. It was a raw, totally male reaction that went a long way to explaining why Robert ValentineLuc's cousin had made meeting beautiful women his life's workhad employed her. "Wait," he said. She stopped, looked back over her shoulder, blew another escaping curl from her face. Had she any idea how sexy that was? Well, obviously. Like her first smile, it was a move calculated to snag his attention, keep him hooked. It was working. "What?" she demanded. Then, when he didn't answer, "Don't tell me, you want me to leave the uniform?" He swallowed, fighting the image of her peeling it off, piece by piece and dropping it at his feet. "Would there be any point?" he asked, striving manfully for cutting sarcasm. "It's only fit for the dustbin." She was trouble.
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He should do everyone a favour and let her go, but in a month he'd be back in Italy, stepping into his father's shoes. Assuming the role to which he'd been born. Trapped The word dropped into his mind like a stone weight. He blocked it out. Concentrated on the problem facing him. Miss Polly Bright. Luc saw, behind her sparky, couldn't-care-less in-your-face attitude, a loss of hope that tugged at something deep inside him. Something that he couldn't bring himself to crush. "Come," he said, turning abruptly, and walking towards the housekeeper's room, resisted the urge to look back, check that she had obeyed him. She'd followed. "Housekeeping will find a dressing for your leg and a clean uniform. When you're fit to be seen, come to the restaurant and report to Michael, the head waiter." He came close to smiling. "I warn you, he won't be impressed by a smile and unlike me, he won't give you a second chance." "You won't regret it, Luc," she said, earnestly. Then, "Mr. Bellisario." "Be sure," he warned her. "You"ll be sorry if I do." *** All through the busy lunchtime, the rush of media stars, artists, the unexpected arrival of a minor royal whose party had to be found room in an already packed restaurant, Luc kept an eye on her. Polly wasn't slick. He didn't know what she'd told Robert about her previous experience, but it certainly hadn't been as a waitress at the luxury end of the business, he decided, after witnessing a couple of close calls with the silver service. Far from irritating high profile diners who were used to the best, however, they responded to her startled "oops" with good humour, encouraging her efforts, tipping her extravagantly. Watching her might be wrecking his nerves, but she had a way about her, a warmth that people responded to. A smile that could melt permafrost. Max Valentine joined him, followed his gaze. "Isn't that Emma's friend? How's she doing?" "Living dangerously. If she gets through lunch without tipping a bowl of soup into someone's lap, it'll be a miracle." "Oh, great, that's all we need. A lawsuit." Then, "Look, Dad wants me at head office and he warned me it's likely to be a long one. I realise it's your evening off, but I wondered if you could stand in for me?" "No problem."
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"Thanks, Luc." Then, "Keep an eye on that girl." That wasn't a problem, either. It was looking away he was finding difficult. *** Polly made it through her first day on pure adrenaline. It would have been easier if Luc Bellisario hadn't been watching every move, making it plain that he thought she was a disaster waiting to happen. It hadn't and by the end of the week, even the perfectionist head waiter had given her a nod of approval. But the devil just didn't quit. Every time she looked up, it seemed, his dark eyes were fixed on her. Every time he spoke to her, he had found something to criticize. Her hair, mostly. Today, though, she really was in trouble. At one of her tables, a woman whose face was a permanent fixture on the front pages of the gossip magazines, had drunk her way steadily through a bottle of wine, waiting for a lunch date who never appeared, not touching the bread, the herb-flavoured olive oil, the tiny antipasto appetizers that Polly had brought, hoping to tempt the woman to eat something Luc, a sixth sense alerting him to trouble, looked for Polly. But for once she wasn't causing the dramashe had diffused it. She calmly, lent an arm to the infamous diner as if she was a dowager rather than just unsteady on her feet. Luc moved to help, but Polly stopped him with a keep-back I-can-handle-this look, and helped the woman move towards the rear exit to escape the paparazzi who were outside hoping for a gift like this. It was nearly an hour before she returned. "Where the devil have you been?" Luc demanded, when she finally appeared. By then he was almost out of his mind with worry. "Sorry. I didn't have any money with me so I had to walk back." "What!" Misunderstanding him, she was instantly on the defensive, "I had to make sure that poor woman got home safely." "It's a pity she didn't have the same thought for you." "She was distraught." Then, "So? Am I in trouble, Mr. Bellisario? Do I get shot for desertion in the face of the dessert trolley?" "Nothing that painless, Polly. Your punishment is to sit next to me at lunch." For a moment she looked beaten, but she rallied. "Brave man." He thought that foolhardy probably better described his action as she sat beside him at the staff lunch table. He was much too close to the fine spirals of hair that had worked free of the pins that never could quite restrain them. Much too close, altogether.
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"Tell me," he said, in an effort to distract himself, "what were you doing before you worked here?" So, that was what he was after. Digging into her background to find some reason to get rid of her. "Not this," Polly said, and since there was no point in pretending, listed all the jobs she'd had in the last yearalways two at a timecooking fast food, slow food, pub food just to pay back the bank, keep a roof over her head. This had the effect of rendering Luc momentarily speechless. A relief. She could resist his good looksif she closed her eyesbut his voice never failed to reduce her bones to putty. "You're a cook?" he asked, while she helped herself to a spoonful of risotto. She wasn't planning a long lunch. "According to any number of gold-edged certificates with my name on them," she assured him. "In fact until a year ago I was a partner in a catering business I started straight from college." "So?" She looked at him. The lightning in his eyes had softened to flecks of gold and she discovered that it wasn't just his voice "What happened?" She swallowed, concentrated very hard, remembered how to speak. "One of my partners had a baby." "And the other?" She swallowed, took a slow breath. "Was the father," she said. It had been a year. She was over it, she told herself. Looking into Luc Bellisario's eyes, she could even believe it. "They wanted their capital back. It was tied up in the equipment." "You had to sell it?" "Yes." At a thumping loss, which she'd carried. She'd have done anything to escape "This is my way back. Emma told me about the tips your people earn. A year and I'll be able to start over." This time on her own. Then, "Is that it, Mr. Bellisario? Inquisition over? Because I'm done here." "Luc," he said. Then stood as she pushed back her chair, "We got off to a bad start, Polly, but I want you know that I appreciate what you did today." "Oh," she said, doing her best to ignore her stupid heart doing that stupid little fluttery thing. "Just " Too soon "What!" she demanded.
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"Next time take a taxi," he said, with unexpected warmth. "We"ll pay." He'd misjudged her, Luc realized, as she walked away. He now watched her, not for mistakes, but for the pleasure of it. Nearby, Robert Valentine, his attention caught by a burst of laughter, smiled. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?" "More than that, sir. A lot more than that." She'd had a setback, but was determined to start again. That took courage. Heart. *** "Polly" "Luc, if it's about what happened with the princess" Three weeks and she hadn't dropped anything. Not that she still didn't get the wobbles when she caught Luc looking at hernot from nerves, but because now he looked away. But today, he hadn't been fast enough and she'd been surprised to see something in his ex-pression, something almost tender and she'd come close to spilling some chocolate confection into the lap of a minor royal. Not that Her Highness had complained. On the contrary, she'd smiled away Polly's apology, and said, "My dear, if that man smiled at me like that, I wouldn't drop just my pudding" "No. That was not your fault." He knew what he'd done, then "Are you going out? Lunch is about to be served." "Thanks, but I could do with a break from food." And sitting next to him. Since that first occasion, the place had been left for her, as if everyone could see that she wanted to be thereeven if she refused to admit it to herself. "You can enjoy your lunch for once without holding your breath, wondering if I'm going to tip something down myself." "Instead I'll be worrying that you're being attacked by a buggy, or run down by a motorbike," he said, his voice grave, even while those little gold flecks were dancing in his eyes. She caught her breath and stifled the laugh that responded to the way the corner of his mouth tilted up in an invitation to join him in a little self-mockery. No. She really wasn't going to be that stupid. He would be leaving soon. Going back to Italy. She stuffed another brick in the wall guarding her heart and said, "I'm sorry, Luc, but right now all I want is some air." "You've been working non-stop for three hours and you've got a tough evening ahead of you. You can't do that on fresh air." "I'll pick up a sandwich." "That's not enough. You need proper food."
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Confronted with his Michelangelo good looks, liquid Italian accent and spare broadshouldered, narrow-hipped figure, bricks were useless and a girl had to save herself any way she could. "You do realize," she said, "that you sound exactly like your mother?" This affront to his masculinity was supposed to drive him away. Instead, with a wry lift of his left brow said, "You've met her." Then, before she could recover, he took her elbow, opened the door for her and said, "Very well, fresh air first, then we eat," and refusing to take no for an answer, he steered her out into the street. Smooth and silky as chef's ice cream, she thought. First the freeze, then the sweetness as it thawed on the tongue. "Besides, someone has to ride shotgun on your uniform." It was the delicious combination of the American ex-pression and Italian accent that got her. "What?" he demanded. "What did I say?" She shook her head as she pulled her lips hard back against her teeth in an attempt to smother the burst of nerve-fuelled laughter. Then, losing it, "You're a fan of spaghetti westerns?" It took him a moment, but then she discovered that despite all evidence to the contrary, Luc Bellisario knew how to laugh. And when he laughed he looked younger, less threatening. But a whole lot more dangerous. Yet she still found herself walking along the King's Road with him. While she'd planned to do nothing more than window shop, enjoying exotic and beautiful things she couldn't begin to afford, Luc apparently had other ideas, a destination in mind. But when he turned a corner into a narrow street, away from the shops, opened a gate that led down to a basement flat, produced a key and opened the door, she dug her heels in. "You won't get much fresh air pounding the pavement, Polly. I have a small garden. You can sit in the sun and I will make you lunch." His smile was reassuring, his hand extended like a lifeline. And for the first time in a year, she was hungry. "Small?" she exclaimed, a moment later when he'd ushered her through to a courtyard where a two-seater benchthere wasn't room for anything biggeroccupied the only space that wasn't filled with pots of sweet-scented culinary herbs standing, hanging everywhere. "This is pocket handkerchief-sized, but fabulous." And while Polly the woman suspected she was making a mistake, Polly the cook didn't care as she plucked a warm leaf of basil, and rubbed it between her fingers to release the scent. "A touch of home in London?" she said, taking the cold drink he passed to her. "If you forget the sea, the boats, the long wide beach," he said, wryly. "It sounds lovely." "There's an ancient square where people gather in the evening. Mountains." He made broad, encompassing gesture. "Everything." "You must miss it," she said, settling herself on the bench. "But you're going back soon."
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He joined her, leaning back into the seat, not quite touching her. "Next month. The Bellisario family is in the restaurant business, although not on the grand scale of the Valentines. Not yet. I came here to learn from them so that when I go home and step into my father's shoes" He didn't look that excited at the prospect. And in a heartbeat, she found herself wanting to reach out, touch his hand. Invite his confidence. "And you, Polly?" he asked, before she did anything so reckless. Turning the attention from himself to her. "What are your plans?" "Not to step into my father's shoes, that's for sure. I'm the family failure." "Your catering business? That is not failure, that's experience." "You could say that." Then, because she wanted him to understand, wanted him to know everything "One of my partners was my fianc, Luc. The baby" He was the one who took her hand. Stopped her. "I was so busy building an empire that I didn't notice what was going on under my nose. I'm too stupid to live, let alone be entrusted with a business." "No" Then, softly, "He was the stupid one, Polly." And he should know. He could teach her a thing or two about stupid, Luc thought, as Polly closed her eyes, effectively closing the subject as she lifted her face to a sun that continued to shine on into October, suspending autumn in a perfect Indian summer. At least she'd had the courage to follow her dream, while he would be living the one his father had invented for him: to emulate his famous cousins, the Valentines, taking their own restaurants into a new level of luxury, elegance. When Max had asked him to delay his departure to give them all a little breathing room, he'd grabbed at it. Anything to delay the inevitable. His father had understood. The Valentine family was in turmoil with skeletons falling out of every closet. Grey faces, long meetings, Stephanie with a face like thunder after a confrontation with her stepfather, Robert Valentine. Debts had to be paid. Honor demanded it And how much honor was there in living a lie when with Polly's examplewith the hope of Polly at his sidehis own dream beckoned so much more brightly. Reluctantly, he let go of her hand and, leaving her to drink in the sun, went into the kitchen and began to assemble a simple lunch. The sooner it was done, the sooner they could return to the restaurant. To sanity. "What are you doing?" He glanced round. She was flushed from the sun, her mouth sweet as the fat cherries that grew in his grandmother's orchard. "Making lunch. Nothing as exciting as a sandwich," he said, unable to resist teasing her a little. "Just pasta, wild mushrooms, a little cream." "Ambrosia," she said, laughing. "Food from the gods."
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"I No" Flustered, quite possibly blushingthe devil had lost his coolhe said, "My grandmother taught me to cook." Then, "I need parsley" "I'll get it." And when she returned, she took a teacloth, tucked it around her waist. He moved over. There was just enough room for the two of them at the stove. "Polly" As she glanced up from chopping the herbs, as he'd known she would, a stray curl bobbing over one eye. She blew it away. No, he realized, she had no idea just how sexy that was or she wouldn't risk it here, alone with him "Yes?" she prompted, when he didn't say any more. "Nothing," he said. "Just Polly." Then, "What kind of name is that?" "It's short for Mary." "How can it be short for Mary? It's longer." "I guess it's one of those things you have to be British to understand." "Mary." This time she just carried on chopping, using the razor sharp knife like the professional she undoubtedly was and without warning the dream in his head, the one he'd buried so deep that he'd almost forgotten it, dissolved into the one that had been haunting him ever since Polly Bright had stuck out an oily hand and introduced herself, smiling at him. "Maria" She scooped up the herbs, dropped them into the pan of mushrooms. "Bella Maria." And this time when she looked up, he bent to kiss that smile. He just might have retained his hold on sanity if she had not kissed him back. If her kiss had not been the one his soul had been waiting for, if she had not been the woman who would complete his dreams making anything seem possible. *** A kiss, one kiss, was all it had taken to break down the wall she had spent the past year building around her heart. No. Three weeks of looks that had moved from cold to a sizzling heat. From tight smiles to tender ones. Three weeks of looks and one kiss. And a little pasta with mushrooms and cream served by a man who looked not like the devil, but Adonis. After he'd kissed her, he hadn't said a word. He had simply served her lunch and then walked her back to the restaurant. And that evening, all through the long hours while they cleared and laid the tables for the next day, he didn't look at her once. She understood that. If he had, if their gazes had met, she'd have crumpled up into a little pile of mush right there on the floor.
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But then, at the end of the evening, she waited for him. Michael said, "If you're looking for Luc, he's holed up with Max. It looked as if it was going to be a long one. Can it keep until tomorrow?" "Yes. Yes, of course." Except that tomorrow, Luc Bellisario was not there. It was Robert Valentine who broke the news that he'd returned to Italy. "Luc put his plans on hold to help us out over a difficult few weeks. He'll be a tough act to follow, but" She stopped listening. He'd left without a word. Gone home to his small Italian town by the sea where his father's shoes were waiting for him. She would have walked out then, but she owed Emma for the chance she'd been given. It wasn't as if she had to see him. But she kept on looking up, expecting to see him Polly gave a week's notice and for six days she performed like a well-oiled automaton, on the outside at least. She was the perfect waitress. Efficient, calm, invisible. Not an "oops" or a dropped pea. Not much laughter, either. All emotional responses had been shut down. What was there to get emotional about? One kiss. What was that? Nothing, she told herself and was congratulating herself over how well she was holding everything to togetherjust this last day to get throughwhen the restaurant door opened bringing in a rumble of the thunder that had been threatening to bring the Indian summer to an end, a draft of cool air. And something else Luc. When she looked up he was standing there, watching her and six days of perfection came to an end as the tray she was carrying slid from her hands. Luc was beside her even as Michael moved in smoothly to restore order. Beside her, murmuring softly, reassuringly. "Cara forgive me I could not speak" With his arm about her, he swept her into the office, closing the door, held her as she cried out, tried to escape "Before I could speak to you I had to talk to my father. Say what I should have told him long ago. That his dreams are not my dreams. That I cannot walk in his shoes. Only then could I come back for you, my Bella Maria." "You're giving it all up?" "I'm surrendering my father's dream for one of my own, Polly. A small restaurant overlooking a sheltered bay." He was so close that she could hardly breathe. "How did he take it?" "Philosophically. And my sister is very, very happy." "Oh. So, this restaurant"
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"Somewhere full of warmth, life, where the food touches the soul. Is that a dream you could share?" "What you're saying," she said, carefully, "is that you're looking for a cook?" "What I'm saying is that I would like you to be my partner." He took an envelope from his pocket, took out a document. "Here are the deeds." She glanced at them, saw the nameBella Maria. She was shaking, close to tears. "And if I say no?" she whispered. "Then I will keep asking you," he said, "Like this" He brushed his mouth against hers, melting the bones in her legs so that she was forced to lean into him for support. "I'm not sure" she said. Then, he'd kissed her again. "This may take some time." "Come to Italy, my Bella Maria," Luc said, taking her hand, leading her into a new life, a shared dream, "and I'll take as long as you need."
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French Kiss by Lori Wilde Summer Jacobs was only looking for a hot fling when she ventured into the Bare Buns strip club. Her seize-the-day attitude lands her on stage with a gorgeous stripper and so begins a steamy affair. Buff and broad in all the right places, her delicious stripper is more than enough to satisfy her desires… but does she secretly want more? What about love? Joe Everhart is leading a double life. By day he is a nerdy archeologist but by night he dawns a disguise and becomes the sexy Masked Monsieur at the Bare Buns strip club. The only thing his two lives have in common is a lustful attraction to Summer Jacobs. Joe knows that he can give her heat and passion but will she also except his love?
Chapter One Bare buns. Slick. Masculine. Muscular. Undulating rhythmically to the hard, driving beat. Here. There. Everywhere Summer Jacobs glanced she saw them. Buns, buns and more buns cloaked in nothing but skimpy g-strings and heated mineral oil. Hunk heaven! Yee-haw. She strolled through the crowd of women chanting "Shake it, baby, shake it" at Bare Buns, an exclusive, ladies-only strip club in downtown Phoenix. Sexually, she'd hit a long dry spell and the sight of these exquisite specimens of manhood were making her feel . . . well . . . a tad bit needy. The selection was impressive. She should certainly be able to find a dancer for her sister's bachelorette party here. Just as her next-door neighbor Joe Everhart had predicted. That conversation had been a weird one. Summer had been unloading party supplies from her Mini Cooper that morning when the sack ripped, sending naughty gag gifts tumbling across the sidewalk. Glow-in-the-dark condoms, chocolate body paints, fur-lined handcuffs. Joe had come rushing over to help. Summer almost shooed him away from the racy party favors. She knew he embarrassed easily. Whenever he saw her in a string bikini lounging around the community pool, he stammered and couldn't make eye contact. And whenever she complained about her nonexistent love life, he invariably blushed beet red. He was a nice guy. Always ready to roll up his sleeves and pitch in. He was cute in a nerdy professor sort of way, even though he wore thick glasses, shapeless clothes and his shaggy hair looked as if it was perpetually in need of a trim. But he had the most genuine smile she'd ever seen and whenever he directed it at Summer, her stomach fluttered mysteriously. The man was a diamond in the rough just waiting for some perceptive woman to polish. But she wasn't volunteering. No siree.
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For one thing, Joe was a total brainiac with a PhD in archeology and she was a high school dropout. Sure she'd gotten a GED and made a name for herself as a southwest artisan, but she'd never stopped feeling insecure about her lack of formal education. For another thing, Joe was a forever kind of guy. And hard experience had taught Summer that life was short. Might as well make it sweet. With her newfound live-for-today philosophy, she simply could not commit to any one person. Still, she couldn't stop fantasizing about Joe. And there in lay the problem. What she needed to take her mind off her adorable neighbor was a wild fling with a wild thing. A rebel, a challenge, an adventure. Something that Joe and his fossils most definitely were not. So when Joe had silently handed her the box of edible panties that had slid behind the tire of her car and their fingers brushed in a moment of pure electrical sparking, Summer resolutely ignored the sensation. "Just my luck," she'd moaned without meeting Joe's gaze. "First the caterer flakes out, then the stripper cancels and now my sack rips." "Stripper?" "For Devon's bachelorette party on Saturday night." "I know where you can get a stripper. A buddy of mine works at a place called Bare Buns. The Masked Monsieur. Tell him I sent you." So now here she was, Joe-sent, sexually edgy and thigh-deep in near naked men.
Chapter Two Joe Everhart realized his plan was wicked, but he'd been having the most erotic fantasies starring his sexy next-door neighbor Summer Jacobs ever since she'd leased the upstairs apartment two months ago and it was high time he did something about it. From the first moment he'd heard Summer lugging packing crates up the steps, enthusiastically belting out an off-key rendition of "Je Ne Regrette Rien," he'd known she was special. "I regret nothing," she'd sung the cabaret torch song in fluent French and his heart thumped crazily. Who could resist a woman without regrets? He wished he could be so confident in his life choices. And then he'd gone outside to offer his help and he'd gotten a good look at her. Long auburn hair, with chunky streaks of blonde shot throughout, that swung provocatively down her back. Her gorgeous butt cupped in those low-rise bell bottom jeans. She wore funky
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red cowboy boots and a skimpy little white tank top that revealed not only a flat expanse of taut tummy but also a turquoise navel ring. And that's when he knew had to have her. He just hadn't known how. He wasn't the most suave guy on earth. He was an introvert who loved fossils and artifacts and ancient history. Socializing had never come easy and he spent more time with books than with people. Plus, Summer was so full of sass and daring, pulsating with energy and life. She was far too busy piloting hot air balloons or climbing rocks or crafting her one-of-a-kind southwest jewelry to notice an archaeology geek like him. So he'd bided his time, waiting for the right opportunity, the perfect segue into asking her out. But the longer he waited, the more she treated him like a brother. If she only knew the very unbrotherly thoughts prowling his head! Problem was, she'd already formed an image of him as the nice guy next door. A buddy, a pal, a soft place to land. What he needed was for her to view him in a completely different light. But he'd had no idea how to achieve that goal. Until this morning when she'd said she needed a stripper and he'd recklessly blurted out that the Masked Monsieur was a friend of his. Well, it wasn't a total lie. He was a friend to himself. And if tricking Summer into giving him a chance was wrong, then he didn't want to be right. "Psst, Joe," Steve, the bartender, called to him from the dressing room door. "Yeah?" Hurriedly, he tugged black pleather pants up over his sparkly gold g-string. "She's here." Steve gave him a thumb's up and scooted back to the bar. Panic punched Joe's gut. Summer was in the club. She'd be watching him strip. "We want the Masked Monsieur," the crowd of women on the other side of the curtain chanted as his theme song "You Can Leave Your Hat On" oozed from the surround sound speakers and the fog machine belched a fine white mist "We want the Mask Monsieur." He almost turned and high tailed it out the back exit. Conquer your fear. Don't blow this chance. Joe exhaled heavily, took off his glasses and set them on the dressing table. Then he reached for the black leather mask and pulled it down over his face. It was now or never. The time had come to strut his stuff.
Chapter Three Summer's mouth dropped. The Masked Monsieur had the most splendid butt she had ever clamped eyes on.
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He was mesmerizingly, stunningly, brain-foggingly stupendous. Bumping and grinding right in front of her, his butt encased in a pair of skin-tight, faux leather pants that molded to his body like plastic. And those abs! Tight and righteous. A hundred women were screaming and making swooning noises as if he were Elvis come back to life. But when the Masked Monsieur spun around to face the crowd, it was Summer's gaze he caught and held. It was to her and her alone he gave an inscrutable smile and a rakish wink. In that moment, she knew she'd found her wild fling to take her mind off good ol' Joe. "Pinch me," she murmured under her breath, convinced she was having one heck of a bangup sex dream. Strobe lights flashed, bathing his body in a freeze frame of shifting color. He was large, his shoulders broad, his muscled biceps as thick as her thighs. He gyrated seductively to the Tom Jones song, slowly removing the scarlet tie fastened around his bare neck, all without ever breaking eye contact with her. "You can leave your mask on," the audience shouted and waved dollar bills at him. He tossed the tie to Summer. A shier, sweeter woman would have let someone else snag the tie. But Summer was no longer sweet and shy. She'd given that up two years ago when she'd vowed to live each and every day to the fullest. She was bold now. Brazen even. And she was feeling revved up and randy. Besides, no one knew her here. If she acted like a slut puppy, no big hairy deal, right? With one hand she snatched the tie in mid-toss and draped it over her neck. Then she lifted the tip of it to her nose. The silky material smelled of pure masculine essence, raw and powerful. Her knees wobbled and her breath left her body but she never once took her gaze from the Masked Monsieur's compelling dark eyes. He unbuckled his belt. "You can leave your mask on." The belt flew through the air straight toward her. A leggy brunette on her right made a grab for it, but Summer was quicker. She cinched the belt around her waist, a coveted prize. The Masked Monsieur's smile widened. Then he ripped off the faux leather pants that had been held together by Velcro. They made a sharp tearing sound as the Velcro separated. He dropped them onto the stage. The women went nuts.
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Good God, but the man was extremely well-endowed and Summer couldn't stop looking at it. Er…at him. She splayed a hand against her throat, felt her pulse galloping wildly out of control. This magnificent hunk was a friend of Joe Everhart's? Unbelievable. The two men had absolutely nothing in common. Then the Masked Monsieur reached out his hand to her, his gaze still pinning her to the spot. His dark eyes cloaked enigmatically behind the mask. He motioned her up onto the stage. She pointed at her chest, lifted an eyebrow and sent him the silent question. Me? He nodded, cupped his hand, pulling his fingers toward him in a come hither gesture. She shook her head. She was brave, but Summer wasn't sure she was that brave. No more holding back, remember? Life's short. Do it. He kept motioning for her, coaxing. Her face flushed. His rich lips formed a single word. "Come."
Chapter Four She came. Right up on stage with him, lithe as a cat. He held out his hand. Summer took it. Her soft fingers curling into his. He walked her backward, twitching his hips to the beat. She followed, matching him move for move. It occurred to him that she wouldn't have taken Joe Everhart's hand so willingly. That thought rankled. If she only knew the truth. He was nothing more than a nerd in hunk's clothing, just an archaeologist doing what he had to do in order to make money to fund his passion. She had bought into the Masked Monsieur fantasy hook, line and sinker and while he was glad for it, he was also oddly disappointed in her. But for now, he held Summer spellbound. She was his. Their gazes connected. The rest of the club disappeared. In Joe's head it was just the two of them, dancing together. His eyes ate her up. She wore a simple spaghetti strap tank top. The taut poke of her perky nipples straining against her cotton top told him that she wasn't wearing a bra. His stomach pitched. If they'd been back at their apartment complex, if he wasn't wearing the mask, he wouldn't have possessed the courage to stare at her so blatantly. But the Masked Monsieur could do things Joe could not. Women went wild for his alter ego. He stroked a finger over her palm. She shuddered and her tremulous response sent an inferno of feral need burning straight through his groin.
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He performed a cha-cha-cha step and she mimicked his footwork, her curvy little butt bouncing enticingly. She had goddess legs, enhanced by the flirty blue and white skirt she wore that barely covered her firm, slender thighs. Her calves were shapely. Her ankles perfectly proportioned. And he loved the way her pearly pink toenails peeked from beneath the straps of her sandals. "Hi," she said breathlessly. He could barely hear her over the music. "I'm Summer." He did not answer. He was afraid she might recognize his voice and then his whole crazy deception would unravel before it ever got going. Joe nodded, wrapped an arm around her waist and dipped her so low that her loose, flowing hair grazed the stage floor. How often he'd thought about holding her in his arms like this! It felt three times as great as he'd imagined. She smelled so damned good. Her face was flushed and she was breathing hard and fast, her breasts rising and falling against his chest, her head hanging below his. Within kissing distance. Her blue eyes widened until they seemed to encompass her entire face. And when she slipped out a tongue to moisten her rich, crimson lips, he almost groaned aloud. He was that far gone. "Joe, told me all about you," he murmured huskily into her ear as he righted her, disguising his voice with a bad French accent. "He did?" "He says you are a woman who regrets nothing." "That's true." "Ah," he said. "This is my lucky day. For you see, I am a man who will dare anything."
Chapter Five The masked stranger's seductive words set something off inside Summer. Something hot and rich and hungry. His tone, the look in his eyes and the way he held her suggested many sensual pleasures. Erotic pleasures to which only he held the key. He was a man who would dare anything. Was he suggesting an affair? The look in his eyes said yes. It was as if he totally got her. As if he knew exactly what her soul needed. Red-hot sex and nothing more complicated than that. She wanted him. Badly. But she was scared to want him too much. How could this man with his sly smile, his face cloaked behind a leather mask, his black hair slicked back with gel, know her deepest needs? What on earth had Joe told him?
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But who was the guy? She knew nothing about him. Not even what he looked like. She trailed her gaze down those granite abs. Okay, so she could see he was a hard body. Beyond that, he was a mystery. What else was there to know? She wouldn't want him to take the mask off anyway. It was part of the illusion. Part of what was sending all her blood rushing from her head to the tender aching spot between her legs. The Tom Jones song ended and a lively hip-hop tune began. The Masked Monsieur pulled her off stage. They ducked behind the curtain just as a buff man dressed in a cowboy costume jiggled onto the stage. If she were smart, she would leave right now. Forget all about having a stripper for Devon's bachelorette party. Because Summer realized that if she hired this man and he came to her apartment dressed like this she would sex it up with him the minute the guests departed. And from the lusty gleam in the Masked Monsieur's eyes, she could tell the same thought was on his mind. But this was impossible, outrageous. To be so attracted to a total stranger. But wasn't it much better than being attracted to the next-door neighbor she could not have? Nothing wrong with hot anonymous sex. Her nipples hardened at the thought. Run, whispered the old Summer. He's too much for you to handle. But the new Summer, the one who'd suffered through so much pain, the one who'd faced death and come out on the other side with a stark appreciation for living in the moment, knew there was only one cure for fear. No way through it, but to do it. He led her backstage, past the dressing room crawling with delicious, sweaty bare-chested men and cornered her in a darkened alcove. There was no denying his desire. His erection strained the g-string and pressed solid against her hip. She swallowed, glued by the raw look of need in his eyes. "I want you," she whispered. "I know." She blushed. "I mean that I want to hire you for my sister's bachelorette party on Saturday night." "I know what you really mean." He traced a finger down her cheek. "You want a thrill." She gulped, nodded.
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Why did she long to flee at the very same time she yearned to wrap both her legs around his studly waist? Why were fear and excitement and lust and terror simultaneously coursing through her veins? "No, I…, " she started to say and that's when her world exploded.
Chapter Six Summer's universe splattered into a kaleidoscope of sensation as the Masked Monsieur imprisoned her mouth with his own. Her legs began to quiver. The smell of him, intense and sticky and scrumptious, filled her nostrils. The roaring of blood in her ears drowned out all other sounds in the club except for their syncopated heavy breathing. She was consumed. Kissing him was everything the fantasy promised. Sweet and hot and real and rich and wet. She moaned, wondering how much more of this sensual torment she could tolerate. This was straight out of an erotic movie. Masked stranger, public place, the danger of getting caught and the peril of the unknown. She clung to his shoulders to keep from falling to her knees. Did she dare take this to the ultimate conclusion? Right here? Right now? Thump, thump, thump went her heart. Be wild. Be free. Let go. Those words had become her mantra, guiding her to live without regrets. She would take a big bite of this experience and savor it, making up for all those months she'd been stuck in bed, clinging to life by a thread. Her first fling with a total stranger. She could let herself go with him the way she could never let herself go with a man like Joe. She wanted to remember everything about this moment. Kissing a masked dancer backstage at a strip club. It was one for her adventures diary. His lips were a brand. Hot and startling. He tasted foreign and yet familiar both at the same time. He groaned low in his throat and gathered her more tightly in his arms. Summer leaned against him, the feel of his muscular chest making her go all shivery inside. She parted her lips and thrust out her tongue, seeking to push past his teeth. Searching for more. She wanted him inside her. All of him. Everywhere. She was panting, running her fingers over his bare chest, absorbing his heat. Gently, he tugged his mouth from hers and stepped back.
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"Mais non, cherie," he said in the cheesiest French accent she'd ever heard, but she forgave him because the accent stoked the fantasy. "We save zee French kiss." "Save it?" She blinked through the fog of desire. "What are we saving it for?" His smile was so sweet and genuine that for one freakish moment, she saw Joe Everhart's face transposed onto the Masked Monsieur's body and her pulse kicked strangely. "For next time." No. No. It was too much torture. She could not leave like this, hungry, aching and desperate. "Please," she begged, completely shameless. He cast one searing masculine stare down the length of her body, pausing to linger at the swell of her breasts. He ducked his head and suckled one hard nipple through the thin cotton of her tank top. "Yes." Summer threw back her head against the wall and thrust her chest eagerly forward. "Yes." But the maddening man stepped away. "Leave your address with the bartender. I will be there for your sister's bachelorette party. Au revoir, cherie. Sweet dreams." Then, with a devious laugh, the masked stranger turned and walked away.
Chapter Seven He'd left her craving more. The man certainly knew how to drive a girl to distraction. Summer cruised home from Bare Buns scarcely aware she'd even made the trip. She couldn't stop thinking about him and how she wished she'd been bold enough to insist upon that French kiss. Now she was going to have to wait until Devon's bachelorette party to find out if he was really as good a kisser as she suspected he was. When she pulled into the driveway, her initial response was to go tell Joe what had happened with his buddy, but his car wasn't in his parking spot and the lights in his apartment were out. For a professor with early morning classes, he sure kept late hours. Maybe he moonlighted at a second job. More likely, he has a girlfriend. Why that thought should twist a pinch of sadness in her chest, Summer had no idea. Pfftt. She wasn't sad that Joe had a girlfriend. He was a nice guy. He deserved to be happy. Still, she'd never seen a woman over at his place. Greedy, greedy, you can't have two guys.
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She already knew she couldn't have Joe, no matter how much she liked him. In fact, it was exactly because she did like him so much that they could never be anything more than friends. No, what she needed was a sizzling affair with a red-hot man like the Masked Monsieur. No strings, no ties, no promises, no regrets. Just fun, fun, fun. Yum. Summer was standing in her kitchen in her pajamas using a corkscrew to penetrate the pulp of a wine bottle cork, when she heard Joe's battered jalopy rumble into the parking lot. Her pulse sped up. It wasn't the same kind of lickety-split response she'd gotten when the Masked Monsieur had danced with her, but rather it was more like the soft little thrill that warmed your heart when your favorite pet jumped into your arms. She put down the wine bottle and the corkscrew and hurried out onto the landing. "Hey Joe," she waved. He was moving quickly through the shadows, headed for his front door. She couldn't really see him in the darkness. "You wanna come up for a nightcap?" she asked, leaning over the railing. It was the first time she'd ever invited him into her apartment for a drink. It was after midnight, but she just had to talk to him. "Joe?" He was at his front door. She heard him drop his keys and mutter something under his breath. "Just a minute, Summer." His voice was tense. He sounded testy. Which wasn't like easygoing Joe. He must have had a bad night. "You coming up?" "Yeah," he said. "After I take a shower. I'm all sweaty." Now why did the notion of a sweaty Joe suddenly seem erotic? Summer shook her head. She was just full of pent-up estrogen after her encounter at the club with the Masked Monsieur, that's all it was. "I'll pour us some wine. Do you drink wine, Joe?" "Wine's fine." "Okay, see you in a few." She scurried back inside, closed the door behind her and sank against the frame, feeling oddly hyped. It was only then that Summer realized she didn't know if she was still excited from her tryst with the Masked Monsieur or if the strange tingles skipping down her spine were due to the fact that Joe was coming up.
Chapter Eight
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He showered in two minutes flat, donned baggy sweats and a pair of well-worn sneakers. He didn't like showing off his body and he hated being stared at. The only way he could handle dancing at the club was by wearing the mask and assuming an anonymous identity. It was the one stipulation he'd insisted on before he took the job. What he hadn't anticipated was that the mask would morph him into the most popular dancer at Bare Buns. He winced just thinking about it. As soon as he had enough money to finance his dream dig in Belize, he was cutting out of that place and retiring his g-string for good. Joe bound up her steps, but stopped short, his bravado gone. Just what did he think he was going to do up there without his mask to hide behind? Have a conversation with the woman. It's not that hard. You can do it. He could hear her singing the song that had made him start to fall in love with her. "Je Ne Regrette Rien." Ah hell. Who was he kidding? He wasn't adventurous enough for a woman like her. He turned and started back down the stairs. Coward. All right dammit. He would do it. He went back. His knees were knocking almost as loudly as his knuckles rapping against her door. Summer flung the door open and Joe was both relieved and disappointed to see she was wearing comfortable pajamas. What were you expecting? A sexy negligee? Well, it was what he'd been fantasizing about. Either that or her lovely bare skin. She gave him a glass of pink wine. "Zinfindel okay?" "Uh-huh." She could have handed him hemlock and he would have drained the glass. "Let's go sit in the living room." She led the way. Damn, Joe was thinking as he watched her walk. Hot damn. His gaze zeroed in on the seductive twitch of her hips. The sexy curve of the small of her back. The way her hair swayed slow and seductive. The rock hard erection she'd aroused in him at the club was making a strong comeback. He better sit down fast or risk embarrassing himself. He plunked onto the sofa and tried to breathe normally. He'd been in her apartment before, helping her carry in her groceries, watering her plants when she was out of town, but he'd never been here as an invited guest. Summer curled up on the couch beside him, sexily curling her legs underneath her. His gaze tracked her every sensuous move. Did she have even the vaguest clue how utterly sexy she was to him? She smiled softly. His heart melted.
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"Joe," she whispered, leaning in close. "Uh-huh." This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for. She moistened her lips. She was shaking her head and giving him a look like he'd been very bad indeed. "I know what you did." "You do?" "I'm afraid the jig's up," she said.
Chapter Nine Somehow Summer must have figured out that he was the Masked Monsieur. Adrenaline flooded Joe's body. What was he going to say? How could he justify his deception? Why had he done it? He never did things like this. Desperation had driven him and now desperation was hanging him. Her head was cocked and she was studying intently. He swallowed, gathering his courage to confess. She lifted a hand to brush away a strand of hair from her cheek. What a delicate wrist. Peaches and cream complexion. Slender bones. Almost fragile. How he wished she were running that hand over him. More likely, she would soon be lifting it to slap his face for lying to her. "Summer, I can explain," he said steeling himself for the backlash, just as she said, "I figured out why you sent me to Bare Buns rather than just calling up your dancer friend for me." "You did?" He frowned. She was smiling coyly, her lips parted slightly, the tip of her tongue peeking out at him. She wagged a knowing finger. "Yes I did." And she wasn't mad? Relief washed over Joe. This was great. "You were playing matchmaker," she said. "Matchmaker?" he repeated. "It was really sweet of you." "What was sweet of me?" He wasn't following her. What was she talking about? "That's what I like most about you, Joe. You're a really kind and considerate guy. Always thinking of other people." Kind and consider, hell. He was as devious as they came and he wasn't a bit proud of himself.
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"It was nice of you to take an interest in my love life." "Love life?" Now she'd lost him completely. What was she babbling about? "Yeah," she said. "Hooking me up with a to-die-for dude like your friend the Masked Monsieur. How did you know a red-hot temporary fling was exactly what I needed in my life right now?" Her grin widened. "Have you been talking to Devon?" What? He stared at her, bamboozled. He watched her face, noticing how long and thick her lashes were. Her breathing was shallow and a little too fast, her eyes lit with excitement. She was beautiful. Captivating. And all this for a man who was nothing but a figment of her imagination. "Don't tell me you guessed on your own that the Masked Monsieur and I would spark like gunpowder and flint rock." She laughed a husky little laugh that drove a shudder of desire through him. "Come on, Devon must have told you something." He shook his head. "I don't understand." "Your masked friend and I, well, let's just say the chemistry is unfriggin' believable." She fanned herself with a hand. "You think I set you up with him?" Was she really so clueless about his true feelings for her? "Didn't you?" She blinked, her big blue eyes darkening in surprise. "Hell no!" he exploded, bringing his fist down on the coffee table. Startled, she jumped back and looked at him as if seeing him for the very first time. "No?" "Dammit, Summer," Joe growled, frustration clouding his reason and loosing his tongue. He didn't stop to think. The words just came pouring out. "Why would I want to hook you up with another guy when I want you for myself?"
Chapter Ten "You…you what?" "You heard me." The tension in the air between them was a solid thing, filled with innuendo and unspoken desire. Joe was staring at her lips with the strangest expression. Summer gulped, lifted a hand to her mouth and wondered if her lipstick was smeared or something. He just kept looking at her mouth until she thought it was going to blister from the heat of his gaze.
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He was jealous. She had never thought about it from his point of view. His dark eyes were coals, burning a hole through her. Panic burst into her stomach. She couldn't explain the sensation. It was just there. Hard and scary and strangely intriguing. What in the world was Joe doing? Instilling such a delicious I-want-you-so-bad-it-scares-me feeling inside her. He was sitting on the edge of the couch, his fist knotted against his thigh, his jaw tensed as if he was clenching his teeth. Omigod, omigod, omigod. Why did she feel so utterly freaked out? Why was the chemistry surging between them suddenly ten times more powerful than what she'd felt with the Masked Monsieur? She laughed nervously. "But Joe, we're nothing more than neighbors. Just friends." "Friends can become lovers." His gaze was penetrating. She had no idea he could be so potent, so manly. She squirmed, completely taken aback by the changes in him. Summer ducked her head to sip wine and avoid his eyes. The sweet tang of the Zinfindel warmed her tongue and reminded her of what had happened backstage at Bare Buns. It's the Masked Monsieur you really want. Not Joe Everhart, she told herself. But if that was the case why did she keep wishing he would just lean over and kiss her silly? A minute passed. Then two. Finally, she dared to peek over at Joe. She had never noticed before what a big guy he was. He was always wearing shapeless clothes, hiding his body. But looking at him now, she could see his shoulders took up almost half her couch. There was no mistaking the way he was looking at her now. With desire and need. Summer was feeling those things too. What was going on with her? Was the moon full? Was she ovulating? Was the fantasy of the Masked Monsieur intruding on the reality of Joe Everhart? This couldn't be happening. Not with a guy like Joe. She could not be falling for him. But she simply couldn't look away. She was lost, swept away by the intensity of those mesmerizing dark eyes. This was the second time that night she'd been captivated by a man's chocolate gaze. What was with her and brown-eyed men? There was something different about Joe's eyes. They seemed more intense, more emotional. Normally he was good at guarding his feelings. Before now the only time she'd ever really seen his eyes spark passionately was when he talked about archaeology. But tonight, he was looking at her in that same intense way. He wanted her.
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She curled her fingers into her palm. And she wanted him. Her body throbbed, ached, burned for him. She wanted to strip off his clothes and make love to him right there on the floor. But she could not. A guy like Joe deserved so much more than she could ever give. "You're way out of my league, Joe. Much too smart for a high school dropout like me." "I want to make love to you, Summer," he said huskily. No, oh no. Why did he have to say it? Now she was going to have to hurt him. Summer blew out her breath and told the biggest lie of her life. "I'm sorry Joe, but I just don't feel the same."
Chapter Eleven Her words were a dagger. The hurt tasted coppery in his mouth, metallic and bitter. He'd laid his feelings on the line and she'd shot him down because he was a nerd. Never mind she's put a positive spin on it by saying he was too smart for her. Joe knew what she really meant. And then he spied a flicker of something in her eyes and he realized she was lying. But he didn't know why. She licked her lips. An invitation? Kiss her, kiss her, kiss her. Make her acknowledge her feelings for you, his mind…and his penis…screamed. But he couldn't kiss her. Not yet. He didn't want to blow this thing before it ever really got started. No. First, he would have to make love to her as the Masked Monsieur. Then once she'd tasted all the joy and pleasure he could muster and she had learned he could be just as wild and reckless and adventurous as the next guy, he would unveil himself to her. But how hard it was not to clamp his mouth over her sultry, full lips like he'd done in the club. Those lips had been stolen his breath—and his heart. He'd waited too long for this, waiting for the perfect opportunity to knock through her defenses. He was not about to screw things up at this juncture. Not when, for the very first time, she was looking at good ol' Joe in the same way she'd looked at the Masked Monsieur. "Okay," he said. "If that's the way you feel." "It is. I'm sorry, Joe. I never wanted to hurt you." Oh, he knew for certain she was lying now. She was blinking fast and nibbling her bottom lip, struggling to cloak her emotions. But she was an honest, open woman by nature. Subterfuge did not come easy. "You didn't." "No hard feelings?" She extended her palm and pasted on a bright smile.
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"No hard feelings," he echoed and shook her slender hand. Her skin was warm and soft and he had to clench his jaw to control the volatile reaction she stirred in him. She blew out her breath, relief swimming in her eyes. "I'm so glad we got that cleared up." "Yeah," he said but he thought, Honey, it ain't nowhere near cleared up. "Well, goodnight, Joe," she said, getting to her feet, dismissing him. More than anything in the world, he wanted to haul her into his arms and brand her with his mouth but he restrained himself. Not yet. It was too soon. "Good night, Summer." He went back down to his lonely apartment. Down to his empty bed. But he could not sleep. Could not do anything except thing dream of Summer. It didn't take an Einstein to figure out she liked things loose and casual. Her sparsely furnished apartment, her filmy clothes, the carefree way she wore her hair, even her favorite song…"Je Ne Regrette Rien" said it all. The woman liked being unfettered and wouldn't let herself fall for someone who would tie her down. A regular guy like him. An anchor. Rooted. He was reliable yes. And responsible. But that didn't mean he was dull or predictable or unoriginal. Contrary to what she probably believed about him, he was creative in bed. He liked to play games and try new things. He wanted to try new things with her and indulge both of their wildest fantasies. Just because he lived in a world of books and cerebral activities didn't mean that he did not crave physical stimulation. How else would he be able to don that mask three nights a week and transform himself into the Masked Monsieur if he didn't have a streak of adventure running through him? And he couldn't think of anyone he'd rather share those stimulating new experiences with than Summer Jacobs. She figured he was an academic, dry and stuffy. Full of intellectual theory and lofty ideals. Little did she know how much he enjoyed indulging his senses. After he'd shown her all these things as the Masked Monsieur, after he'd made love to her until they were both wrung out with exhaustion, then, that was when he would peel off the mask and show her that good ol' Joe wasn't so good. He was downright wicked.
Chapter Twelve
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For the next two nights leading up to Devon's bachelorette party, Summer had the same erotically charged dream. She was back at Bare Buns. Up onstage again, dancing. With the man in the mask. His brown eyes, intense and enigmatic pinned her to the spot. In her dream Summer was unashamed to discover she was as bare-skinned as he, the two of them naked, writhing in unison to the throbbing beat. The crowd was silent, watching their every move. He reached for her. When his calloused fingers wrapped around her wrist, she hissed as if scorched. His expression was unreadable. His leather mask grazed her upper lip in a smooth caress that unleashed a sultry slither down her spine. Her skin hummed. Her nipples hardened. He made hungry animal noises deep in his throat and ground his pelvis against hers. He was suckling and lapping at her as if he would never get enough. They were a perfect fit. Ribbons of fiery hot heat gushed from his body to hers and back again. The sensation was unbearably sweet and so shockingly sinful she thrashed about in her sleep, half awakened by the eroticism of her subconscious mind. Then the dream shifted. The crowd was gone. They were all alone in the silent nightclub. The stage had become a round, black bed and he was pushing her down into the soft mattress. Down, down, down. On all fours, her face in the pillow. His hot hands stroked her bottom. "You have a magnificent ass," he crooned. Her heart thumped crazily. What a wild ride! What an erotic adventure. Why was this merely a dream? She ached for it to be real. Her fantasy lover kissed the flesh of her buttocks, kneading her gently. His big hand was cool against her heated skin. "You are so beautiful, you take my breath. You know that?" Tenderly, he cradled his massive erection against the crack of her bottom. She felt the smooth velvet head of him growing harder, larger. "You're so wet," he said. "So sweet." "For you," Summer murmured. "All for you." And she knew it was true. Even if it was a dream, she'd never felt this level of excitement for anyone except this stranger. Then, without warning, he thrust into her from behind, sinking deep into the tight folds of her body.
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The shock of it was blindingly delicious and she found herself flung into space, catapulted to the stars. He pounded her. Again and again. Thrusting hard. Then he was filling her. Spiraling skyward. Taking them both beyond reason. They collapsed together and he drew her into his arms. Slowly they drifted, panting back to earth. "I want you to see me," he said. "I want you to know who loved you so hard." "No!" she shouted. "I don't want to know you. I don't want to see your face." But it was too late. He'd already reached up to peel off his mask. That was when Summer jerked awake, bathed in sweat and trembling in panic.
Chapter Thirteen Summer's apartment was packed with rowdy, high-spirited women when the Masked Monsieur arrived, portable CD player in hand. They were drinking champagne and eating chocolate and giggling over Summer's raunchy gag gifts. The guest of honor, Summer's sister Devon, was seated in the middle of the room with what appeared to be a giant condom perched on top of her head. The minute he crossed the threshold, all eyes were on him. Joe hesitated. His chest was bared, Nair-ed and greased slick with baby oil. His pants were so tight if he took too deep of a breath they would pop open. And the women were staring at him as if he was a lamb chop and they were starving wolves. He'd grown accustomed to dancing onstage even though he never enjoyed it. Most of the time he got through the sets simply by keeping his thoughts firmly fixed on archaeology. Plus, he didn't wear his glasses when he danced so he couldn't really see their faces. But at this intimate venue, with Summer and her friends gathered around, he was acutely aware of his nakedness. And it was just going to get worse. Thank God for the mask. Not having to do this bare faced was the one saving grace. He glanced at Summer. She was gazing at him expectantly, waiting for the show to start. She looked stunning in a crimson dress. Her auburn hair was swept back off her neck with a clip, revealing her peaches and cream nape. He had an irresistible urge to lean over and run his tongue over her skin until she shuddered. They stared at each other. Neither speaking or moving. She looked as uncertain about this as he felt. He saw a flicker of something in her eyes and for a moment there, he thought she'd seen through him and finally recognized who he was. "Strip, strip, strip," Devon began to chant and clap her hands.
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Summer smiled apologetically and whispered, "She's a little drunk." Joe finally found his tongue and laid the French accent on thick. "It is her bachelorette party, no? She deserves to let go." "Should I start the music for you?" Summer waved at the CD player. He nodded, gulped and turned to face the dozen women anticipating of his performance. Summer pressed the button on the CD player and "Je Ne Regrette Rien" filled the room. "Hey," Devon said. "That's not music to strip to." "Hiss, boo," someone else said. "We wanna see some action." Oh crap. He'd bought a compilation CD of cabaret torch songs last week and he'd been listening to them because the songs made him feel closer to Summer. Obviously, he'd picked up the wrong CD by mistake. "Sorry," he apologized. "Got my other disks in the car. Be right back." "Dontcha think it's kinda odd?" Devon mused as Joe hightailed it for the door. "He's got music that no one else on the earth listens too besides the French and my weird little sister."
Chapter Fourteen Between the wrong CD and Devon's perceptive statement, Joe was certain Summer would soon figure out who he was. Had he blown his cover already? He stood on the landing outside Summer's door not certain what to do next. Considering her reaction when he'd declared his feeling for her the night she'd invited him upstairs, Joe knew there was no way he would ever get her into bed as himself. She didn't like studious, nerdy guys. She'd made that clear enough. The night was hot. Sweat trickled down his neck. He pushed the mask up on his head and took a deep breath. What to do? The door opened. He froze, both palms splayed against the balustrade. "Joe?" Aw hell. He hadn't wanted her to find out this way. He ducked his head and briefly considered running off into the night. Joe might be a lot of things, but he wasn't a coward. Slowly, he turned, his mask still pushed up on his head. He was trapped with no way out except through the truth. So much for his plan to seduce the woman of his dreams.
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But the woman standing on the landing wasn't Summer, but rather her sister. Devon. She was still wearing that silly oversized condom pulled down over her head like a shower cap. Relief ran through him. "Joe Everhart." She sank her hands on her hips and eyed him speculatively. He nodded. "You're the Masked Monsieur? You're the guy my sister has been raving about?" He shrugged, lifted his palms in a you-caught-me-red-handed gesture. "Why, that's…" "Reprehensible, I know." Devon grinned. "I was going to say wonderful." "You think it's wonderful that I'm tricking your sister?" "No, I think it's wonderful that you figured out a way to scale that wall she's erected around her heart ever since she got cancer." "Cancer?" The word struck terror in him. Summer had cancer? He clenched his fists, hardly able to wrap his mind around this revelation. "You didn't know?" He shook his head, too overwhelmed with sadness to speak. Devon must have read the desolation on his face because she reached over to touch his shoulder. "She's in remission. They caught it early. There's a ninety percent chance she's fully cured." "Oh." He was glad he was still holding onto the balustrade because his knees had gone weak. "But getting cancer changed her personality completely. She used to be quiet and shy, but afterward she said life was too short not to live it to the fullest. She learned to fly hot air balloons. Took up rock climbing. And she started hanging out with wild, undependable guys like the Masked Monsieur. She has this weird notion that a steady guy would hold her back and she's turned into the kind of woman who's got to live for today. She can't bank on the future." Joe didn't know what to say. "But you're showing her that she can have a guy who's both wild and steady at the same time." Devon smiled. "It's so great." "Now comes the hard part," he said. "Breaking the news to Summer that I've lied to her."
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Devon sucked in her breath. "Before you do that, Joe, there's something else you should know."
Chapter Fifteen "Something else?" Joe echoed Devon's portentous words. "Uh-huh." She looked distressed. "There's another reason Summer makes it a policy not to get involved with marriage-minded nice guys." What reason? He was afraid to ask, but he had to know the answer. "And what is that?" Devon fidgeted, not meeting her gaze. "Summer should really be the one to tell you this." "How can I get her to tell me this stuff when she won't even date me because I'm a regular guy? It's not as if a wild fling like the Masked Monsieur can ask personal questions. He's all about a fantasy affair." "That's why I'm going to tell you, but don't let on that you know. She hates for people to feel sorry for her." "Just tell me." Devon inhaled sharply. "The cancer." "Yes?" "It made her sterile. She can never have kids, Joe." Summer's sad secret sent his head reeling. Suddenly, so much about her made a lot more sense. "There's terrible," he croaked. "She's talked to therapist and come to terms with it but she firmly believes she can't make a commitment to a man when she's unable to offer him children." "But that's ridiculous." He snorted. "She ought to let the guy decide for himself whether that's a stumbling block or not." "I agree but Summer's the one going through it, not me. I don't know how I'd feel if I were in her shoes. So Joe, before you pursue a relationship with her, you might want to ask yourself if you want to go through life without having any children of your own." "All I care about is Summer. Besides, we can always adopt. Hell, I'm adopted," he said. "Really?" Devon broke into a grin. "Really."
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Tears welled in her eyes and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. Joe's chest knotted. "Why are you crying? Is there something else you're not telling me?" "I'm just so happy," she said. "For my baby sister. She's suffered so much. But now it looks like she's on her way to finding love after so many years of pain and heartbreak." "Thanks for telling me about the cancer," he said. "It makes a lot of difference. Not in the way I feel about her. But it helps me connect with her better." "Do right by her, Joe." "If she'll let me." "Make her let you. If you don't, letting go of you will end up being her biggest regret, no matter how many times she sings that damned song." "No kidding." "You better put your mask back on." Devon waved at his head. "In case Summer decides to come out." As Joe slid the mask back into place, he finally understood why Summer so often sang "Je Ne Regrette Rien." It wasn't because she didn't have concerns or misgivings, but rather it was her way of whistling in the dark. Her method for scaring off the demons that had plagued her short, bittersweet life. And he loved her all the more for her bravery.
Chapter Sixteen The bachelorette party was over. The guests were gone. And sometime during the course of the evening the Masked Monsieur had put his pants back on. But not for long. Just after the door closed behind Devon and her designated driver, he turned the CD player back on and the sound of "Wild Thing" filled the air. And the masked man began to dance. Stripping just for her. Summer stood in the middle of the kitchen, devouring him with her eyes. God he was gorgeous. Too handsome to be true. But here he was doing his thing for an audience of one. What a fantasy! Once he was down to the g-string, he held out a hand to her. "Dance with me," he said as the C.D. player shuffled and "Je Ne Regrette Rien" took over from the stripper music. The soulful, haunting tune tugged at Summer's belly.
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She stepped across the floor to him. He drew her against his chest. Summer let herself go, giving over to the dance, caught in the moment when fantasy and reality merged. Lightly, he ran his lips over her forehead and she felt every last drop of self-control slip away. She surrendered to him completely. They moved in unison, their bodies pressed, stepping in tandem with smooth fluidity. Did he make love like he danced? Summer swallowed. She certainly hoped so. His hand touched her hip in a gesture of easy ownership that made her heart flutter. He stopped dancing. The dainty toes of her sandals bumped against the tips of his black leather boots. "What is it?" she whispered. "Do you believe in romantic love?" he asked, still using the phony French accent. "What?" His question caught her off guard. Once upon a time she might have believed in such fairy tales. But now? After cancer? After discovering she was sterile? "For some people maybe it's true." "But not for you?" She shook her head. "Life's too short to tie yourself down with one person." "But what if it's the right person?" "I believe in passion," she said. "Isn't that good enough?" "Passion feeds the body, but love feeds the soul," he said. "There's many different kind of loves." "Like the love you have for a good friend?" "Yes." Summer thought of Joe. Downstairs. Alone. Probably hearing their party through the thin walls. She winced. Joe would have been so perfect for the old Summer. The woman she had once been. But the Masked Monsieur was the perfect one for her now. Or at least she'd thought he was until he started gabbing about love. "Why are you asking me about love? We are strangers you and I." "Precisely," he said. "I just wanted to make sure that we understand each other. Neither one of us wants to hurt the other. Tonight is about sex. No love. A little romance maybe." He smiled. "But no love."
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"No love," Summer echoed, thinking they were in complete agreement. But why then did saying those words suddenly make her feel so empty inside?"
Chapter Seventeen Joe ran his palm along the back of her red silk dress, lingering at the sweet dip of her spine. Summer curled into him and he smiled behind his mask. He loved the way she responded to his touch. Then it hit him. Summer Jacobs made him want to be a better man. And a better man would not lie to her or deceive her before he made love to her. He had to get out of this. He had to stop this seduction right now. He could not carry through with it on false pretenses. "Summer," he said, dropping the French accent. "We have to talk." But she wasn't hearing him, wasn't listening. Instead she was standing on her tiptoes running her tongue along his ear, rubbing her silk clad-breasts over his bare arm until his mind was mush and he couldn't even remember what he was going to say. Instinct and basic masculine need took over, chasing honorable intentions right out the door. "I'm ready," she murmured. "I've been thinking about it for three days. I'm ready for that French kiss." He spread his fingers wide, cupped her butt and pulled her flush against his pelvis. Then he lowered his head and crushed her mouth beneath his. Neither of them closed their eyes as her soft skin rubbed against his smooth leather mask. Her eyes flashed. Her cheeks flushed with sexual arousal. She pushed her body against his hard flesh as his tongue speared past her parted teeth and thrust deeply into her wet mouth. Hot. She was so damned hot. He unzipped her dress, but still kept kissing her. Frantically, she shrugged it off without breaking tongue contact and let it fall to the floor. And he was shocked and pleased to discover she wasn't wearing underwear. Oh, she'd been ready for him. "You vixen," he said and slid his fingers over the satiny curve of her hip, across the top of her thigh and down to edge of her feminine essence. She groaned, thrashed her head against his shoulder. With one hand he held her anchored tightly in place, with the other, he gently eased one thick finger in between the lips of her sex before sliding deep. She was hot and slick and ready. Clutching his upper arm with both hands, she cried out.
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He kissed her again. Taking her lovely mouth, pushing into her with both his tongue and his finger, his throaty groans matching her own. She was so tight, so sweet and he loved that she couldn't even gasp because she was so full of him. Her muscles gripped his finger hard, signaling to him that she wanted more. Wanted him. She was so soft, yet so incredibly strong; giving herself over to him with an eager willingness that humbled him. The woman knew how to live. His need for her kept surging through him in waves that rose higher, hotter, washing away all reason, all sanity. So much for good old practical Joe. "More," she said greedily. "More." He grinned at her bossiness, loving her for it and pulled his finger out of her. Slowly he began to gently rub her hard, straining ridge until she was moaning and writhing in his arms. 'Take me," she cried boldly. "Take me now, take me hard, take me on the kitchen table."
Chapter Eighteen He took her on the kitchen table. Spread her legs and plunged in. Rough and demanding, just the way she told him she wanted it. But in reality, she wanted so much more. She was overcome with the desperate need to sheath his fiery hot sword as deep within her as it would go. To absorb the very essence of his manhood. "More," she demanded as he leaned over her body. She fisted her hands in his dark hair. "More." He pushed her farther than she'd ever been before and when her body and her mind and her soul all hung on the edge of oblivion, suspended timelessly, waiting for the orgasm—Summer realized something monumental. This man was a total stranger. And that's when she imploded. He cried out at the same time, his body going rigid. He arched his back above her and in the light from the kitchen lamp, she saw he was all bright and golden and flamelike. Burning, burning, ever burning. She had never felt anything like the intensity of this climax. She couldn't breath. Couldn't think. All she could do was feel as all her nerve endings throbbed and tingled and pulsed. He fell heavily across her, her legs wrapped around his waist, his masked face buried in her hair. They lay breathing heavily, the kitchen table hard and cold against her back as they glided down together.
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Then slowly, he reached out and trailed a finger along her skin, all the while his body remained firmly embedded in hers. The emptiness of separation dissolved. They were one. Lovers. If only briefly. She stroked his sensitive mouth, tracing around it. She ran her fingertips over his mask, felt his cheekbones beneath the leather. Time carried their stillness forward until a fresh urgency rose in them. The delicate swell of her inner flesh, the indiscernible sinuous transfer, griping then releasing in a rhythm of sensual awareness. Summer was awed, reborn, soaring around the room with giddiness as he flipped her over onto her tummy, her legs spread wide and this time he took her from behind. She thrashed and twitched and screamed her delight and he was right with her. Measure for measure, stroke for stroke. Then afterward, he eased her to the floor and softly licked her raw aching flesh. Later, as they lay together on the cool tile floor, encircled in each others arms, Summer felt herself drifting peaceful and sated. Her ear was pressed against his chest and as she listened to his steady heartbeat she began to smile. She was so warm and safe and happy that it scared her. What was going on here? She didn't want to feel these kinds of emotions of him. She'd only wanted sex. And then a startling thought occurred to her. "Omigosh," she exclaimed, pushing up on her elbows, pushing him away. "We didn't use a condom." "It's okay," he murmured. "I haven't had sex in over a year and I've been tested. I'm not HIV positive." He was no longer speaking with the French accent and there was something about his voice that set off alarm bells in her head. "I could be pregnant," she lied, not really knowing why she did so. "Shh," he said. "It's all right, Summer. I know your deepest secrets. I know your darkest fears."
Chapter Nineteen Summer's pulse skipped erratically. That voice! The Masked Monsieur reached up to peel off the disguise but she knew whose face was under there. Had probably known from the beginning on a subconscious level.
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Joe's dark eyes, filled with nothing but love and concern, peered at her. It was only then she realized he was holding his breath, waiting for her reaction. She reached out to stroke his bare cheek creased from the mask. "It's you." "It's always been me, Summer from the minute I laid eyes on you," he said. "And look what you've reduced me to. Lies and deception." "Joe," she breathed his name on a sigh. It couldn't be him. Her wild sexual fling was with the man she'd most wanted to avoid. "I'm sorry." "No regrets, remember?" His smile was soft and tender. "But I can't love you," she said, her heart aching. "I can't guarantee you happily ever after." "Why? Because you had cancer?" She nodded. "So because you were sick, you don't deserve love?" Tears rolled down her cheeks. "I can't let you love me. What if I died?" "What if I died? There are no guarantees in life, Summer. There's only the present moment. Are you willing to throw away our future because you're afraid you might die one day?" "There's more," she said. "Devon told me everything. I know you can't have children." "Why would you—a man with a Mensa I.Q.—want a high school dropout who can't even give him babies?" Summer cried, mopping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "And why can't you respect that I know what I want. You're the woman for me, Summer. I don't care about your education. I don't care whether you can bear children or not. You are what I want and those things are part of what makes you who you are." Oh, how she wanted to believe him! To fall into his arms and simply accept his love. "You might change your mind in the future, decide you want babies and then you'll be stuck with a barren wife. Or worse, divorce me for some sweet young thing." Anger flashed in Joe's eyes. She'd never seen him look so fierce. He grabbed her by her shoulders, pulled her right up against his chest and stared at her hard. "Dammit, Summer. I'm not like that. I don't know what other kind of men you've been with and I don't care to know but when I make a commitment, I make a commitment. I love you dammit and if later we decided we want kids, well, medical technology has made a lot of advances. And if none of that works, then we can always adopt."
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"But it's not the same as having your own flesh and blood child." "No, it's better," he said. "I'm adopted. Did you know that? And my adoptive parents gave me so much love that I can't begin…" His voice caught and she saw unshed tears in his eyes. "Joe." She didn't know what else to say. "I love you, Summer Jacobs. And if you can't accept that, if you let your fear stand in the way of loving me, well then I feel really sorry for both of us, because it could have been so damned great." And with that, he got dressed and walked out of her apartment.
Chapter Twenty Summer tried to sleep but couldn't. Joe wanted her. Sweet Joe she'd tried so very hard not to fall in love with because she believed he deserved so much better than what she could give. Joe loved her. Loved her so much he'd hidden his true identity from her in order to give her what she secretly craved. How could she be afraid of loving a man like that? Summer threw back the covers and padded to the phone. When Joe answered on the first ring, she took a deep breath and whispered. "I love you too, now get your buns back up here." Five minutes later, Joe was in standing in her bedroom doorway. One look and they were undressing each other in an affectionate scrambling rush. Summer snatched off his shirt, unbuttoned his pants while Joe grabbed the hem of her sleep shirt and lifted it over her head. He wriggled from his jeans, kicked them across the floor, his splendid erection bounced uninhibited. She sucked in her breath at the sight of him and shimmied right out of her panties. They stood there breathing hard, gazing at each other. Then he reached for the mask she'd left on her dressing table. Summer put out a restraining hand. "We don't need it," she said. "Are you sure you won't miss the excitement?" She nodded. "You're plenty exciting enough for me, Joe. Just the way you are."
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He smiled then and the look of joy on his face warmed her heart. "Besides," she whispered. "Nothing says we have to retire the Masked Monsieur for good. He can always make an encore appearance sometime in the future. Just to shake things up. But there is one thing about our masked friend I want to make sure we keep." "Oh?" Joe asked. "And what is that?" "Why zee French kiss of course." She giggled. "You mean this?" Joe took possession of her lips and thrust his tongue impishly past her parted teeth. "Mmm." He pushed her against the wall, his tongue wrecking havoc inside her mouth, igniting tingles down her throat to her stomach and beyond. The wicked look in his eyes tightened her chest as she thrilled to the paradox of her man. Nerd. Hunk. It didn't matter. He was both mysterious and reliable. Somehow she'd managed to get it all in one magnificent package. Joe cupped his hand under her knee and yanked her leg up high, positioning it on his shoulder as his fingers dipped down to slide over her slick feminine cleft. "You're so wet and hot and soft." He groaned low. "I'm crazy for you, Summer Jacobs. I love you." "I love you too, Joe. Now take me before I scream." He speared her with his manhood, plunging deep until they pressed pelvis to pelvis and she was utterly filled with him. She curled her other leg around his waist and he pumped hard, pushing into her with the intensity she craved. His big, powerful body pinned her to the wall, rough and demanding but the expression on his face was gentle and caring. She cried out with pleasure and her soul soared. Afterwards, they collapsed in a damp, earthy heap onto the carpet. "So what do you like most about plain ol' average Joe?" he asked a few minutes later when they'd gotten their breath back. "What? You feeling insecure?" "Indulge me." "You mean beside your intellect, your kindness, your secret sense of adventure and your willingness to do whatever it takes to win the heart of the woman you love?" "Yeah," he smiled and tickled under her chin with his finger. "Besides those things." "Why babe, it's your bare buns, all the way."
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"That's what I figured. You just want me for my bod." Summer laughed rich and full. And as he held her tightly in his arms, Joe began to softly hum "Je Ne Regrette Rien."
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Something Old, Something New by Marisa Carroll Sophia Grosso is engaged to NASCAR driver Justin Murphy, but she’s not blinded by love. She knows that marriage is a give and take, and she’s up to the challenge. And who better to get advice from than her great-grandmother, who has been married to her own race car driver for fifty years! Sophia wants to hear about how Juliana and Milo Grosso met and fell in love—but this time, she wants the grown-up version!
Chapter One “Nana, is there a secret to staying married to the same man for fifty years?” Juliana Grosso looked at her great-granddaughter over the granite countertop of the central island of her large kitchen. Sophia sat on a stool, her hands propped on her chin, her expression slightly troubled. Technically, Sophia was her step-great-granddaughter, but she had raised Sophia’s father, Dean, after the death of Juliana’s husband’s son and his wife, and Sophia was the true grandchild of her heart. She was twenty-eight, blond and pretty, her figure softly rounded, her smile wide and friendly. She reminded Juliana of herself at that age, although she had been a brunette and even more curvaceous—a knockout figure, everyone had said. Back in the early sixties when she was hoping to make her career as a singer in Nashville. “Patience,” she replied without hesitation, the quartet of gold bracelets on her wrist chiming in agreement. “Lots and lots of patience.” “I’ve figured that out already. Justin requires lots and lots of patience, too, especially when he doesn’t finish well on Sunday.” Sophia’s fiancé, Justin Murphy, like her father and brother, was a NASCAR Sprint Cup Series driver. “You’ll work it out between yourselves. Marriage is a partnership, remember. Give and take. Sometimes more give than take.” “We’ve already agreed to a partnership. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” “But being a NASCAR wife is different from being married to a CPA. Lots of traveling, lots of time apart. Dealing with fans and the media.” Sophia was aware of the risks and the rewards. “But you’re up to the challenge. It’s in the Grosso women’s blood, dealing with race car drivers. Wedding jitters and out-of-the-money finishes do tend to make a man skittish, but Justin will get up on the wheel and show his mettle when the time comes,” she assured Sophia. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” “I’m not worried about Justin leaving me standing at the altar,” Sophia said, laughing, the slight frown between her eyebrows smoothing away. “But after Mom and Dad’s breakup last year…well, if two people who’ve always been as much in love as they are can almost get divorced—” she shrugged “—how can I not worry that it might happen to us? There are still some bad feelings between our family and his floating around out there.” She glanced involuntarily to the far side of the big room where her great-grandfather, Milo, was napping in his favorite chair.
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“Connor and Troy Murphy’s deaths were a thorn in Milo’s side for more than half his life. Fifty years of hard feelings don’t go away in a day, even if everyone agrees to put the past behind them like the Grossos and Murphys did last winter,” Juliana admitted. “Finding out who had really caused the death of Connor and Troy and setting the record straight was a start. But when you’re ninety-two years old you don’t change your mind or your heart in a few weeks’ time.” “It’s all behind us now,” Sophia said. “Yes it is, praise the Lord.” “It must have been hard for you and Grandad, too, especially after my grandfather and grandmother died and you had to take over raising Dad and Uncle Larry. How did you do it?” “Sometimes, I don’t know how I managed,” Juliana said bluntly, as was her style. “I was so much younger than your great-grandfather, and Alfonso and Gina’s deaths in that flash flood were so unexpected. Here I was, almost a bride still, dealing with a bereaved husband and faced with raising two heartbroken little boys. It wasn’t an easy time for us.” “But you got through it.” “Yes, and I have never regretted a single day of my life with Milo and your father and uncle. Thank the Lord I had sense enough to realize he was the man for me despite all the differences between us.” “What? Nana, what are you telling me? I always thought you and Granddad had fallen in love at first sight. Didn’t you? You only dated a few weeks before you got married. I remember you telling me that years and years ago.” “Falling in love at first sight and having the sense to recognize that’s what it was are two different things, let me tell you. I was so caught up in my own dreams in those days I couldn’t see past the end of my arm. I was going to go to Las Vegas and become a star. Sing in all the big casinos. Hobnob with movie stars and millionaires. Oh, I had plans. Big plans, and a man—any man, including your great-grandfather—wasn’t part of them.” “Tell me the whole story, Nana. Tell me what it was really like when you fell in love with Granddad.” “Not the fairy-tale version you always wanted to hear when you were a little girl?” “The grown-up, woman-to-woman version. Start from the beginning, when you were singing in that bar in Nashville.” Sophia reached over and took a piece of apple from the bowl where Juliana was preparing the fruit for an apple tart. It was Monday, the day she could count on most of her family to be at home in Concord, North Carolina. Tonight all of them would be gathered around the big table at the far end of the kitchen to eat pasta and home-baked bread and the apple tart. “It wasn’t a bar,” Juliana said with a sniff and an answering jingle from her bracelets. “It was a hotel lounge. I never sang in a honky-tonk in my life. But if I’d had to sing in one of those places to get where I was headed, I would have. I was tough as nails back then—had to be. On my own from the time I was seventeen when my dad kicked me out of the house. I was
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thrilled to be singing in a respectable place, let me tell you. I was just getting ready for my second set of the night. I was doing a Sinatra medley and I had this beautiful blue dress with spangles all over the skirt—and matching ones in my hair. I made it myself, but you couldn’t have guessed that in a million years. I remember that night as if it was yesterday….” It had been a beautiful dress, Milo recalled, his eyes closed against the glare of the spring sunshine coming through the tall windows on either side of the fireplace. But the dress was nowhere near as beautiful as the woman wearing it. “I remember,” he heard Juliana say, and he began to remember, too.
Chapter Two Nashville, Tennessee, 1962 Times were definitely changing, decided Milo Grosso, ex-FBI agent and former NASCAR driver. That’s why he was in Nashville sweet-talking the owners of a car dealership into sponsoring his son’s racing car this season instead of being back home in Concord where he really wanted to be. Stock-car racing had entered the big time in the past couple of years, and if he wanted to stay in the sport he was going to need more backing than he could provide for his son from his own pocket. Alfonso was a natural. He had what it took to make it all the way to the championship Milo himself had never won. The sponsorship negotiations were going well. He figured he’d have a handshake deal in a day or two, but until he had Cal Vincent’s signature on the dotted line he was stuck in a hotel room in Nashville. It was a Friday night and he could hear piano music coming from the lounge. A woman was singing and her voice drew him forward. The room was filled with cigarette smoke, hanging like fog beneath the spotlights shining down on the small dance floor. There were eight or ten tables grouped around its edges, most of them filled with what he guessed were hotel patrons—mostly businessmen, a few locals and a lady or two, and he used the term advisedly. He scanned the crowd, looking for anything or anyone out of the ordinary, a habit ingrained in him from twenty years of working for the FBI. That’s when he saw her—the lounge’s headliner, Juliana Chantel, according to the poster outside the doors, the Magnolia Angel. She was standing beneath a baby spot, her dress a shimmer of sapphire and satin, her dark hair twisted into a smooth roll at the back of her head, shot through with even more sparks of blue fire. She had a knockout figure, and when she started to sing he discovered her voice was a knockout, too. He found a seat at the bar, ordered a whiskey, straight-up, and settled down to listen. Forty minutes later he was still there, nursing a second drink, pretending to watch a prize fight on the black-and-white TV behind the bar. But he really wasn’t paying attention to the boxers. He was paying attention to the singer. He was wondering what it was about her that was keeping him from his bed. She wasn’t his type. His late wife had been small and delicate and a lady in every sense of the word. This woman looked diamond-hard, at least beneath the glare of the overhead spotlights. He wasn’t a Sinatra fan and she hadn’t sung anything else, but the husky tenor of her voice and the way she moved—fully conscious of her body and how to use it—had caught his attention and wouldn’t let go.
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She finished her last song and the piano player helped her down the steps of the stage. She moved across the room, her hips swaying, her lips smiling and headed in his direction. She slid onto the empty stool beside him. “Hello,” she said, glancing at the bartender out of the corner of her eye. “I haven’t seen you here before.” “I just got into town,” Milo answered. He watched her closely—old habits again, although it certainly wasn’t a hardship. Her eyes, the same blue as the sapphire color of her dress, held a wary vulnerability he hadn’t expected to see. A soiled dove, maybe? “Welcome to Nashville,” she said, giving him a brilliant smile that never got as far as those sapphire eyes. “You here on business or pleasure?” He glanced around the smoky room. Now that the show had ended, the bartender had turned up the television and most of the men’s attention had turned to the fight above their heads—at least those who weren’t giving him hard glances for having snagged Juliana Chantel’s attention. “Not pleasure,” he said, one corner of his mouth lifting into a wry smile. “Business.” “What kind of business?” she asked, touching the scarlet tip of one finger to the corner of her mouth. It was a very kissable mouth, Milo noted, surprising himself. He was forty-four years old. He’d been a widower for several years. He hadn’t been much interested in women for a while. Certainly not this kind of woman—a singer in a second-rate hotel lounge, and possibly worse than that. “Want to buy the lady a drink?” the bartender asked bluntly. She gave the burly man a quick, guilty glance. “Oh, yeah, a drink would be nice, Mister,” she said. “I get awful thirsty singing.” “Whatever the lady wants.” So that’s how it was. She sang and then hustled drinks for the house. “I’ll have my regular, Ray Bob,” she said, no longer looking directly at Milo. He could see a faint blush of color beneath the theatrical makeup. “What’s your regular?” “Club soda,” she said, her gaze direct again, and defiant. “Alcohol’s not good for my throat.” “It’s going to be a very expensive club soda, though, isn’t it?” “Vintage,” she said, the smile turning mischievous for a moment. She curled her fingers around the tall glass the bartender set in front of her and took a sip, giving him a moment to catch his breath and gather his wits after absorbing the raw voltage of that sexy smile. “I don’t mind paying for the good stuff,” he said. She stiffened slightly and turned in his direction, the diamond-bright sophistication back in place. “Drinks and conversation. Sorry, but that’s all you get, Mister,” she said. “I hustle drinks for the management to keep my job, but that’s all I do. Got it?”
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He nodded. “Fair enough.” It occurred to him suddenly that he’d misjudged her age as well as her occupation. She was young. Much younger than he’d first thought. Way too young for a broken-down G-man like him. His first instinct was to get up and leave the bar, forget about her and her vulnerable blue eyes. But if she didn’t stay here at the bar with him, she’d more than likely have to hustle up some other mark from the men at the tables. Somehow he didn’t want to see that happen. “Let’s start over,” he said. “My name’s Milo Grosso, and I’m up here from Concord, North Carolina, to find someone to sponsor my NASCAR team.” “How do you do,” she said as primly as a schoolgirl. “My name’s Juliana Chantel, and I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance.” Chantel wasn’t her real name, he’d bet his last dollar on that…. “Nana! You met Granddad hustling drinks in a bar in Nashville? I always thought he heard you from outside the door and came inside and whisked you away with him.” Sophia’s voice rose several notches, calling Milo back from his memories into the present. “That was the fairy-tale version I told you years ago. This is the adult version,” his beloved wife replied, unruffled. “But really, it was only being nice to the customers. I never drank alcohol while I was working. And I never, ever left the bar with any man.” But that night she had left with him.
Chapter Three Sophia finished slicing the apple for the tart and wiped her hands on a damp towel. Then she propped her elbows on the granite countertop and rested her chin in her hands. “Details. I want details. Lots of them.” “Shh, you’ll wake Milo. He’s tired. It’s a long flight back from Vegas.” “You love going to the Las Vegas race, Nana, don’t try and bamboozle me.” “It’s still a long flight, even in a private jet.” Juliana smiled, admitting the truth of Sophia’s last remark. She did love the Vegas race. She always took the opportunity to see a couple of shows and maybe dream, just a little, of what might have been. “Vegas. It was the center of the universe for me at one time in my life. I wanted to see my name—or my stage name, anyway—up in lights at the Sands or the Stardust. I wanted to be out there with Sinatra and Dean Martin and the rest of the Rat Pack, all the big headliners. Oh, I thought I had what it took to make it to the top in those days. I’d given up everything for that dream. I had my sights fixed on my own star. I wasn’t about to give it up for a man, even one as good-looking as Milo.” “But you left the bar with Granddad. You said you never did that.” “He was very different than the others. I didn’t even hesitate when he stood up and offered me his arm. I was dazzled enough I would have gone anywhere with him.” Sophia’s eyes got round as saucers. “Nana! What did you two do that night? You didn’t…it wasn’t a…a…one-night stand kind of thing, was it?”
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Juliana laughed out loud then gave a quick glance over her shoulder in Milo’s direction. “No, it wasn’t a one-night stand kind of thing,” she said. She shook the paring knife at her shocked great-grandchild. “Shame on you for thinking so.” “Well, this is the adult version,” Sophia said in a teasing tone. “Go on.” “He opened his wallet, took out a twenty, laid it down on the bar and told the bartender I was done for the night. Twenty dollars! It was a lot of money in those days, let me tell you. I felt a little like I’d been rescued from the ogre’s castle by a knight in shining armor.” “What did you do?” “We went outside to the pool. It was beautiful. There weren’t as many lights in those days. You could see the stars. We sat in a couple of those big reclining chairs and talked and talked. For hours. Almost until daylight. Milo took off his coat after a while and put it around my shoulders.” “Granddad’s a gentleman, through and through. What did you talk about?” Sophia prompted. “NASCAR? Granddad’s horses? Your plans to go to Vegas?” “All kinds of things,” Juliana responded, turning her thoughts to that long-ago evening. “But not about Las Vegas. I usually spoke about it at the drop of a hat, but for some reason that night I was reluctant to tell Milo about my plans. We talked about other things instead. About John Glenn orbiting the earth and how fantastic it would be when we had a man walk on the moon. The Cuban missile crisis, the Russians being ahead of us in the Space Race. War in a place called Vietnam I’d never even heard of, but it frightened me anyway. I was just a girl when they dropped the atomic bombs, but I remember the fear. We were all terrified that something like that could happen again with the Russians.” “You helped me with my eighth-grade history paper on the missile crisis,” Sophia said, adding a memory of her own. “But keep going. You talked. He walked you to your room and…that was it?” Sophia sounded disappointed. “It wasn’t just talk, Sophia. It was like a trip to a whole new world for a girl from Crider’s Gap, Tennessee. I’d never met a man who’d been as many places and done as many things as Milo.” “I love the picture in your bedroom of him when he was an FBI agent. The double-breasted suit and the fedora. He looked so handsome back then.” Sophia clapped her hand over her mouth and turned her head quickly at a snort from Milo, but it turned into a snore so they went on talking. “He was handsome. Very handsome,” Juliana said, nibbling on a slice of apple. “That picture? That’s the way he looked the first night I saw him. He stood out from all the rest of those men. I could see that all the way across the room. The fedora set at just the slightest angle, broad shoulders. Not so tall, maybe, but oh, he could turn a woman’s head, let me tell you. But he looked even better the next day in his racing uniform when he took me out to a local dirt track.” “So that was like your first date?”
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“In a way. He had a meeting with the car dealer who was interested in sponsoring Alfonso’s car. Rich as Croesus, the man was. I forget his name now, it was so long ago, but he loved to drive stock cars. And they were stock cars in those days. You drove them to the track and then you drove them back home, if they weren’t too banged up. He had challenged your greatgrandfather to a race.” “NASCAR’s come a long way,” Sophia agreed, watching as Juliana cut butter into a bowl of flour to make pastry for her apple tart. NASCAR was big business now and sometimes Juliana missed the old seat-of-your-pants days. The TV set in front of Milo’s chair was tuned to the Speed Channel, the sound of the announcers’ voices as familiar as old friends as she listened a moment to see if they had wakened her husband with their talk. “When Milo was in the sport, you worked a job during the day, worked on your cars at night and raced on the weekends. ‘Sunday money,’ they called it back then. But by the time we met, the sport was changing, and to tell you the truth, I didn’t know diddly about it.” Sophia giggled. “That’s what I can’t believe, Nana. You’re a walking encyclopedia of NASCAR…trivia…” Juliana rolled her eyes. “You were going to say gossip, weren’t you?” “I was not. I just didn’t want to say history. It makes you sound too old.” Juliana snorted with laughter. “I am old,” she said. “And Milo was there at the beginning. He raced on the beach at Daytona. He was there when the sport was born. Why, the stories he can tell of back in the day—” “You know I love to hear them,” Sophia interrupted with a smile. “But today…today it’s your story—yours and Granddad’s—that I want to hear. When they raced the next day, did Granddad win?” “Not as I recall….”
Chapter Four Volunteer Raceway, Nashville, Tennessee, 1962 Milo had won the first of the three ten-lap heats they’d agreed on. Cal Vincent had won the second. The third go-round they’d stayed neck and neck until the final lap, even though Milo was driving a car he’d never laid eyes on until he climbed into it, with an engine that hadn’t been maintained to the standards he set for his own cars. In the end, he lost by a car length, though not entirely because of his ride’s shortcoming. Hell, you didn’t do yourself any favors by beating out the moneyman you were trying to get to sponsor you to the tune of a hundred thousand dollars. But damn, racing was in his blood. And racing didn’t mean coming in second; it meant winning—or coming in first loser for a good cause. He grinned and stuck his hand out to Cal. “Hell of a race,” he said. “Damned right it was. You got the stuff, Grosso. Why don’t I sponsor a car for you, too?”
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Milo was tempted. It had stuck in his craw for five years that he’d lost a chance at the title because Connor Murphy had cheated to win at Daytona. Milo had retired after that because his wife had needed him, and after her death he’d stayed retired. But Lord, it was good to be back on the track. But the world didn’t go backward. It always went forward. Alfonso was the future. Milo was the past. A broken-down, forty-four-year-old grandfather. He needed to remember that. And he did—for about thirty seconds, until he spotted the girl in the second row of the rickety wooden stands. She wasn’t looking his way. She was busy brushing dust and cinders off the skirt of her dress. It was blue again today, slim and nipped in at the waist with a square neckline and a little round jacket in a darker blue that came just above her waist and clung to her curves with every move she made. Cal Vincent whistled. “Who the blazes is that sweetheart? I’ve never seen her around the track before.” “She’s with me,” Milo said, appalled to hear the words come out almost in a growl. Cal held up one hand, a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I get the picture. Can’t fault a guy for looking, though, can you? She’s something else. A first-class looker, all right.” “She’s young enough to be my daughter.” He said it as much to remind himself as to inform Cal. “She’s never been to a race. That’s why I brought her along.” Cal looked at Juliana. She was untying a chiffon scarf the same shade of blue as her dress from around her dark, upswept hair. Then he glanced at Milo, who didn’t wipe the frown from his face quickly enough. “Yeah, just being a pal to her. Want to introduce me?” Milo didn’t but he nodded. “Sure.” They headed toward Juliana, both of them watching as she picked her way down the steps between the rows of seats and walked toward them. She was wearing high heels but she never looked down despite the uneven ground, she just kept coming toward them, a smile on her face. A real smile, genuine and generous and even more devastating to his nervous system than the practiced greeting she’d bestowed on him in the lounge the night before. She stopped in front of the two men and Milo introduced them. “Juliana Chantel. Cal Vincent.” “Ma’am,” Cal said, holding out his hand. “Pleased to meet you,” she said, her Tennessee accent sliding across Milo’s skin like honey. “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Cal asked as they began to walk back to Milo’s car. Juliana’s chin came up, just a fraction of an inch. He doubted Cal even noticed, but Milo did. “I sing at the Nashville Inn’s lounge, maybe you’ve heard me there?” Cal slid Milo a sideways glance that made him itch to swing around and challenge the other man. Okay, Juliana sang in a second-rate hotel lounge. She hustled a few drinks for the management. That’s all she did. Did Cal want to make an issue of it? Money or no money, he wasn’t going to let her be insulted that way. “Can’t say as I’ve ever been there,” Cal said to her. “Then maybe you’ve seen me in church,” she said, still spreading honey. “I sing in the choir at First Baptist on Melrose Street every Sunday.” Milo relaxed slightly. She hadn’t even batted an eyelash at the implied insult. Maybe he’d underestimated her ability to take care of herself. “I… I’m a Presbyterian myself,” Cal said, but this time he smiled back at her without an underlying sneer. “Well, I’ve got to be getting along home. My wife lets me race in the morning but I have to play golf with her
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on Saturday afternoons no matter how tired and banged-up I am.” He took Juliana’s hand again and said with genuine warmth, “A pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” “Likewise.” “Grosso, meet me in my office Monday morning and we’ll sign the papers for this deal of ours.” Milo took his hand and gave it a shake. “I’ll be there, Cal. And thanks from both of us.” “You and Juliana?” Cal Vincent asked, raising one eyebrow. “Me and my son,” Milo corrected, but he smiled, too. “Alfonso’s a born winner. He’ll give you your money’s worth every race, I promise you.” “If he drives as good as his daddy, I’ll be satisfied,” the car dealer replied. Milo watched Cal Vincent walk away. “Congratulations,” Juliana said as he moved out of earshot. “You got what you came for.” He grinned over at her. “I did,” he said. “I’m happy for you.” “I did it for my boy.” “Family means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” “He’s all I have since his mother died. What about you? Is your family from around here?” “About fifty miles away. Up in the hills. I don’t see them much,” she said as he switched the borrowed helmet to his left arm and put his hand beneath her elbow. Her tone told him she didn’t want to talk about her family. “How did you like your first stock-car race?” he asked as they walked. “Loud,” she said, her heels clicking on the concrete pathway leading to the exit. Her skirt was tight, but slit up the back so that she could take fairly normal steps even in the spiked heels she was wearing. He laughed. “This was only a heat race. Wait until you see us run at Daytona or Rockingham. Forty-five, fifty cars some Sundays.” She smiled over at him as they walked. She wasn’t a tall woman, but in the high heels she could look him straight in the eye and did. “I’d like to see a Sunday race. Maybe I’ll have a chance someday.” He looked back at her and grinned. “Maybe you will.”
Chapter Five “Is that the only time you saw Granddad race?” Sophia asked as Juliana carried the finished tart to the double oven that was set into the wall next to the six-burner stove. Juliana remembered the old broken-down gas range of her childhood and marveled, as she still always did, at how far a farm girl from the hills of eastern Tennessee had come up in the world. “No,” she said, feeling a pang of old sorrow. “He finished the last five races of the season after Alfonso and Gina were killed. But never again after that.”
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“I’m sorry, Nana. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” “Nonsense, I’m just a little tired. I could use a break. How about a cup of tea?” “Got any cookies to go with it?” Five minutes later they were sitting side by side at the big scrubbed pine table, a plate of snickerdoodles between them and two cups of Earl Grey tea steeping in front of them. “After you watched Granddad race, did he take you out to dinner? Did you go parking under the stars?” Sophia asked, breaking off a piece of the cinnamon-dusted cookie and popping it in her mouth. “No, we went back to the hotel and I got ready for my Saturday-night show. It was always crowded on Saturday nights—I had quite a following in those days.” “But when you were finished singing he whisked you off just like the night before, right?” Juliana nodded, letting her thoughts drift back to that long-ago place and time. “He did. And this time we didn’t just sit around the pool. It was raining that night. He drove us out into the country and parked on the side of a farmer’s lane and we watched a thunderstorm sweep down over the little valley below. The radio was playing golden oldies. I mean real golden oldies. World War Two big band music, Glenn Miller and The Dorsey Brothers.” “I like that kind of music, too,” Sophia said, her eyes sparkling. “My friends and I went swing dancing every night we could spare from studying for our nursing degrees.” She gave a little sigh. “Justin hates to dance.” “That’s too bad,” Juliana sympathized. “Milo was a great dancer. Most of the men of his generation were.” Sophia leaned closer, lowering her voice a little, although they were all the way across the big room from Milo’s recliner. “I picked a Glenn Miller song for you and Granddad to dance to at the wedding reception. Moonlight Serenade. It’s my favorite. Do you think he’ll like it?” Juliana patted her hand, blinking hard to keep her emotions in check. “He’ll love it.” Sophia smiled, pleased with the response. “Did he kiss you that night? Sitting in a parked car, rain pouring down, thunder and lightning overhead. It’s the perfect setting for a first kiss.” “It was the perfect setting. But those were also different times. Free love and all those hippie kind of ideas hadn’t gotten as far as Nashville in those days. At least for people like Milo, who was raised a Southern gentleman.” “So you kissed him first,” Sophia said with a giggle, waggling the last bite of her cookie in Juliana’s direction. “I did no such thing,” Juliana replied, breaking off a piece of her cookie. “Well, I did let him think the thunderstorm made me a lot more nervous than it really did so I could snuggle up closer and he had to put his arm around me and I could lay my head on his shoulder.”
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“And then…” Sophia coaxed, her eyes shining. “And then I didn’t have to give him any more hints,” Juliana said. She didn’t have any trouble remembering that first kiss even after almost fifty years. Sophia’s cell phone rang just then and she made a little face as she fished it out of the pocket of her jeans. “It’s the florist,” she apologized. “I’d better take it.” Juliana nodded and raised her teacup, letting the past come swirling back… Nashville, Tennessee, 1962 She’d changed out of her evening dress, a red sequined number that required a corset—as rigid as anything Scarlett O’Hara had ever worn—to reduce her waist the three inches it took to get the zipper fastened. It was a wonder she could even draw enough breath to sing, but the men in the audience loved it. And she had seen admiration in Milo’s eyes, as well, as she sashayed off the stage to where he was sitting at the bar. She was breathless then, too—not from the constricting garment but from the thrill of seeing him again…. “You sang beautifully tonight,” he said. He was wearing a white shirt and tie but no jacket. He offered her a cigarette but she refused. She was trying to quit, and once she started it was hard to stop with just one. “Thank you.” “Would you like to change into something more comfortable and go for a drive? Get out of this noise and smoke?” Someone had cranked up the jukebox in the corner, and the lounge was quickly reverting to its roadhouse roots. She gave the bartender a sideways glance. “I probably shouldn’t leave. I have a week on my contract here and I don’t want a lot of hassle with the management.” She hadn’t told him she intended to leave Nashville and head west toward Las Vegas and her dreams. Why should she? She hadn’t even told him her real name yet. “I’ll take care of the management,” he said. “You go change.” Half an hour later they were parked on the narrow country road, cocooned in the front seat of his car, watching the play of lightning across the valley as the spring thunderstorm moved toward them. Moonlight Serenade was playing on the radio, the patter of raindrops drumming on the roof. The car was filled with warmth and her heart beat quick and fast with desire. Milo put his arm around her. “There’s something I want to tell you,” she said, surprising herself. She’d just decided that moment—she was going to tell him her name. “I’m listening.” “My name isn’t Juliana Chantel. It’s Juliana Parker.” She’d never done that. Never told any of the men she chatted-up her real name. She didn’t want any of them finding out where she lived, coming around during the day or calling her on the pay phone in the hallway of her
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boardinghouse. But Milo was different. Somehow it seemed important that he know who she really was. “Pleased to meet you, Juliana Parker.” She thought she caught the quick glint of a smile in the glow of the dashboard lights before it was replaced by a frown. “I’m still Milo Grosso. No stage names for an old, broken-down FBI agent.” “Stop calling yourself old.” She took a deep breath and turned her cheek into his shoulder, snuggling closer. She didn’t like him putting himself down that way. He was a fine man. She didn’t have to know him longer than twenty-four hours to have figured that out. He reached down and lifted her chin with his finger. “I’m old enough to be your father.” “No, you’re not,” she replied, bringing her knee up onto the seat so that she could raise herself enough to reach his mouth with hers. “And I wouldn’t care if you were. Kiss me, please.” And he did.
Chapter Six The women had moved across the room where they thought Milo couldn’t hear them. Well, heck, he couldn’t. Not even with the damned hearing aids Juliana had bullied him into wearing. But Milo didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know they were still talking about when he and Juliana had first met. He wiggled his hips a little deeper into the chair. He loved this old recliner. He wouldn’t let Juliana get rid of it no matter how much she fussed about its ratty appearance. Sometimes he thought about being buried in it, or at least laid out at the funeral home in it, but he never said that aloud. Juliana wouldn’t like it. He had felt as if he could live to be one hundred that night they had first kissed in the steamy confines of his car, a 1960 Chevy Impala sports coupe. Dark blue—the same color as Juliana’s eyes, he’d teased her later. Whitewall tires, chrome trim, sleek tail fins laid flat like the ears of a race horse running full-out. Fast? Lord, was she fast. A V-8 engine that he could have driven right onto the track at Daytona and raced with the best of them. But he never did. Not that car. No way would he have risked going into the wall in that car. He’d bought it for himself the same week his grandson, Dean, was born. His midlife crisis purchase, although he’d never even heard the term back then. Midlife. Hell, he’d felt as old as the hills before Juliana came into his life. Milo snorted, not even pretending to be asleep any longer. Besides, Juliana and Sophia weren’t paying any attention to him. They were too busy talking. He’d loved that car. Still had it in one of the bays of the garage on the other side of the house. He told everyone he was keeping it to start a car museum, but the real reason he’d kept it was because he had courted Juliana in it. The years had rolled away when he’d kissed her and he felt like a young man again, able to conquer the world. Young enough to fall head over heels in love in just a matter of days. And he was convinced she was falling in love with him, too, although she refused to admit any such thing.
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They had stayed in the car on the top of the hill all night and talked between kisses. He had told her more about himself this time. About the quarter horses he was raising on his farm outside Concord, about his grandson and another baby on the way. He had hoped it would get more information out of her, but it hadn’t worked. She had told him things about herself in general, not too many specifics. She’d graduated from high school and had left for the big city on the same day. She was twenty-six, she told him, and she had been on her own for ten years, working days as a waitress or a short-order cook, singing at night in small bars, sometimes with a band. Singing was what she did best, she said, but her cooking wasn’t bad, either. It had been a long, long time since he’d talked so freely with a woman, and he liked it. She liked it, too, he figured, but he couldn’t get her to say so. He didn’t push. The connection between them was there. He could feel it, but he sensed she wasn’t going to give in to it. Not this soon. So he had limited himself to a few more earthshaking kisses and then drove her back to town. He considered it a victory when she gave him the address of the boardinghouse where she lived, and slipped him a phone number on a folded sheet of paper as he walked her to the door just as the sun peeked over the edge of the world…. Nashville, Tennessee, 1962 He’d showered and shaved and managed a few hours of sleep before he picked Juliana up in front of the church where she sang in the choir. She was as fresh as a daisy in a sunny yellow two-piece suit with a matching pillbox hat like the ones Jackie Kennedy wore. Her hands were covered with white lace gloves and she carried a Bible. She looked like a different person as she came down the steps of the old stone church in a leafy Nashville neighborhood—about as far removed from the slightly disreputable hotel where she worked as you could get. The sexy, overly made-up chanteuse had been replaced by the vulnerable, innocent girl he’d glimpsed behind the glamorous facade. He got out of the car and opened the passenger door for her, mindful of the watching eyes of her fellow worshippers as they drove away. “What would you like to do? They’re racing today out at the track.” She gripped her Bible between her hands and when she spoke her voice was strained. “I can’t spend the day with you after all. I…I have to visit my parents. My mother isn’t feeling well.” “Would you like me to drive you?” he asked, partly because that’s what a gentleman would offer to do, but mostly because he didn’t want to be separated from her on his last day in town. She looked at him with alarm in her eyes. Alarm and sadness. What was going on? “That’s not necessary. I’ll take the bus. But I would appreciate a lift to the bus station.” “Where do your folks live?” “Crider’s Gap. It’s a wide spot in the road about fifty miles east of here.” “It’ll take half the day to get there on the bus. I’ll drive you.”
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“Oh, no,” she said, laying her lace-covered hand on his arm. “No. I’ll be fine on the bus.” “I won’t impose myself on your family, Juliana,” he said. “It’s not that.” A tear sparkled at the end of her lashes. She brushed it away with the tip of her gloved finger. “They…they don’t approve of my singing. My father doesn’t approve. He doesn’t believe in my dream. He thinks I’m a ‘fallen woman.’ But I don’t care what he thinks about me because it’s not true. I’m going to prove to him that I can make it as a singer. I promised myself I’m not going to go home until I do.” She sniffed back her tears. “Except I miss my mother and she’s sick.” One single tear escaped and rolled down her cheek. “I’ll take you to see your mother,” he said. “Just tell me the way.”
Chapter Seven Crider’s Gap, Tennessee, 1962 The Impala could barely negotiate the rutted lane leading up the hill to the hardscrabble farm where Juliana had been raised. Milo parked the car just outside the rail fence that enclosed the weedy front yard. A neat and productive vegetable garden enclosed in chicken wire to keep out the hens stood in stark contrast to the squalor of the rest of the yard. “My mother’s garden,” Juliana said very quietly. She still held her Bible in her hands. She was clutching it so tightly he guessed that beneath the lace her knuckles were as white as her gloves. “She looks to be a better gardener than your father is a farmer.” He stared out over the crooked rows of corn and cotton. The only acreage that appeared well cared for was a small plot of tobacco plants to the west of the dilapidated barn. A mule stood with its head down in the shade of the chicken coop, and a cow lowed piteously from inside the barn. “Pa must have forgotten to milk her again,” Juliana said. “Look, why don’t you go back into town? The gas station out by the highway’s open even though it’s the Lord’s day. You can get a sandwich and a Coke there. Come back for me in an hour or two.” “I’ll stay, unless my being here will make this visit even more difficult for you.” “It’s always difficult.” A couple had come out of the house to stand on the porch—a heavyset, grizzled man with a balding pate and a small, pale woman in a faded cotton dress and cheap white sneakers. “Juliana!” The woman started forward but the man laid a hand on her shoulder and she stopped where she was, one hand on her heart, one on the rickety porch post as though she needed to hold on to it for support. “What are you doing here, girl?” the man demanded as they got out of the car. “What are you doing setting foot on my land on the Lord’s day and bringing a strange man with you?” “Eustace,” the woman said quietly, despairingly. “Don’t shame her that way in front of the gentleman.” “Hello, Mama,” Juliana said, then added softly, “Hello, Pa.”
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“You aren’t welcome here, Juliana,” the man, who Milo realized was only eight or ten years older than himself, repeated in a stone-hard voice. “No Magdalene is welcome in this house.” “I’m no Magdalene, Pa,” Juliana said in a tone of voice that told Milo this was not the first time she had been insulted this way. “I’m a singer. And I have a chance to go to Las Vegas and be an opening act for some of the big-name singers from Hollywood at a casino there. I…I wanted to come and say goodbye. And to make sure that Mama is all right.” “Las Vegas? Sodom and Gomorrah more like it.” “No, Pa. I’m not that kind of girl.” “Then what are you doing showing up here with a man near as old as I am?” “Mr. Grosso is a friend. He offered to drive me up here so I didn’t have to spend all day on the bus, so that Mama and I would have more time to visit.” “Your mother don’t want you here no more than I do. Come in the house, Verona.” “Eustace, please, we haven’t seen Juliana for a year.” “Come inside, Verona,” he said implacably. Milo took a step closer to Juliana. He had had about all he could stand of the bullying, sanctimonious Eustace Parker. Juliana put her hand on his arm and the pain in her blue eyes was hard for him to bear. “I need to do this on my own.” She handed him her Bible and went forward to open the gate. She walked up the weedy path to the porch, mounted the steps and gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Are you okay, Mama?” she asked. “I’m fine,” the wan, unhappy woman responded, clearly lying. “It’s just heart palpitations, Doc Marbury says. I’ll be fine.” Juliana gave her another kiss and a quick hug. “You make sure Lally and the other girls help you with the garden and the chickens and such.” “They do,” she said, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder at her husband. “They’re good girls.” “I’ll write when I get to Las Vegas,” she said, holding tightly to her mother’s hands. “I’ll tell you all about it. I’ll send pictures.” The older woman’s eyes filled with tears even as she forced a smile and nodded her head. “It’s so far away, Las Vegas. You take care, you hear.” Juliana’s gaze was fixed on the tiny woman, but Milo was watching her father, and he knew beyond a doubt that even if Verona Parker was allowed to read her daughter’s letters she would never be able to reply to them. “Goodbye, Mama.”
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“Goodbye, Juliana. Be good,” she said. “Stay safe.” Her faded blue eyes met Milo’s over Juliana’s bowed head. “God bless you and keep you.” Milo gave her a short nod, understanding passing between them in some way that he couldn’t decipher. She was asking him to take care of Juliana, and he intended to do just that. “Goodbye, Pa,” she said, and Milo clenched his fist to hear the note of pleading in her voice. Eustace Parker turned on his heel and opened the sagging screen door and disappeared inside the house. Juliana watched as her mother turned to follow her husband. “Don’t give up on your dreams, Juliana. But don’t be so stubborn and set on them that you can’t recognize when your heart is urging you down another path.” “What do you mean, Mama?” “You’ll know when the time comes.” “Verona. Come inside.” Milo waited as Juliana walked back to the fence. He opened the gate for her and then the car door. He turned the car around and headed back down the lane to the highway. “I heard you say you were going to Las Vegas next week.” That had been a surprise. It didn’t give him much time. He was going to have to make his move more quickly than he’d intended. “Don’t go. Come with me to Concord, to my farm, instead. You’ll love it there.” It took both hands on the wheel to keep the big car on the road. He couldn’t reach out and touch her, not yet. “I’m not a boy, Juliana. I know my mind and my heart. I was going to take this slow, give us both a lot of time, but now your plans are forcing my hand. I’m falling in love with you, Juliana. I want you with me. Come home with me. Be my wife.” He chanced a look at her and his heart sank into his shoes. She looked straight ahead, through the windshield. “No, Milo,” she said. “Don’t tempt me that way. I’ve worked so hard, given up so much, cut myself off from my kin to follow my dream.” She opened her gloved hand. A small roll of bills lay on her palm. “Mama’s egg money,” she said. “Enough for a bus ticket. I’m going to Las Vegas. I’m going to make it on my own. I’ve made up my mind.”
Chapter Eight “Nana, you didn’t say that! You didn’t turn Granddad down when he proposed? I don’t believe it.” Sophia looked aghast as she took the teacups and saucers from the table to the sink. “Your father was an awful man. But to up and leave Granddad to go to Vegas? I mean, I thought you said you fell head over heels in love with him the first time you saw him.” Milo chuckled to himself. She hadn’t admitted that for a long time afterward, but he’d known it, deep in his heart. Still, nothing in his life had ever been harder to do than checking out of that hotel the next morning and heading back to Concord without her.
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“I couldn’t accept that at first,” Juliana admitted. “It was the longest week of my life. I don’t remember sleeping a wink. All I could think about was what my mother had said to me before she went into the house. ‘Don’t let your dream blind you to other possibilities.’” She laughed a little shakily. “I had been so focused on my goal, so determined to show my father I was right and he was wrong. Well, Mama was the one who was right. I had blinders on when it came to anything else.” “To love,” Sophia whispered. Milo turned his head so he could see their reflections in the mirror above the fireplace. Sophia had her hand on Juliana’s, their heads close together. Juliana wasn’t the girl he’d married all those years ago, but she was a fine figure of a woman. She still wore her hair in that twist on the back of her head. It suited her. He was glad she’d never changed it. And her jewelry—always the bracelets and earrings and necklaces. She never saw a ring she didn’t like, and he’d never had to worry about what to give her for Christmas or her birthday or their anniversary. He was a lucky man indeed. “I listened to my heart all that week,” Milo heard Juliana say softly. “I sang each evening, putting everything I had into each performance, but something inside me had changed.” She tapped her chest. “My heart wasn’t in it. My heart was somewhere else. A place I’d never seen but yearned to visit.” “Your heart was already here. At the farm.” “It will stay here after I die, I think,” she said, looking around her at the kitchen that was the center of their home. “But then I was determined to buy a ticket to Las Vegas. I’d packed my things and gone to the bus station. My dream was within reach at last, but it seemed so much smaller then than it had just a week before.” “It wasn’t a small dream, Nana. But finding Granddad—finding the man you wanted to spend your life with—that was so much bigger, so much more important.” “Indeed it was. Once I let myself believe in it. I stepped up to the ticket window at the bus station and took Mama’s egg money out of my purse. I took a deep breath, ready to take my first step into my new life. I mean, why else would she have given me her egg money? I laid it on the counter, opened my mouth and heard myself ask for a ticket to Concord, North Carolina, instead of Las Vegas.” Sophia clapped her hands. “That’s so romantic,” she said delightedly. “Just like in a movie.” “It was,” she said, “but it was still the longest, scariest bus ride of my life. What if I’d been wrong? What if he’d changed his mind?” Juliana rose from her chair and went to look out the window, seeing it as it had been half a century before, the trees smaller, her garden just a weedy patch beside the back door, the gazebo down by the creek a project for the dark days after Alfonso’s and Gina’s deaths. “It took every ounce of courage I had to walk up the lane— the bus driver took pity on me and he left me off here and not in town.” “And then,” Sophia prompted.
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“I saw your grandfather standing there, at the fence by the far pasture. I couldn’t take another step. I just stood there. He saw me and walked over to where I stood, held out his hand and said, ‘Hello, Juliana, my love. I’ve been waiting for you.’” Milo heard the little telltale catch in her voice that always signaled to him that her emotions were in overdrive. He released the handle on his recliner and made a show of waking from his nap. That week had felt like a century to him, too, but he’d known she would come in the end. He had known. “Milo, are you awake?” Juliana called across the room. “I wasn’t sleeping, just resting my eyes,” he said, smiling as she snorted in disbelief. He stood up and walked a little stiffly to where she was standing by the deep double sink where they had washed and dried dishes so many evenings while they looked out across the pastures behind the house. “Something smells good.” “Apple tart for dinner tonight,” Juliana said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “Everyone’s coming, I hope.” That’s what she loved most—to be surrounded by family at her kitchen table. “They’ll be here with bells on,” Sophia pronounced. “Excuse me a minute, will you? I have to call Justin. I have a bunch of things I need him to do. If I can spend my day off running wedding errands, so can he.” She gave Milo a quick peck on the cheek and moved over to the window, her cell phone already pressed against her ear. “Did we wake you with our chatter?” his wife asked, looping her arm through his. “Nah. What were you two talking about?” he asked, wondering if she would tell him. “Oh, just wedding talk,” she said, patting his arm as she moved to the oven to peer in at the tart. “Mmm, coming along nicely,” she murmured. “Just wedding talk?” he asked, arching a brow. She had never been good at keeping things from him. “Some memories I wanted to share.” “We have had a good life together, Juliana,” he said, looking deep into her still, blue eyes. “Yes,” she said, “very good. I love you, Milo.” “And I you, my dearest.” He laid his cheek against hers for a moment then repeated the words he’d spoken to her on that spring morning almost fifty years ago when she had appeared at the end of the driveway with her battered suitcase in hand, her hat a little crooked and her eyes apprehensive, yet filled with hope and love. “If you agree to spend the rest of your life with me, Juliana, I promise I will live to be a hundred.”
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The Wolfe and Three Little Griggs by Tanya Michaels Risa Alexander has no illusions about love—she's watched women close to her follow their hearts to disaster, and, hey, it's not as if men are all that drawn to Risa anyway. Her own father didn't want her, and her step-father merely tolerated her as a responsibility. Risa is basing her current engagement to a successful lawyer on pragmatism and a shared desire for family, not sentiment. Then she meets new neighbor Jack Wolfe. Risa tells herself the smart thing to do would be to avoid the man with the heartstopping grin and his own emotional baggage, but agreeing to keep her best friend's three boisterous children for a week leaves Risa needing all the help she can get. When Jack reluctantly rides to her rescue, can two guarded hearts find their own fairy tale ending?
Chapter One Risa Alexander opened her mouth, but no sound emerged. She was happy—of course she was happy—just surprised. While she and Phillip had discussed their future before, it had always seemed in the abstract. She hadn't expected him to pop the question, here, at this restaurant, tonight. Come to think of it though, it had been more like one of his winning closing arguments than an actual question: You and I are wonderful together, darling. The timing is right. My career, my supporters. I just need that smiling wife beside me. I need you. Let's make it official and set a date. Now, the handsome lawyer with political aspirations peered at her from across the candle-lit table, waiting, his perfectly groomed blond eyebrows raised over aquamarine eyes. "Clarise?" Odd how even the doorman at her building called her by the nickname Risa, but Phillip clung to her formal, full name. Or maybe not so odd. He was the Judge's protégé, after all. It still shocked her sometimes that golden, confident Phillip had sought her out in the crowd at her step-father's Christmas party. "Wasn't there something you wanted to say?" He prompted with a gently teasing grin. "Yes, definitely." Just as soon as she could form coherent thoughts again. "Wonderful! Waiter, some champagne, please?" Wait, she thought, you misunderstood what I was agreeing to! But it would be silly to object. She did plan to marry Phillip Donavan, after all. He was exactly the kind of man she wanted, the kind any smart, pragmatic woman would want. If part of Risa noticed that Phillip didn't make her pulse race, so what? Life-altering decisions should be based on more than cardiac irregularities. He was a bright man with integrity, who shared many of her interests. They'd invested almost six months in each other, and he'd commented more than once that when he ran for senate, he hoped she'd be at his side. They were well-suited and enjoyed quiet, traditional hobbies such as chess and antiquing.
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She'd never dared to be anything but "traditional." When her mother had died, leaving her in the custody of an autocratic step-father who hadn't previously wanted children, Risa had been terrified of incurring his disapproval and being sent away. To the Judge's credit, he'd provided well for her, buying her a good college education and co-signing a business loan to start the job-training-and-placement agency Risa owned in downtown Atlanta. I'll have a family of my own now, a real family. She knew Phillip wanted children, and that he'd be a wonderful provider. Her children would never know the poverty she had in early years, nor would they have to worry that they were unwelcome. Happily anticipating the life she and Phillip would build, Risa clinked her champagne glass to his. This was the right decision, a logical decision.
As the elevator rose from the parking garage, Risa swallowed nervously. Now that they were betrothed, would Phillip want to come in and...consummate their relationship? They'd exchanged their fair share of kisses, of course, but they'd never made love. She'd planned to cap off her evening with a facial, a pre-slumber glass of wine and an I Love Lucy re-run, but maybe tonight called for something more passionate. "Did you, er, want to come in?" Regret softened his gaze. "I wish I could, darling. But I'm headed back to work for a few hours, to prep for that big case. I hope you're not disappointed?" "No, you go make the world a better place." Should she be more disappointed? Surely, given the choice, she should prefer her fiancé over the Vitameatavegamin episode. Then again, her mother, Maggie, had followed her romantic instincts, with mixed results. And Risa's best friend, Janine Griggs, had been swept off her feet by a handsome charmer. Now Janine was the single mother of three and sole owner of the gambling debts she'd inherited when her late husband crashed his car fleeing the law. A shrill ding startled Risa, and the elevator doors opened into an elegant marbled lobby. A ladder walked toward them—or at least a man carrying a ladder. Apparently misjudging the angle, he almost knocked Phillip over. Phillip scowled at the resulting smudge on his jacket. "Sorry," the man said as he swerved inside. Dark-haired, with a face rougher than Phillip's patrician features, the stranger wore a paint-smeared T-shirt and jeans with a threadbare patch on his right thigh, just below the pocket. He also carried a battered toolbox. Phillip sniffed, but that could've been his allergies. The Atlanta pollen count in May was harsh. "I don't mean to be rude, sir," he began. "But you should really use the service entrance. I know the superintendent here, and he's a real stickler for rules."
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The newcomer smirked. Maybe he hadn't cared for the benevolent condescension in Phillip's tone. "I take it you're the elevator police?" Normally surrounded by people who accommodated him, Phillip dropped his amiable, if patronizing, smile. "With an attitude like that, I've half a mind to talk to the superintendent myself." Risa flinched, never a fan of confrontation. "Which floor?" she asked quickly. The stranger did a double-take, as if he'd just noticed her presence for the first time. Great. Like she needed the reminder she was practically invisible to men. "Seven." "Oh." Her floor. Phillip slid a possessive arm around her waist, and the three of them rode in silence. Well, silence and some Mozart piped in through the speakers. Staring straight ahead, Risa considered her appearance in the mirrored paneling. No one would ever confuse her for a stunner, but she and Phillip made a handsome couple. She resented her light brown hair's tendency to frizz, and kept it twisted back to minimize the damage done by the southern humidity. Her face was a little long, and her height made her feel lanky, but Phillip was six-three and liked tall women. When the elevator doors stepped forward, Phillip drew himself up to his full, commanding height and eyed the stranger. "As long as you're here, you should look at her balcony door. It's sticking." "Well, I could. But you might want to ask one of the building's maintenance men to do it." Phillip nearly tripped as they all stepped into the hallway. "You don't work here?" "No." The corner of the other man's mouth lifted. "I live here. 7-G. Been slowly moving in over the last couple of days, and I got the super's permission to make a few modifications to my apartment. I didn't find him to be too much of a stickler." 7-G? Risa's heart sank. She lived in 7-H and would have preferred a less awkward introduction to her new neighbor. He stopped at the apartment next to hers and dug a key out of the back pocket of his worn jeans. As he opened the door, he glanced over his shoulder, and their gazes locked. His eyes were like steel, tinged with the palest sky blue. Heat curled in her abdomen and slowly rose to her face. Because you're embarrassed. It had nothing to do with that half-grin of his or how he looked in form-hugging denim.
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Clothed in a ratty sleep-shirt that said Girls Rule, Risa paced the red and black tile of her kitchen. Telling herself it was natural to feel keyed up after receiving her first marriage proposal, she dropped into one of the high-backed chairs at her black lacquered table. It was almost ten, still a bit early for I Love Lucy. Should she call the Judge, tell him she was officially engaged? Her relationship with the man had improved drastically since she'd started dating Phillip. Though the Judge rarely remarked on her personal life, for the first time in her twenty-six years, she rather thought he was proud of her. But she doubted he'd be home from his weekly poker game yet. Janine! Duh. Risa leaned the chair back on its two hind legs to grab the red phone off the wall, then punched in the number. "'Lo?" Janine's breathless voice sounded typically harried. "It's me. Bad time?" "For you, never. Wait a sec—no, Jason, we can't get a cat just because Mikey Baxter has one. Your sister's allergic, sweetie...no, we cannot give Natalie away!" "Would you like to call me back after they're all in bed?" "They're supposed to be in bed now, but Jace wanted a drink of water, so of course Natalie suddenly realized she was parched, too. Then Jason remembered Mikey's cat gets to sleep at the foot of Mikey's bed, and you know how that goes. Just let me restore order." Waiting, Risa marveled at the hand life had dealt Janine. Jason was six, Natalie was five, and Janine had learned she was pregnant with her third, baby Grace, only weeks after her husband had crashed into an embankment on his way to Hartsfield Airport. They'd later learned he'd been fleeing the country after embezzling almost a hundred thousand dollars. Janine sometimes seemed to look up to Risa, grateful for the receptionist's job Risa had offered at her agency. The truth was, Risa looked up to Janine, admired her strength. Rustling came over the phone line. "Okay. Everyone's in their respective beds for the time being. What were we talking about?" "We were still in the hello, how are you stage." Janine made a dismissive sound. "I have three kids and no time to waste on small talk. Let's skip straight to good gossip." "You think you're making a joke, but I actually have news tonight." "Thank God, I can live vicariously! I tell you what, Rees, I'm twenty-nine and feel more like ninety-two some days. You know I love the kids..." "But it's hard being a single mom." Risa still remembered the lean years before Maggie had found a job overseeing the Judge's household.
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"Sorry." Janine laughed nervously. "Didn't mean to be a downer. What were you going to tell me?" For a minute, Risa felt guilty. It wasn't fair that she had someone while Janine shouldered her burdens alone. Risa made a mental promise to do more for her friend. "I'm getting married!" Dead silence. Crickets chirping. "To senator Phil?" "Of course." "Erk." Risa generously took it as congratulations. "You'll be my maid of honor, right?" "A night where I get to be around other adults? You bet. I just..." "What?" "Tell me about the proposal," Janine dodged. "He took me to that ritzy new Italian place downtown. We had a candle-lit, six course meal," Risa recounted, playing up the romantic ambience for her vicarious friend. "And then—" "He had the waiter bring out the ring with dessert?" "No." Risa twisted the phone cord around her hand. "He said we should pick out a ring together, so I could find something I loved." "Considerate. Did he get down on one knee?" Janine asked, belatedly getting into the spirit. "How did he phrase the proposal? Did you celebrate with champagne?" "Um...we did have champagne, actually. It was nice." "Nice? Good to know you're deliriously happy." "I'm happy, just overwhelmed." "That's because you're such a planner," Janine said. "You're probably already organizing the wedding in your mind. Then again, maybe if I were anal retentive like you, my life would have turned out differently. You know I meant anal retentive in a good way, right?" "I know." The truth was, she could already picture the wedding—a grand but not ostentatious affair with lots of influential guests. She could envision everything but herself. "If you're happy, so am I," Janine added loyally. "If I've been lukewarm about Phillip in the past, it's probably just because I adore you so much no mere mortal would
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seem good enough for you! But tomorrow, lunch is on me. We can talk about what kind of hideous bridesmaid dress you're going to subject me to." "It will have to be hideous, you know, or everyone will be too focused on the gorgeous blonde to notice the bride lurching around." "You're such a liar, but go on." They exchanged laughing banter for a few more minutes, but when Risa hung up the phone, she still didn't feel relaxed. Time for a glass of chardonnay and an apricot facial. Passing through her room to the master bath, she studied her furnishings with a new eye. Her four-poster, iron-scrollwork queen-sized bed—would it be relegated to a guest room once she and Phillip were married? She couldn't picture him sleeping under the pale pink duvet. Next to the bed was a cheap, two-drawer nightstand she'd bought herself in college; she'd stripped it and impulsively painted it in funky colors. Periwinkle for the top, yellow for the stand itself, purple for the drawers. Phillip would find it appalling. She'd been to his house many times and knew his fondness for stately antiques. Sipping her wine, she told herself she was being overly sentimental. It was an ugly nine dollar nightstand, for crying out loud, so who cared if she got rid of it? She went into the bathroom, the linoleum floor cool against her bare feet, and pulled her hair back with a scrunchy. The mask needed time to dry, and Lucy wouldn't start for another few minutes. Besides, Risa could do with some fresh air. Her balcony was located right off of her living room and afforded a nice view of the Atlanta skyline. She slid open the glass door and stepped out into the dark humidity, reflexively sliding the door shut behind her, dimly noting the way the frame jangled as the handle latched. The spring night was a velvet mist against her skin. Softness clung to her arms and legs, which were exposed by the short-sleeved nightshirt that fell to the tops of her thighs. She took a deep breath and leaned against the railing. Too bad she couldn't see any stars. With the illumination and haze from the city, the sky was a blurred violet, disturbed only by the occasional blinking red lights from passing planes. She contemplated the view and let her mind roam, draining the last of the wine. Finally, lassitude began to seep through her tense muscles. When she turned to go inside, however, she frowned at the realization that, in her preoccupation, she'd closed the door all the way even though she hadn't intended to latch it. Habit. Even as an adult, she could hear the Judge scolding that he wasn't paying to air condition the backyard. Phillip had been right earlier—the door was prone to sticking, but no matter. She tugged stubbornly at the handle, adding "elbow-grease," as her stepfather would say. As she tried repeatedly, without results, the muggy air around her became oppressive rather than welcoming as it had first seemed. During one particularly fierce attempt, she heard a grating, metal-against-metal sound. Glancing through the pane of glass, she could see that the runners were out of alignment. The door was not going to slide. Now what? Shinnying down the building was not an option from the seventh floor.
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Frustrated, she yanked one last time, but that only seemed to anger the door. The squealing, grating sound grew more pronounced, without so much as a budge. Okay. She was in the business of giving people options—what were hers? As she glanced around, it became apparent that she only had one. 7-G. Her neighbor's balcony was mere inches from hers. She could make it over there and knock on his door. Her front door was locked, but the super could bring her a key. There was more danger of her humiliating herself to death than falling. Biting her lip, Risa cursed the greed that had led her to rent a corner apartment. Sure, it was more spacious, but if she hadn't been on the corner, there would be someone with a balcony to her right, an alternative to seeing him again. In her tattered blue pajama shirt and facial mask! She was supposed to be safely inside watching a sitcom about a woman's misadventures—not having her own.
Chapter Two One of the advantages of being a bachelor again, Jack Wolfe told himself, was that he could drink orange juice straight out of the carton if he felt like it. He did so, grimaced at the cardboard taste, and reflected that there was a reason people used glasses. Turning away from the fridge to grab a clean tumbler from the dishwasher, he jumped at the sight that greeted him. Someone was climbing onto his balcony! The carton slipped from his hand, and orange juice pooled at his feet. He'd yet to buy curtains for the glass sliding door that ran alongside his kitchen and living room, so he had an unimpeded view of the woman hoisting herself over the rail. The most logical reason he could think of for someone climbing onto his balcony in the dead of night was burglary, but his visitor looked less than felonious wearing a baggy blue shirt and yellow bikini panties. He hadn't really meant to notice that last detail, but, hey, she was the one climbing onto his balcony. It was his neighbor, if he wasn't mistaken. The one he'd met tonight in the elevator. Curious, and wanting to make sure she didn't fall and hurt herself, he hurried toward his door. As he opened it, the woman started, flailing a little and grabbing onto the ledge she'd just climbed over. "You almost gave me a heart attack!" She looked down with wide eyes, as though contemplating a seven story freefall. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." He frowned. How had he ended up the one apologizing when she was the trespasser here? "You know, if you wanted to borrow a cup of sugar or something, you could've knocked on the front door." She turned toward him then, and he noticed the orange, gritty goop covering her perfectly oval face for the first time. Until now, he'd been distracted by the novelty of a woman appearing on his balcony. And the lusciously long legs that ran from her high-arched bare feet to those yellow panties he'd glimpsed. "You're the lady from next door, right? We met earlier?"
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"Right. We didn't formally meet, but I'm Clarise. I mean, Risa. I mean, my name is Clarise, but I modified it to Risa in high school when Silence of the Lambs came out, to stem the tide of bad jokes about Chianti and fava beans and now I'm babbling." She took a deep breath and extended her hand politely. "Risa Alexander. And you are?" "Confused." It was ten-thirty, and he was standing on his balcony with a woman in her pajamas discussing fava beans. "But you can call me Jack Wolfe." He shook her hand then, her skin soft in his grasp. The scent of apricots and something sweetly floral — honeysuckle? — made him smile. The fellow computer geeks at work would never believe this story. "Mr. Wolfe, I'm afraid I'm locked out of my apartment." Risa drew back, tugging selfconsciously at the hem of her shirt as she spoke. She needn't have bothered — one, she was modestly covered down to mid-thigh; two, no matter how much she was covered, the sight of those legs and bright lacy panties were indelibly printed on his mind. "Come on in," he offered. "I assume you want to go through my apartment and back to your front door?" "Actually, I need to use your phone, if you don't mind. My front door's locked, so I'll need someone with a set of keys." She might have been blushing, but it was hard to tell underneath the pale orange goop. Jack stood aside as she entered his apartment, trying to keep his eyes from doing a once-over of her body as she passed. "Phone's above the sink." She made a beeline across the kitchen tile, then stopped short. "If I could, um, ask just one more favor." "Fire away." He could feel the corner of his mouth lifting in a grin, but tried to stifle it so she wouldn't think he was laughing at her plight. He couldn't remember a woman making him want to smile this much since the divorce. "Do you happen to have the superintendent's phone number?" He nodded, crossing the living room that was still littered with unpacked boxes. "Hang on a sec." In the spare bedroom he'd made his office, there was a desk piled with paperwork and his computer. Once she had the number, Risa dialed, muttering repeated thank-yous. "Hi, Harry. I know it's late to be calling, but this is Risa Alexander in 7-H, and I'm having a bit of an emergency. You know how I put in a request to have someone look at that sliding glass door that sticks? Well, it's definitely stuck. I was out on my balcony, and now I can't get back in because my front door — no, I'm next door now, Mr. Wolfe's apartment. Yes, please. That would be lovely, Harry." She hung up with a relieved sigh. "He's on his way."
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"Can I get you something in the meantime? Something to drink, maybe?" Not orange juice, though, since the entire container had spilled across the floor. Hm. . .stained kitchen floor and a living room cluttered with cardboard, nice first impression to make on a woman. She hadn't seemed to notice the puddle yet, and he told himself it was irrelevant if she did. She was the reason he'd dropped the carton. Nonetheless, he took a small shuffle-step to his left, standing between her and the worst of the mess. "No drink, thanks, but could I borrow a washcloth?" She gestured toward her face. "I'd like to wash this off before anyone else sees. I'm embarrassed enough as is." "If it helps, I have a couple of sisters and an ex-wife. I've seen plenty of beauty treatments in my time." He led her to the guest bathroom, glad it was reasonably clean; he hadn't lived there long enough for anything to get grungy. "Washcloths are in the closet next to the tub." She shot him a grateful smile. He wandered back to his living room so she could commence scrubbing in privacy, then plopped down on the nondescript beige couch he'd bought after Amy asked for their complete living room set in the divorce. Moments later, Risa re-appeared, and Jack forgot all about his ex-wife. Along with washing her face, Risa had loosened her hair from its ponytail, and the caramel waves spilled down over her shoulders, streaked with honey and chestnut and copper. She wore her hair without bangs, so that it fell from a center part to frame her face — the slim nose, high cheekbones, and almond-shaped hazel eyes that were as colorful as her hair. A melting of green and gold and amber. Quit staring! It was as bad as it had been on the elevator. He'd actually done a double-take when he'd first seen her. Tall and blessed with regal, unique features, Risa Alexander was striking. "Um, make yourself at home," he offered. She leaned against the Barca-lounger, but didn't sit. "Mr. Wolfe, about earlier..." Her tone was hesitant, apologetic. "In the elevator." "Call me Jack, please, and you don't have to apologize for your date. Those sisters I mentioned have both dated their share of clods." "What? I'll have you know, I'm engaged to the clod!" She clapped her hand over her mouth, then tried again. "That didn't come out right. Phillip and I are getting married." Those yellow panties picked an inopportune time to flitter through his mind. "I'm sorry to hear that." "Sorry?" Risa squared her shoulders. "Maybe you and Phillip didn't make the best first impressions on each other, but he's wonderful. A renowned attorney making the country safer for all of us. Handsome, ambitious, financially solvent, does volunteer work with children—"
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"Relax." He held up his hands. "You don't have to convince me, you're the one marrying him." "Yes." A silence that was about as comfortable as wet wool thudded over the room. What the hell was taking the super so long? All he had to do was grab a key and take the elevator. Of course, there was a chance he'd been asleep when Risa called, so maybe he needed to get dressed and things, but still. She finally sat down, pulling the hem of her night shirt tightly over her thighs, trying to make the fabric stretch to her knees. Jack didn't have the heart to mention that her machinations merely flattened the thin cotton taut against her small but firm braless breasts. His gaze lingered across the faded white proclamation "Girls Rule." No argument from him. "Those are nice," she commented. Tell me about it. Figuring they couldn't possibly be on the same wavelength, Jack dragged his gaze back up to her face. Her sparkling hazel eyes were fixed on the two canvases hanging above the big screen television. Pride shimmered inside him. Even if she were just being polite, at least she'd taken the time to notice the paintings. "You like them?" "Very much." She stood, then crossed the room to get a closer look. He watched, unable to resist evaluating her expression as she took in his work. The first painting was a representation of morning dew on a gossamer spider web, caught by the sunlight. The other was an abstract oil painting, done in many shades of orange. He'd been thinking of a sunset when he painted it, but there was no real image to the picture, just an expression of color. "My original pieces," he confided. She glanced over her shoulder. "You're an artist?" "Not even close. I'm the IT Network specialist for The Sullivan Group. Painting's just a hobby. I give them out as presents, and it saves me from shopping at Christmas," he joked. She laughed, but whatever response she might have made was cut off by the peal of the doorbell. "That must be Harry," she said as Jack got to his feet. Sure enough, the cavalry — in the form of a burly, fifty-something man with salt and pepper hair and a bushy mustache — had arrived.
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Too late, Jack thought about offering Risa the robe hanging in his bathroom, since she was obviously so uncomfortable in just the nightshirt. The view hadn't bothered him in the least, but Harry's presence made him feel oddly protective. "Thank you for everything," Risa told Jack once her apartment had been unlocked. "Any time." She laughed, and the throaty sound warmed him more than the recent spring heat wave. "If it's all the same to you, I'm going to try to never do this again. But I'll see you around." He nodded, wondering if they would be bumping into each other frequently. So what if you do? She was engaged, and he'd sworn off women. Even though he understood why Amy had left, she'd still betrayed him. She'd known about his. limitations before he'd proposed. Maybe she'd honestly thought at the time that it wouldn't be a problem, but she'd changed her mind. There was no guarantee another woman wouldn't do the same. Since he wasn't in the market for a relationship, that left meaningless affairs, which held no appeal for him. Jack definitely liked sex — in fact, he'd been reminded just this evening of how much he missed it — but his family was too full of loving examples of satisfied commitment for him to settle for less. He doubted he was cut out to live a monastic life, so he wasn't sure what long-term options were left. For the short term, he was concentrating on his job and the new apartment, now that the house he and Amy had once shared had finally found a new buyer. He'd pledged to just regroup and focus on himself for a while. But he hadn't known Risa Alexander was about to drop onto his balcony and into his life.
Chapter Three Risa nodded as the client on the other end of the phone described the part-time help she needed. "I think we have the perfect person—Deanna Simms. Do you have time to meet with her on Monday? 10:30, got it. Have a nice weekend!" She hung up, tired from a long day but smiling. I love this job. Perfect Placement was her tribute to Maggie, her late mother. Even with her MBA and a loan from the bank, Risa couldn't have built her business so quickly without her mom's life insurance money. The Judge had controlled the funds until Risa turned twenty-one, even investing for her with lucrative results. Now, her work helped people find employment and acquire skills; many of those people were single mothers or housewives who had been out of the job market so long they needed help getting back in. Maggie hadn't had much help as a young, single mother, but she'd provided for her daughter. Risa knew her mother had often worried it wasn't enough, though. Maggie had been so excited about the ways marrying the Judge, a wealthy man, could change Risa's life. But he didn't want a daughter. He only tolerated me because he loved her. For a man of the Judge's stature to fall for his housekeeper had been like something out of a fairy tale...yet Risa remained cynical about happily ever afters.
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"Rees? Shouldn't you have left al—are you all right?" Blinking, Risa sat bolt upright in her chair, startled to find Janine standing across the oak desk, a concerned expression on her All-American face. With her blond hair, blue eyes and rounded figure, Janine was as much the stereotypical female ideal as Phillip was the male. From an aesthetic standpoint, they would've made a cute couple. Janine would probably resign if Risa volunteered that opinion. The two most important people in her life respected each other, yet had never really...clicked. "I'm all right. I just didn't see you there." "Didn't see me? From three feet away?" Janine fisted her hands at her hips. "You sure you're all right? You aren't still embarrassed about your little adventure earlier this week, are you? I know I laughed at the whole pajamas-and-mud-mask balcony story, but your hunky neighbor has probably forgotten all about it." "As have I," Risa lied. She stood, cramming things into her scarred dark green briefcase. "I was just thinking about Mom. I guess Phillip's proposal has made me a little emotional. Nostalgic." Janine's gaze softened. "That's normal—she'll be with you in spirit when the big day arrives. Speaking of Phillip, what time are you supposed to meet him?" "In..." Risa glanced at her watch. "Yikes! How did it get so late? What are you even still doing here? It's Friday. Go home, relax." "I have three children. It's easier to relax here." "You work too hard. Your dragon-lady boss should schedule you for a vacation." "Again, three kids. I can't exactly jet off to the Caribbean with summer daycare tuition coming up." She looked wistful for a moment, then shook her head. "But we were talking about you. You need to get out of here if you're going to be on time. Here." Risa took the manila folder labeled 'Deanna Simms,' and her eyes widened. "I hadn't even asked for it yet, how'd you know?" Tapping her index finger against her temple, Janine said, "That's why you pay me the big bucks. At least, it's why I'm going to ask for the big bucks at my next evaluation." "You're an angel." Risa grabbed her suit jacket off the back of her chair, then strode toward the outer office. "Promise me you're leaving, too, I don't want you here working all night." Despite the evening hour, the May sun blazed brightly over the parking lot. Accumulated heat from the day sizzled in shimmery waves off the asphalt. As Risa unlocked her car door, she calculated how much time she needed to dash home, get
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ready, then grab a cab to the downtown hotel that was hosting the fundraising gala. It wouldn't look good to be late to the dinner where Phillip was being honored. Tonight's benefit was for a charity that helped financially enable sick children to receive treatment at specializing hospitals, even when those hospitals were across the country, defraying lodging costs for the families. Phillip had made a sizable donation. He hadn't publicized his contribution, but since the organization was saying a special thank-you to him tonight, mention of his gift would inevitably make its way into the media. Risa muttered a few choice words when congested conditions slowed downtown traffic. She could throw on her emergency brake, get out and walk—she'd probably get home faster. Since she was stuck anyway, she tried to be productive, making mental notes about people she still needed to find positions for, trying to think if there would be any bigwigs tonight who could use some extra administrative assistance. Speaking of assistants...Janine looked so tired lately! It killed Risa that she couldn't do more to help her friend. While the single mother was right about not being able to jet off to the tropics, Risa had done some work with a man who owned a resort in South Carolina and had promised her reduced rates if she and Phillip ever wanted to come up for the weekend. I'll make a quick call tomorrow. Eventually, traffic got moving. Once in her apartment, she frantically got ready and was soon wobbling out of the elevator on a pair of sparkly blue high heels. Through the lobby's revolving glass doors, she spied the yellow cab pull up to the curb. That was fast, she noted with relief. She'd called from upstairs, while waiting for the hot rollers in her hair to cool, and asked them to get here as soon as possible. Thankfully, they'd surpassed her expectations. Deciding to tip the driver extra well, she tried to quicken her pace, which was difficult considering the stiff, strapless bustier she wore beneath her dress barely allowed her to breathe. Between the heels and the corset-like instrument of torture, she wasn't sure how she would smile and make pleasant small talk all night, but the tummy-tucking bustier had been necessary. Oh, sure, it was lacy and black and looked sexy, but the real reason she'd bought it was to hide the occasional pastry she had with her morning coffee and the pizza runs with Janine and her kids. The form-fitting cut of Risa's glittering, midnight blue, sleeveless dress was lovely, but unforgiving. Nodding to the night doorman as she passed, Risa approached the curbside cab. "I believe that's my taxi," a deep voice said behind her. No, no, no. It was hers, and if it wasn't, it would be when she finished begging. Refusing to relinquish her grip on the handle, she looked over her shoulder. But one look at the man behind her, and her breath caught in her throat, her pleading forgotten. "Wow. You clean up really nice." "Thanks, I think." Devastating in a black tuxedo and graphite colored vest and tie, Jack Wolfe grinned his irreverently crooked half-smile. "You don't look half bad yourself."
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"Mr. Wolfe, Jack, I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. You see-—" The taxi driver rolled down the window, his expression and tone identically impatient. "What's the delay, folks?" "Just a misunderstanding," Risa answered. "The gentleman thought the taxi was for him." "Right." The driver consulted a sheet of paper on a clipboard. "Here to pick up Jack Wolfe. You're not together?" Of course. Her cab was probably stuck on the side of the road somewhere with four flat tires. "Jack, please, could I ask you a huge favor? I'm already running late, and I have to get across town to the Wynslette Manor Inn for—" "The recognition dinner and benefit ball?" His eyes, made even more intensely silver by the color of his vest, widened. "Unbelievable. That's where I was headed." Relief hit her so hard her knees almost buckled. "Then we can share a cab?" "By all means." He made shooing motions. "Get in." She hastily obliged. Jack slid in next to her on the lumpy but thankfully clean bench seat, and had barely shut the door behind them when their driver sped off toward Peachtree. Risa inhaled, enjoying the subtle spiciness of her companion's cologne. He smelled as good as he looked, and he looked good. Darting a sidelong peek in his direction, she was startled to find him staring at her. "You'll be the most beautiful woman there." The masculine appreciation lacing his voice made it clear the words weren't empty flattery. Sitting up a little taller, she told herself she was glad she'd worn the masochistic girdle thing that made her stomach flat and her silhouette sleek. Jack added, "But of course, I'm sure your fiancé will say the same thing...he will be there, won't he?" "Of course. He's one of the contributors being recognized. What about you, are you meeting a date?" "Are you kidding? I couldn't afford two tickets to this benefit." He laughed. "Actually, I don't know many people on this side of town yet. Don't mock me, but I invited one of my sisters. Her husband travels a lot on business, and I thought she'd enjoy a glamorous night out. But my niece Sara came down with a flu at the last minute, so I'm flying solo." He'd have no trouble meeting women. All eyes would be on him the second he walked through the door. Except hers, of course; she'd be looking dutifully at Phillip. Truth be told, Phillip was more classically handsome. Still...
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"How long have you been involved with the organization?" she asked. He turned to look out the window, but not before she saw his smile straighten into a grim line. "A few years, I like their track record, everything they do for the kids and their families. I'd hoped to be raising kids by now, but... Anyway, since I don't have children of my own to spend money on, I help groups like this." "That's wonderful." And it was, but she was preoccupied with how sad he sounded. Because of the divorce? She empathized with his longing to be a parent, to have a family. She envied him his siblings. Jack cleared his throat. "So, what do you do?" "I put people in their place." One eyebrow quirked, and she was pleased to have put that gleam of amusement back in his eyes. "I wouldn't imagine that pays well." "I own Perfect Placement. We help people build job skills and find employment. A lot of temp to perm stuff and part-time work. We go through the interviewing process and test people's computer literacy as well as other abilities. Then we match them up with companies who are short-handed and too busy to do their own searching and hiring." "Sounds like you enjoy your job." "I really do." They talked a bit more about work and moved on to other subjects, like the Braves' chances for the Pennant. By the time the cab pulled up in front of the Wynslette Manor, Risa felt as though she and Jack were old friends. Still, she couldn't claim the same kind of comfort she had with Janine. As much as Risa enjoyed talking to Jack, she was never—much as she tried—unaware of the tension. Did he feel the electric push and pull, too, or was it only on her end, the attraction and resulting guilt? There's nothing wrong with noticing a man's attractive. And we were only making conversation to kill time. They'd barely made it into the elegant ballroom, candlelit despite the many gorgeous chandeliers suspended over head, when Phillip appeared in front of her. "There you are." He kissed her cheek. "I've been—what is he doing here?" The guilt Risa had been feeling over her enjoyable cab ride with Jack turned to apprehension. Phillip's normally smooth features were pinched as he glared at Jack, obviously just now recognizing her tuxedoed companion as her paint-spattered neighbor.
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Jack's smile didn't reach his eyes. "If you mean why am I here with your fiancée, it's because we shared a cab. If you mean how did riffraff like me get past security, you'd be amazed at who they'd let in to these things based solely on a donation." Risa inserted herself between them, annoyed with men and all their accompanying testosterone. "The two of you obviously got off on the wrong foot, and we should fix that. Phillip, this is Jack Wolfe, a common supporter in the children's cause—which is of course why we're here. Jack, Phillip Donavan, the man I'm engaged to, as you know." Studying Risa's expression, Phillip sighed. "Sorry about my assumption the other night," he offered to the other man. The two men shook hands, and Risa wondered if, despite their tight smiles of congeniality, they were trying to break each other's fingers. "I'm starving," she said brightly. "When do we eat?" "The dinner presentation isn't until eight," Phillip replied, "but how about I get you a glass of champagne, Clarise?" "Thanks, but no. I was reminded the other night that champagne leaves me with a headache." "What about a nice Chianti?" Jack suggested, his expression deadpan. Recalling her Silence of the Lambs comment the night they'd met, she laughed— drawing a scowl from Phillip. "If you'll excuse us, Mr. Wolfe, Clarise and I have some important people we need to speak to." Jack caught her gaze. "Maybe you'll take pity on the guy with no date and save a dance for me later?" Phillip's arm tightened around her shoulder, and though she knew he was too politically correct to say anything, she also knew he disliked the idea. Which is just silly. At law firm dinners, they both danced with other people. Why was Jack Wolfe any different? But he was. She knew it from the way her pulse sped up at the thought of being in his arms. Obviously seeing her discomfort, Jack relented. "Never mind, I understand you'll probably be busy. See you around the building, Risa." As he drifted off through the crowd, she slanted her gaze up at Phillip. "He's really a nice man, once you get to know him."
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"I didn't realize you knew him well," Phillip said mildly. He dropped a kiss to her brow. "Your taste is impeccable, darling. If you say he's a decent guy, I'm sure you're right." Something was wrong with her. Why should her heart rate kick up at the mere thought of dancing with Jack, but not the brush of Phillip's lips? "Over here on your left, darling, are the Morrows. You remember—" "Phillip, are you sure about us? Getting married I mean?" His hands dropped to his sides, his expression uncharacteristically stunned. "Why would you say such a thing?" She swallowed. "I wonder...should there be more passion?" "Do you know how many awful 'crimes of passion' lawyers see committed every year? You know I find you a very attractive woman. Are you nervous about telling the Judge this weekend?" They'd decided they'd tell him in person over Sunday brunch, but that wasn't what worried her. "No, he'll be thrilled. I just hope we're happy." "We're perfect together," he assured her. "Isn't this what you do full-time, find where a person belongs? You and I belong together, darling. Trust your instincts." Easy for him to say. His instincts weren't scared they were about to make a huge mistake.
Chapter Four Risa stood to one side Saturday morning, idly studying the display cases as the salesman fawned over Phillip. She stifled a yawn, assuring herself she wasn't bored, merely tired from last night's benefit gala. "Clarise, I think we may have found a winner." Phillip tossed her an endearing smile. "This one's a beauty. Want to see how it fits?" She walked closer, taking a look at the platinum two band set that fit around a large square diamond, surrounded by small pale blue stones. "Aquamarines—your birthstone." Oops. He looked so pleased that she hated to correct him, but some time over the next fifty or sixty years, he was bound to find out when her birthday was. "It's lovely Phillip, and I appreciate your thoughtfulness, my birthstone's an amethyst. B-But you were close. They—"
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"I'm sorry." Almost compulsively successful, Phillip did not take mistakes, even small ones, well. He took the ring from her before she had a chance to slide it on. "You must think I'm an idiot." "Of course not." She put her hand on his arm. "It's the thought that counts." His smile returned, though diffident. "Really? The thought that counts? So we'll take this one? Unless you see one that does have amethysts." "No, that one's fine. Lovely." Big, but beautiful. And she didn't really have strong feelings about what the piece of jewelry should look like. Was that a bad sign? Cut it out. This must be cold feet, or something. Be rational. If she'd had strong feelings otherwise, she might have argued, but she was surprised at how little she cared one way or the other. Maggie had fallen madly in love with a man who had walked out when he found out he was going to be a father—rejecting Risa before even meeting her. Then Maggie had fallen so madly in love with the Judge that she'd never allowed herself to see that he hadn't truly wanted Risa, either. Why on earth would Risa walk away from Phillip if he did want her? He was successful, a humanitarian, the sort who would never ever abandon his families or responsibilities. Plus, she'd never have that family she'd always longed for without a husband. "So would you like to try it on now, darling?" "Of course." She smiled as he slid the ring over her knuckle. Lord, it seemed heavy.
Janine unlocked the doors of her minivan, quickly finishing the last of the ice cream cone Risa had insisted on buying. "So, how was brunch with the Judge? Did he like the ring? That diamond is really something. I mean, you could put an eye out." Risa shook her head, slurping a chocolate milkshake through a straw. "No, the Judge didn't have much to say about the ring—his area is really constitutional law, not gemstones. But he's thrilled about Phillip and I. Really seems...proud of me." "That's, um, great. But it's not what you like about Phillip, right?" "What?" Risa opened her door, but froze, too stunned to get in. "No! Are you asking if I'm using Phillip to get my step-father's approval?" "I'm a bad friend, forget I said anything." "You're not a bad friend. I won't deny that this new relationship with the Judge has been nice—really nice." The man had been almost warm yesterday, fatherly when he'd talked about walking her down the aisle. Maggie must be smiling down on them from heaven. "But Phillip has a lot going for him.
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"Of course he does." Janine turned her keys in the ignition. "I'm just tired." "About that. I had some good news I—hey, should we be worried that the engine light is flashing?" Janine laughed. "No. There's nothing wrong with the engine, just the light." "Ah. So...how would we know if something was wrong with the engine, then?" "Off the top of my head, I'd say the van not starting, loud knocking noises, or smoke and flames billowing out from under the hood would all be dead giveaways." Risa laughed. "As long as you have a system for figuring this stuff out." It was a quick drive back to the office—since it had been such a slow day, Risa had volunteered to go along on the bank run so they could take an ice cream break afterward—and she spotted Phillip's car immediately as they turned into the parking lot. "Looks like Phillip dropped by," she said, wondering if she'd forgotten an appointment with him. "I hope everything's all right." "Probably just missed his bride-to-be," Janine said. "You should try being more romantic some time." Risa shrugged. "Romance isn't exactly my style. Luckily, I found a man who prioritizes relationships the same way I do. That doesn't make us any less of a couple." "Hey, I didn't say anything!" When they got inside the office building, they found Risa's betrothed leaning against the door of their locked suite, his expression quizzical. "Do you normally shut down the office during business hours?" he asked by way of greeting. "No, we just snuck out for a quick ice cream break," Risa said. In addition to herself and Janine, there were two part-time workers, but neither of them came in on Mondays. "What brings you to this side of town?" "Early dinner with a client and his wife. I thought I'd swing by and see if you wanted to join us. Also, I had some papers I'm taking by another client's office for signatures." "Dinner, huh?" At the moment, she was a little full from that ice cream, but marrying an aspiring politician was going to create lots of social obligations. She was game. "Sounds good to me."
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"Wonderful." That settled, he smiled absently at Janine. "Nice to see you again. Have a good weekend?" She nodded. "The kids and I hung out. Nothing as glamorous as diamond shopping, but not bad." He took Risa's left hand, raising it so that the light played across the diamond. "It's really something isn't it?" Janine smothered a laugh. "That's exactly what I said." Risa unlocked the door, shooting her friend a warning glance as they all stepped inside the suite. Getting the message, Janine replaced the grin on her face with an expression of polite interest. "So have the two of you started making all the plans yet? Picked a honeymoon spot?" Phillip frowned as if he hadn't considered it, and Risa wasn't entirely comfortable thinking about it herself. Bridal nerves. After all, growing up sheltered and conservative, she didn't exactly have a lot of experience with sex. There had been her college sweetheart, but their encounters had been characterized more by goodnatured enthusiasm than sensual technique. As a result, she'd convinced herself afterward that sex just wasn't that important to her. It was one of the reasons she so appreciated Phillip being an old-fashioned gentleman. He was serious about developing an enduring partnership, not just following lust. Still, she'd had a sense of restless longing lately.... Squashing down the thought, she beamed at Janine. "Since you brought up going away, now's as good a time as any to tell you I have a surprise for you." She reached into her purse and retrieved the glossy brochure. Handing it to her friend, she watched in happy anticipation as Janine scanned the note and the travel information about Kiawah Island. "And," Risa added, "since I'm also your boss, I made sure you got the days off, starting one week from tomorrow." Silence. Phillip stared at her as though she were crazy. Janine stared at her as though she were crazy. Okay, one thing at a time. "Janine? You don't like it? I know it's a little early for your birthday, but I knew you'd want to be back in time to spend your actual birthday with the kids. The guy on the phone gave me a great rate for now, since school is still in session and his busy season starts in June. If you're worried about the money, he gave me a killer deal."
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"It's..." Janine's lower lip trembled. "Risa, this is a very generous offer, but I can't go." "Of course you can!" Phillip cleared his throat. "She can't just pick up and leave at a moment's notice with three kids." Janine nodded. "Even if my regular sitter could watch the kids at night—and I doubt she'd agree to that—she's already raising her prices on me." "Give her the week off and put the money toward that van of yours," Risa advised. "I'll take care of the kids while you're gone. Sorry, I guess I should have said that right away. Phillip laughed. "You? You and Janine can't both take vacation at the same time!" "He's right," Janine agreed miserably. "Nonsense. My computer at home allows me to access the one here. Jason and Natalie will be in school during the day, so I'll only have baby Grace. I can work from home while watching her." "Oh, Clarise" Phillip's sigh somehow conveyed both his affection for her and a conviction that she was hopelessly naïve. "I'm sure that if you think this over, you'll realize you're not up to that." Her eyebrows flew up. Stubborn and in some ways self-made, she'd never been one to back down from a challenge. "If you doubt my ability to take care of kids, why do you want me to be the mother of yours?" He raised his palms in front of his chest. "First, we'll have them one at a time, not suddenly three at once—" "Think of this as practice for if we have triplets." Janine snorted in her attempts not to laugh, and Phillip just rolled his eyes. "Secondly," he continued, "when we have children, you'll have a full-time nanny to help you, just as my mother had. How else would you continue to run this company that's so important to you?" A nanny? The thought turned her blood cold, although she knew many people employed the help of able caregivers who were just like one of the family. Since her mother had died when she was young, however, the thought of her children being virtually raised by a substitute was unappealing. "Unless you want to be a stay-at-home mom," he suggested, looking pleased by the idea. "After all, being a senator's wife is practically a job in itself." "And give up Perfect Placement?" she demanded.
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"Uh..." Janine took a few steps toward her desk. "I can see the two of you have a lot to discuss so I'll just—" Risa swiveled her gaze back to her friend. "Wait. Phillip and I can talk later, but I want to get this settled or I know I'll never get you to agree to the vacation. You know the kids love me, and you need this time for yourself. I can do it." Janine bit her lip, clearly on the verge of wavering. "You're sure?" "You've heard me say how often I want to be a mother. I could use the practice. You'd be doing me a favor," Risa said. "Well, when you put it that way...done. But if you come to your senses between now and next Tuesday, call me. I'll understand completely if you want out of this." "Not gonna happen," Risa assured her. "Besides, if I need backup, I can always call Phillip, right?" Now it was his turn to stammer. "Um, darling, you know I'd love to help, but—" "Right, big cases, important meetings." And how was he planning to handle all of that once he became a father? They really had a lot more to discuss than wedding colors and reception seating. "Don't worry. I can get through a few days by myself. The children will be excited about the adventure of staying at Aunt Risa's. You'll see, it'll be a piece of cake!"
Chapter Five Me and my great ideas. Early Tuesday evening, Risa stood in the elevator, wondering how she would survive the next few days. She was clutching Natalie's hand in her own, while holding the volcanic spew-fest known as baby Grace with her other arm. Jason was free, and it had taken a series of pleas, threats and bribes to keep him from punching all the numbers on the panel. Janine had only been gone a few hours—she probably wasn't even checked into her room yet—and all hell had broken loose. After dropping Janine off at the airport, Risa was shocked when all three kids burst into tears. Jason and Natalie had been excited, babbling about how much fun they'd have with Aunt Risa...but the moment Janine escaped visual contact, it was Niagara Falls. Combined with high keening noises that straddled the range between human earshot and what only dogs could hear. Attempting to cheer them up, Risa had taken them for burgers, but on the way home Risa realized she'd left baby Grace's diaper bag in the restaurant. They'd gone back to search with no luck, and by then Natalie was tired and whiny. Baby Grace was also screaming her little baby lungs out since it was bottle time. Desperate for at least one of the two girls to stop crying, Risa made a hasty pit stop at the grocery store and grabbed a familiar looking container of formula. Both Natalie and Jason assured Risa that it was the brand Mommy bought.
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She poured the ready to serve formula into a new bottle and fed Grace right there in the parking lot. It wasn't until after Grace was happily sucking down the formula that Jason reminded Risa you have to boil new bottles before you can use them. In theory, she agreed; in practice, she'd once seen Janine take a beetle out of Grace's mouth, so a non-boiled bottle probably wasn't the end of the world. Still, she felt guilty for screwing up so soon. Guiltier yet when Grace finished and the projectile vomiting began. Too late, Risa realized that while she had picked up the right brand of formula, it hadn't been the lactose free variety the intolerant baby required. The ride home had been punctuated with Jason and Natalie informing Risa every few minutes that Grace had spit up again. And Risa's worries that she would be the world's worst mother. When the elevator stopped, Risa wanted to cry with relief. In her apartment, she had the right kind of formula for Grace and a bed for Natalie's nap. But in one last hurrah, Grace threw up across Risa's turquoise blouse, Jason shoved his sister in his typically-little-boy hurry to get out of the elevator, and cranky Natalie plopped down in the middle of the hallway and began bawling. Loudly. She could have drowned out the sound of 747s taking off at Hartsfield. Risa didn't know whether to be thankful or mortified when the door to 7-G opened and Jack Wolfe stuck out his head. He assessed the situation in a single glance, and one corner of his mouth lifted. "Need a hand?" Though she much preferred helping others, like Janine or the unemployed people who came to Perfect Placement, this was no time for pride. "Yes. Desperately. Please." He corralled the oldest Griggs sibling, who had headed the wrong way down the hall. Then he joined Risa in front of her apartment unlocking the door while she held onto Grace and a squalling Natalie. At the moment, the baby was doing nothing more than cooing softly, but Risa refused to be lulled into a false sense of security. As soon as the door was opened, Risa made a beeline for the kids' luggage, which Janine had brought over that morning when she delivered the van and its necessary car seats. After repositioning Grace in her arms and dabbing the checkered burp cloth against the latest stain on her blouse, Risa grabbed a pillow and Joey the stuffed bear. Then she escorted Natalie to the guestroom and tucked her in. Risa promised ice cream when the little girl woke up if she'd just close her eyes and take a nap. Natalie gave a brief, watery smile at the mention of ice cream and was asleep before Risa left the room. One down. Risa carried the baby back to the living room, where Jack and Jason sat on the black leather sectional sofa she'd bought in a bizarre fit of modernism, unlike the house of antiques in which she'd been raised. Her neighbor and Janine's son appeared to be
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having a very serious, man to man discussion about the merits of Nintendo versus PlayStation. Jack made a friend for life when he told Jason that, if it was okay with Risa, he'd borrow one of his nephew's two game systems and some racing cartridges for Jason's visit. The little boy's face lit up and, as he and Jack exchanged smiles, Risa realized they could be mistaken for father and son. With their dark hair and matching outfits of jeans and solid colored T-shirts, they looked similar enough. Jack reached out to tousle the boy's hair, and her insides did something twitchy that she didn't care to analyze. "Well, Natalie's napping," Risa said softly. "Jason—" "I'm too big to nap." "Of course you are," she agreed solemnly. "But you're not too big to stretch out on the couch and watch cartoons, right? And wouldn't you be more comfortable if I get you your pillow and a blanket?" He thought that over and deemed it acceptable. Two down. Jack rose from the couch. "Need anything else?" "If you really don't mind...? Janine dropped off a portable play-pen that still needs to be set up." "Just tell me where." She cocked her head in the direction of the hallway. "Back in my room." Baby Grace had laid her head down on Risa's shoulder, her breathing slow and deep. With any luck, all three kids would sleep, and Risa would have time to devise a battle plan before cooking dinner. This week might be more complicated than she'd originally deluded herself. Jack picked up the collapsed play-pen from the corner and followed her. Once they'd both crossed the threshold into her bedroom, Risa's heart gave an irrational thump against her chest. Suddenly her queen-sized bed seemed mammoth, drawing both her gaze and her thoughts. She glanced around quickly to make sure nothing intimate was laying out where Jack might notice it, like lacy pajamas or a thong. You sleep in oversized cotton shirts and wore a thong exactly once before swearing never to repeat the hideously uncomfortable experience. Oh. Right.
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"So where do you want it?" Jack asked. A number of terribly inappropriate answers sprang to mind, and Risa ignored them all, ashamed to even think them with cherubic, innocent Grace in the immediate vicinity. She pointed to the carpeted area at the end of the bed. "There's fine." Kneeling, he unzipped the bag and extracted a jumble of plastic, metal and netting. "I can't believe you agreed to watch three kids when you have white carpeting." Remembering Janine's skepticism and the patronizing expression on Phillip's face when he'd questioned whether she could handle it, she snapped, "I'm sure it will be fine. Carpets can be shampooed, you know." He glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "I meant it as a compliment. I know carpets can be shampooed, but some people have a different way of looking at it." "Sorry." Heat rushed to her face. "Didn't mean to be defensive." He looked up again, started to say something, then gazed past her and grinned. "I love the nightstand, nice use of color." "You aren't the only one who's gifted with a paintbrush," she kidded, thinking it was refreshing to joke with a man. She certainly never had with the Judge, and while Phillip was a Great Man who often did Great Things, she never felt quite right poking fun around him. Jack snapped some thingamajig into place and nodded crisply. "All set." "Great." Risa peered at Grace's pursed lips and heavy-lidded eyes. "I think she's—" On cue, Grace began to wail. The muted, high pitched howl of an ambulance when it's still quite a distance behind you. Like the approaching emergency vehicle, Grace grew louder and more urgent. "Wet diaper?" Jack suggested. "Probably, and I left her diaper bag at the restaurant. Can you hold her just a second?" Without waiting for an answer, she thrust the baby into his arms, hurried to the living room and returned with diapering supplies. Jack laid the baby on the bed to be changed, and Risa hesitated. "Is this not a good place?" he wanted to know. "N-no. I just realized I've never changed a diaper." She'd helped Janine all through the pregnancy, but when Grace had actually been born, Janine's retired mother had come up from Florida to help for a month. Risa's assistance had always been more
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along the lines of taking the older children to the park so Janine could have time with the baby. I have a college degree and run my own company. I can change a diaper. She unsnapped the little pink onesie as Grace squirmed around on the duvet, then reached for the tabs on the disposable diaper. "Wait!" She jerked her hand back, keeping it close enough so that Grace couldn't roll over and scoot toward the edge of the bed. "What? Don't tell me I've done something wrong already." "You did say 'her' earlier, right? It's hard to tell with babies." "When they're wearing pink?" He shrugged. "Hey, we had five kids in my family, and hand-me-downs were a necessity. I think Mom actually put my youngest brother Bruce in a yellow dress in an emergency once. Of course he's in extensive therapy now...Never mind. Proceed. I just wanted to make sure if she were a boy, you weren't in the line of fire." "Huh? Oh. No, I'm safe." She removed the damp diaper and seconds later replaced it, inordinately proud of herself. She hadn't put it on backwards or anything; of course the picture of the happy duck on the front made it easy to avoid that mistake. Unfortunately, by the time the onesie was refastened, Grace had progressed to the "too tired to sleep" stage, and her cries were increasing in volume. "Here." Jack reached for the baby, which Risa found a little presumptuous. She could rock, walk or sing as well as he could. But, remembering how much she'd enjoyed the sight of him smiling and talking with Jason, she handed over the baby. As he took Grace, his eyes widened, zeroing in on Risa's fingers. "Wow," he said in a near whisper. "I didn't realize the Hope diamond had left the museum." "Ha ha." She resisted the temptation to hide her left hand behind her back. He swayed slightly, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet and rubbing Grace's back. Despite his relaxed stance, tension was suddenly apparent in the rigid set of his jaw and anger glinting in his eyes. What right did he have to be angry about anything? In the same quiet tone, he added, "He could have just branded you with the same result." "Where do you get off being so sarcastic?" she hissed at him, infusing her words with ire if not volume. "Don't get mad at me for noticing. What reason is there for wearing something like that except to catch attention?"
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"It's a token of—of commitment." "Not love?" Anger vibrated inside her. He barely knew her and had no business questioning her this way. "Just because your marriage didn't work out doesn't mean—" The stiffening of his shoulders, the hurt in his gaze, was all it took to halt her words. "I think you should go now." He placed the now-sleeping baby inside the makeshift crib. "I think you're right."
Chapter Six Risa poured pancake batter into the sizzling skillet as Grace banged Tupperware together in her portable high chair. Risa had never realized how much furniture babies needed, nor that it was all so fold-able. Until Janine had shown up yesterday with what looked like enough baby equipment for quintuplets. "Are the pancakes almost ready?" Natalie shuffled a bowl of fruit across the kitchen table. "Soon, sweetie." She'd told Natalie and Jason they could use raisins and sliced strawberries and bananas to make pancake faces. At least this time her promise had involved fruit. She'd worried after the hamburgers yesterday and the lure of ice cream to get Natalie to nap that she was inadvertently contributing to future eating disorders. Natalie made little puttering noises as she navigated the bowl around, but Jason sat looking bored and irritated, sighing every few seconds for effect. Risa knew why he was annoyed with her. The first thing he'd done after waking up from his nap yesterday was ask when Jack would return with the on-loan game system. As gently as possible, she'd explained that she wasn't sure Jack would be able to borrow it after all. Jason must have sensed she had somehow messed up the arrangement because he'd been sulky with her ever since. She flipped a flapjack, trying to come up with something fun they could do after school that wouldn't be so extravagant it spoiled them for when their mother returned. "Jason, can you open the front door and bring in the newspaper?" Maybe she'd find an idea in the About Town section. With another dramatic sigh that heaved his entire six year old frame, he headed for the door. Risa pulled out three plates, which she handed to Natalie. "Do you want milk?" Natalie shook her head. "Orange juice, please." "What about your brother?" "Only drinks chocolate milk."
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Another item for the grocery trip she'd make while the kids were in school. She needed to replace Grace's diaper bag, anyway. Natalie sat half on, half off one of the chairs. "After breakfast, can you French braid my hair?" "Sure." I think. At least that wasn't something she had to worry about with Jason. Speaking of which... Where was he? "Jason? Breakfast is ready." Her front door slammed, then another door, inside her apartment. Maybe he had to use the restroom. A few seconds later, he appeared, whispered something to Natalie, then tugged on her arm. Risa frowned. "Where are you two going?" "We didn't brush our teeth," Jason said. "You do that after breakfast." "I have yucky breath. I want to do it before and after." "Well, hurry, I don't want you to be late for school." The kids rushed toward the bathroom, and for a second she was pleased they'd taken her admonishment to heart. But then it occurred to her that they were awfully giddy, not to mention secretive, for two kids brushing their teeth. She decided to investigate but had made it no farther than the edge of the kitchen when the doorbell rang. "Coming!" The plot thickens. "Mrs. Carmichael. What brings you by so early?" "Pierpont. My poodle," the elderly woman from 7-D elaborated needlessly. "We were headed out for our morning constitutional when I realized I'd forgotten the scooper. I left him in the hall for just a second, and—" "Jason! Natalie!" Loud whispering came from the guest bathroom, accompanied by an excited, highpitched yip. "Pierpont!" Gasping, Mrs. Carmichael paled and pressed a hand to her ample bosom. "I just want him returned to me safely." Sheesh—it wasn't as if the kids were holding the dog for ransom. She hoped. Brother and sister appeared in the hallway, with the unmitigated gall to wear expressions of wide-eyed innocence.
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"Give Mrs. Carmichael back her dog," Risa commanded. Be firm without yelling. "Right. Now." She'd apparently achieved the right tone, because there were no arguments or lies. Jason simply reached behind him and opened the door. Pierpont bounded out, no worse for the wear, ran a lap around Risa's living room, then darted to his distraught owner. Jason glared at Mrs. Carmichael. "He was all alone in the hall, like he needed a home. Mikey Baxter and his family took in a stray dog. You can do that with dogs you find." Pierpont, overfed and wearing blue ear-bows and a collar with a shiny gold tag, was no one's idea of a suffering stray. "Tell Mrs. Carmichael you're sorry for making her worry." Neither of them glanced up from the carpet. "Sorry." Mrs. Carmichael sniffed and pivoted on her heel, apparently wanting to flee the scene before her precious baby was further traumatized.
Morning sun spilled across Jack's kitchen table as he sipped his coffee and listened to the smoke alarm next door. In other circumstances, he might have checked to see if his neighbor needed help, but he could piece together what had happened. He'd been retrieving his morning paper when Risa's door creaked open, and he'd ducked inside, not wanting to see her after she'd tossed him out yesterday. Not a minute later, Mrs. Carmichael had knocked on his door, frantically asking if he'd seen poor Pierpont. He'd suggested she try next door. Probably breakfast had burned while Risa was dealing with Mrs. Carmichael and the children. She didn't need his help—even if part of him wanted the excuse to see her again. When the smoke alarm quit, the sudden quiet was jarring, making his thoughts echo too loudly in his head. Thoughts he'd rather not have about Risa Alexander. The woman left him feeling as fractured as a virus-ridden hard drive. Stay away from her. She's engaged! To the wrong guy. Not that Jack was anyone's "right guy." Why remarry and give a second wife the chance to one day announce she couldn't keep vows to a defective husband? He set his coffee down with a thud, the two spoonfuls of sugar he'd used no match against the bitterness rising in him. He knew plenty of men who didn't want commitment, didn't want to be tied down. Men who cringed if their girlfriends or wives missed a period, then waited in terror to find out what color the stick was. And yet Jack, who'd always dreamed of a big family, was sterile. Fury over the boyhood accident wouldn't change matters, no more than fury over his divorce would bring back Amy—not that he still wanted her back. He'd recovered from the initial heartbreak, but not the sense of betrayal. She'd known when she married him...
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Stupid, senseless playground accident. The fall had caused trauma to the groin area, and the doctor had warned Jack's mother Jack might never father children of his own. Long before Jack had proposed to Amy, he'd been tested, discovered the grim prediction held true. He'd been honest with her, made sure she was okay with adopting one day. She'd said she loved him so much it didn't matter. But years later, between the loud ticking of her own biological clock and the stressful red tape of the adoption agency, she'd changed her mind. All of that was ancient history, though, and there was plenty of stress to be found at the office without hiking his blood pressure before he even started his day. He would go to work, throw himself into his job, and not waste time on thoughts of divorce or irrevocable medical conditions. And he certainly wouldn't dwell on Risa Alexander.
Steering the van away from the pick-up zone at the elementary school, Risa experienced a stab of irrational malice toward the unseen Mikey Baxter. "It's not fair." Jason sniffled in the back seat. "Mrs. Lannister gave him a gold star for bringing his dumb old hermit crab to show and tell. Why does he get to have a hermit crab and a dog and a cat...and a-a father?" Her heart splintered. From beside Jason in her booster seat, Natalie began to cry in a fit of sibling empathy. Figures. Risa had spent the better part of the day trying to get a teething Grace to stop crying. Now that the baby was sleeping in her car seat, the two older ones were going at it. Risa didn't blame them a bit, though. She knew how hard it was to lose a parent. Maggie had been her world. Since her mom's death, Risa had felt like an outsider looking in, but being with Janine and her kids helped. They treated her like she belonged. She'd do anything for them. "I need to stop by the bank, but after that, do you guys want to grab milkshakes?" Shoot. She was probably breaking nutrition ordinances again. Her reply was two half-hearted, "okays." They really were in a bad way if milkshakes didn't help. Risa navigated traffic and turned into the mall parking lot, where the small local branch of her bank was situated. The parking lot was more crowded than usual, with a temporary, carnivals taking up space. She almost asked the kids if they'd like to ride the Ferris Wheel or something, but she couldn't safely supervise by riding with them with baby Grace in tow. Natalie sighed, and Risa steeled herself for the inevitable request.
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"Aunt Risa, could we have cotton candy instead of milkshakes?" "Sure!" Relieved that she didn't have to say no to two already depressed kids, Risa caught Jason's eye in the rearview mirror. "Cotton candy okay with you, buddy?" "Don't care. Whatever Nat wants." Once Risa finished at the bank, the four of them strolled across the pavement to the nearest food vendor. While she juggled her purse and Grace's car seat, Jason began hopping up and down. "Look! Look there!" Following his pointed finger, she saw a man in overalls who had parked a truck next to the carnival booths. A sign hung from the tailgate, proclaiming "Turtles for Sale." A variety of aquariums sat in the bed of the truck. "Can we see?" Natalie asked. Jason's brown eyes took on a determined gleam. "Mikey Baxter doesn't have a turtle." But Mikey had a dad. Hoping Janine wouldn't kill her later, Risa said crisply, "Let's go pick ourselves out a turtle." Her decision was met with squeals of delight &mash; hard to believe these were the same two kids who had looked like the "before" picture in a Prozac ad only minutes ago. Janine was reasonable. She'd probably be thrilled Jason had finally wanted a pet to which Natalie wouldn't be allergic. If Janine did object, Risa could keep it at her place for the kids to visit. Yeah, because I always wanted a reptile for the apartment. Then again, maybe she should view this as an ounce of prevention. Having the turtle around should drastically reduce the number of poodle abductions in her building.
By ten p.m., Risa had run through her entire bag of tricks—numbing gel, teethers, medicine dropper, pacifiers. Nothing would calm the screaming baby. Meanwhile, Jason and Natalie, who should have been in bed by eight-thirty on school nights, were tired and cranky. Their fatigue led to arguing, which led to Jason pushing Natalie. The little spitfire responded by picking up a hardcover mystery from Risa's coffee table and bashing her brother in the skull with it. "Okay!" Her voice was louder than she'd intended, but how else would anyone hear her? "Everyone back in their beds! If you can't sleep because of Grace, just read a book or something." How did Janine do this all the time? Risa was happier than ever that she'd insisted on her friend's vacation, recalling how relaxed Janine had sounded when she'd called to talk to her kids after dinner. Thoughts of the phone led to thoughts of help. Could
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she call Phillip, beg him to take a shift walking the crying infant? If she was engaged to marry the man, shouldn't she be comfortable asking him for personal favors? Marriage...parenthood. Seeing him with the kids might give her a more concrete idea of the kind of father he'd be. She should definitely call him. Relieved to have a plan, she dialed his cell phone number, uncertain whether he was home or working late. "Phillip Donavan." "Hi, Phillip, it's—" "Clarise, is that you? Hard to hear you over that racket." "That's Grace. She's teething." "Sounds awful. Can you get her to be quiet while we're on the phone?" What did he expect her to do, point the television remote at Grace and hit mute? "I know it's horrible, but she's a baby. Her teeth are coming in, and it hurts. That's why I'm calling you." "I see. You need help." There was a smugness to his tone she didn't like. "Guess that nanny's sounding like a pretty good idea right now?" Continuing as though he hadn't spoken, she said, "It occurred to me that since we're going to be parents together, it might be good practice for us to take care of children together." "An interesting proposal, not without merit. But I'm at the Judge's playing poker, and—" "My Judge?" "Your step-father, yes." "B-but his poker night is tomorrow." "No, he switched it months ago. You didn't know? This evening, he invited me so I could meet some influential friends of his. I suspect they'll be very important to our future." "I see." Tears stung her eyes, and she quickly sat on the couch before her legs gave out. For years, she'd worked to build a relationship with Judge Thomas Winters. Then Phillip had waltzed in one day, with political views and the law in common, and he and the Judge seemed like the best of friends. "I have to go, Phillip. I'll call you later in the week."
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Glancing at the weeping baby, Risa considered the old "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em" adage. No, sobbing wouldn't solve anything, and Risa was a solution-finder. Look at her company, the way she'd seen a need for Janine to get away and had arranged it, the way she'd kept trying with Judge Winters despite feeling rebuffed her entire adolescence. There was another person she could ask for help, but it wouldn't be pleasant. "Jason! Natalie!" she called over Grace's sobs—were they getting softer or was she just losing her hearing? "You two stay put, Grace and I are going out in the hall. Just open the front door if you need me." She took a deep breath and hurried over to 7-G before she could change her mind. Jack had been up late that first night she'd met him, so maybe he wasn't the type to go to bed early. His door opened before she had a chance to knock. "Did I catch you on your way out?" she asked, referring to the way he'd answered the door before she'd even announced her presence. He inclined his head toward the baby. "Heard you coming. And I don't usually go out looking like this." He wore athletic shorts and a dark blue T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The man had seriously nice arms. But she hadn't come over here to feel his biceps. Or to notice the slight sheen of perspiration dampening his face and his dark hair that shouldn't have been so attractive. "Risa?" He fidgeted with the free weight she hadn't noticed him holding because she'd been too busy noticing other things. Focus. "When we talked in the cab the other night, you told me you had several nieces and nephews." "That's right." His face was impassive, giving nothing away. "And you like children." "Yep." "Yesterday, you offered to help." "I remember—shortly before you kicked me out of your apartment." Risa shifted her weight, concentrating on being conciliatory even though she still felt that yesterday had been as much his fault as hers. More, really. He'd started it. Wonderful. Twenty-four hours with Natalie and Jason, and she'd picked up their mentality.
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"Forget it." Jack moved to shut the door. Desperate, she wedged her foot in the way. "Forget what?" "That baby has been crying all night, so you came over here as a last resort, but it's obvious from your expression that you're still miffed about yesterday. I have no reason to go over there and help you, but every sane reason to stay here and mind my own business. Isn't that what you wanted?" "Please, Jack. I need you." Painful as it was to admit, she managed to get it out. Odd that she hadn't been able to be that candid on the phone with Phillip, yet she was here swallowing her pride in front of Jack. His silver gaze arrested hers, the odd gleam in his eyes making her mouth go dry. "Say it again." The command, issued in a husky, almost-whisper, should have irritated her. She wasn't a fan of groveling. But something in his expression made her feel all melty inside. "Say what, that I need you?" "No. Just the 'please, Jack.'" She swallowed. "Please. Jack." "All the help you need until your friend returns, on one condition—when the kids go home, you come over sometime and pose for a painting." He blinked, as though his request had surprised him as much as her. Which was hard to believe because she was shocked. He wanted to paint her? "Your face is—" He broke off, looked away. "I'm curious to see if I can do it justice. So will you sit for me?" "Deal. I'll pose." Grace chose that moment to crescendo into an ear-splitting wail, and the corner of Jack's mouth lifted in his trademark teasing grin. "Nude?" "Don't push it."
Chapter Seven Jack woke slowly, sense by sense. His neck hurt, it was almost unbelievably quiet, and someone smelled very, very good. Lifting his head with an audible crack, he realized he and Risa had fallen asleep here, on her couch, afraid to move once Grace's screams had finally subsided. Now, Risa was tucked against him, snuggled in an unconscious intimacy he hadn't experienced since his divorce. Grace was snoozing in the baby-sling Risa wore. A simple, yet powerful, domestic picture of mother and child, if he hadn't known Grace was a friend's baby.
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"J-Jack?" Risa stirred, blinking her eyes up at him. Her expression was sleep-soft, her lips parted and kissable. He leaned closer, telling himself it was so they wouldn't wake the baby. "Yes?" Her eyes were more alert now, almost keenly so, alive with what he wanted to believe was answering desire, but also skittish. Like a nervous doe's. She sat straight up, away from him. "I was just wondering what time it was. How long we've been...like this." A glance at his watch showed him it was a little after three a.m., but before he could tell her, she'd already checked the digital display on her VCR. "I'm so sorry to have kept you this late," she told him. "You'll be dog-tired in the morning." "Nah." He tried a smile. "I caught some sleep here." "Yeah, but the couch isn't all that comfortable." She frowned. "I'm not even sure why I bought it. Does this furniture look like me?" Weird question, but now that he thought about it, a valid one. "Not really. It's all very...sleek. Um, not that you aren't I guess, but you're softer. Cozier. Like that wacky nightstand. That looks like you." Her brows rose, the apprehension in her eyes replaced with humor. "You're calling me wacky? Fair enough, considering I once hoisted myself onto your balcony in my pajamas. I think I bought this furniture as a knee-jerk reaction to the house I grew up in, which was all polished antiques I was supposed to treat with care. So when I got my own place, I went too modern and contemporary and I'm not sure the end result was any more comfy than my childhood home. Over compensation. What was your home like, growing up?" He grinned. "Noisy. There were lots of us crowding the place, and my sisters were forever mad that they couldn't get more time in the bathroom." Risa sighed wistfully. "Sounds lovely." "Yeah." His smile fell away. He'd dreamed of having an equally loud and loving family, and now here he was living alone in an apartment downtown. She stood into a full-body stretch, and he tried not to look, very aware that the owner of that body was engaged. Instead, he rose, too, and walked around the room, finding other things to capture his interest. "This yours or the kids'?" he asked, pointing to a terrarium on an octagonal side table. "I bought it for them, and we'll keep it here if Janine doesn't want him."
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Jack squinted at the turtle on a rock inside his glass home. Was the turtle blowing bubbles as he breathed? "He doesn't look so good." "How are turtles supposed to look?" "Not sure." They watched in silence for a few minutes before Risa offered, "We're calling him Yertle. Like the book." "Sure, I know Yertle. My nieces and nephews are versed in the classics, and I've read lots of Dr. Seuss while staying with them. My favorite was always Where the Wild Things Are." She grinned over top of the sleeping baby she supported. "Mine was Curious George. I envied his ability to get into trouble." "Envied? You mean you wanted to get in more trouble?" "I wanted to stop being so afraid of getting in trouble." A soft, wistful sigh escaped her. "I wanted to just be, without worrying I would do or say the wrong thing. Or be friends with the wrong kids, date the wrong guy. I don't know why I'm telling you all this." "I don't mind listening." On the contrary, he wanted to know all about her but was afraid she'd withdraw if his questions got too personal. Risa took a deep breath. "I don't think the Judge ever wanted kids, but when he fell for my mom, I came as part of the package. Things were so strained between the two of us that my mother regretted the marriage within months, told me once that she always fell in love with the wrong men and that her heart was not to be trusted. She died a few months later, and the Judge was stuck with me. He's a good man, really, just not....an easy one." The revelation that she hadn't been wanted hung painfully suspended in the air between them. Jack didn't know what to say. As uncomfortable as family gatherings had been for him since the divorce, love among the Wolfes had always been abundant and unconditional. "I'm sorry about the loss of your mother." They weren't rote words of sympathy. He had a big, boisterous family, and couldn't imagine losing a parent or sibling. "It was a long time ago, but I still miss her. For years I've felt like I didn't have a family, but that's going to change. Phillip and I will start our family as soon as we're married." Jack's gut clenched at the idea, although he could see more clearly now why being engaged to Phillip might seem like a good idea to Risa. If she'd grown up in a home devoid of love, maybe she didn't see its lack in her almost businesslike relationship with her fiancé.
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A relationship that was none of his business. Right now, Risa needed a friend, not criticism. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder. For a split-second, her muscles tensed, then relaxed under his hand. They stood in companionable silence, watching Yertle slowly make his way to his pool of water. Once in the water, the turtle promptly fell over to one side, his other half sticking up in the air. Jack frowned. "That can't be right. I think your turtle is sick. Maybe you should check with the pet shop where you bought him." Her cheeks reddened. "I, um, didn't get him at a store." "You didn't find him outside, did you?" "No. A guy was selling them out of the back of his truck." He smothered a laugh. "Well that sounds reputable." "It's a turtle, not a pure-breed like Pierpont. I didn't ask to see his papers. I'll look up vets tomorrow." "You want me to come by tomorrow? The offer still stands of borrowing my nephew's video games. I would have gone ahead and done it but I...wasn't sure you wanted me to come back." She smiled. "Jason will love you forever." And you? he wanted to ask. But he got the impression Risa Alexander was uncomfortable with love, wanted to tell herself she wouldn't make her mother's mistakes. Wanted to spare herself the risks.
"Hey, little brother. Long time, no see." Angela shuffled aside so that Jack could enter the Gwinnett County suburban home. Jack smiled at his towheaded nephew Tyler, still in his Buzz Lightyear pajamas despite the lunch hour. "Not in Pre-K today?" "I have a bad cold." The four year offered a pathetic cough. "D'you bring me a present to make me feel better?" "Tyler." Angela's voice reverberated with maternal reproach. "What you need is rest." Her son grimaced.
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"Get all better, sport, so that we can have fun on Saturday," Jack advised. The whole family was convening at his parents' place on Lake Lanier—barbecue, boating, kids running around with squirt guns. Tyler nodded, scooting off toward his room. He stopped long enough to admit, "You don't have to bring me gifts, I like it when you come by just 'cause I get to see you." "Thanks." Jack was almost embarrassed by how much the words meant. When his nephew had disappeared from earshot, Jack told his sister, "You and Greg are raising a couple of great kids." She smiled. "I know. I remind myself of that every time they do something that gives me a new gray hair." "I don't see any," he assured his older sister. "You may be going on forty, but you look twenty-five to me." "You always were my favorite brother. Come on, the game system is in the kitchen, all bagged up with a couple of cartridges you can borrow." He followed her. "Risa really appreciates this." "And Risa's just a neighbor?" The hopeful innuendo in her voice was clear. "Of course." He hefted the bag off Angie's kitchen table, not meeting her eyes. "You're sure? When you told me about her and mentioned you were helping her baby-sit this week, you sounded so...You're not leaving anything out?" "If you're implying there could be romance brewing, I should tell you she's engaged." "Oh. Mom will be crushed." "Mom?" He nearly dropped the bag of video equipment. "I mentioned talking to you. Might have mentioned that you already seem pretty fond of the girl next door..." "Angela Rachelle! How could you do this to me? Mom's been fretting since Amy left, worrying whether or not I'll remarry. " "She wants you to be happy, Jack. We all do. You've had such a tough time of it." The unwanted pity roiled in his stomach like something greasy and indigestible. Everyone had been so sympathetic since the divorce that, for the first time in his life, Jack was uncomfortable around his family. At every gathering, there were barely discernible whispers of poor Jack. It struck him that a small part of him wasn't looking forward to this weekend. Although... Maybe he could invite Risa? Once his family knew she was engaged, they wouldn't put any pressure on her, and the kids were bound to have a blast. He knew Janine was returning late Saturday night, so
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why not take their minds off missing their mom by having them tag along? And if Risa and the kids provided a buffer between him and his family's well-intended pity, all the better.
The expected knock sounded at the door, and Risa sighed. She'd been glad Harry the super called that morning to say he'd finally be fix the door, but she was currently busy trying to lull Grace into a nap and on hold with the vet's office. Turned out there were special turtle vets. Who knew? "Door's open," she called. Harry lumbered inside, greeting her with a comment on the hot weather—probably. The obnoxious rendition of "Who Let the Dogs Out?" used by the vet's office forced her to rely on nonexistent lip-reading skills. And Grace, sensing she didn't have Risa's undivided attention, was shrieking intermittently. While Harry busied himself with the malfunctioning door, Risa put the baby in a folding bouncy seat and turned on the television, hoping it would entertain the infant. A muscle-bound actor with soulful brown eyes and an atrocious fake Spanish accent was pledging to some scantily-clad woman named Celeste that Victor's death had been an accident. "Don't you believe him for a minute, Celeste." Risa aimed the remote control, and the man was replaced by a cast of puppets counting to ten. Much more appropriate. Unfortunately, with everything calm for the moment, the guilt Risa had been battling finally surfaced. This kiss brought to you by the letter K, she thought, watching an on-screen phonics skit. It wasn't a kiss. Nothing actually happened. But when she'd come awake next to Jack in the middle of the night, huddled against him, wondering what it would be like to have his lips on her... Engaged women should not wonder stuff like that. It had been exactly the kind of illogical, passionate impulse Maggie had cautioned against. Don't be like me, baby girl—you're smarter. Well, Risa had tried to be smart, but she'd never felt for Phillip Donavan what she'd felt for her neighbor in that unguarded moment. The doorbell rang, and Risa's knees almost buckled in relief. She didn't care if the person on the other side was selling Amway, she was just happy for the distraction. She swung the door wide open, and felt her smile harden and crack like cement. "Phillip! W-what are you doing here?" "What sort of greeting is that, Clarise?" He cocked his head to the side. "Is something wrong?" "No." Would Phillip somehow divine that she'd had an inappropriate reaction to another man? Would he hate her?
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"Aren't you going to invite me in, darling?" "Of course, sorry. I thought you were in court." "Jury returned early." He beamed. "Another victory! I wanted to celebrate, and felt bad for not being able to help with the children the other night. How about we pack up the baby, you change, and I buy us lunch at that French bistro we like?" French bistro he liked, actually. She thought it was slightly over-priced and disliked the way the waiters sneered if she mispronounced her order. "A nice thought, Phillip, but I'm afraid I can't. Grace is just nodding off, and if I disturb her now, she'll be impossible. It's not the sort of establishment where they tolerate a baby crying—" "Can't you just bring a pacifier?" Yeah, it's that simple. Babies always magically quiet the second you give them a pacifier. "That apparently doesn't work with Grace when she's cutting teeth— something about the pressure on her gums making sucking painful. Besides, I only have a little while before I take the kids' turtle to the vet." "A rain-check, then." He studied her. "You're planning to change before you go out, right? You have lovely legs, but those shorts are practically indecent." Glancing to where Harry was realigning her balcony door, Phillip lowered his voice. "In fact, I'd prefer you didn't traipse around like that when the serviceman's here." "His name is Harry, and I'm not 'traipsing.' It's over ninety degrees today!" She actually was planning to change, but this was her apartment, not his mother's bridge club. The déjà vu of the moment struck her, the too many times as a teenager when she'd felt unfairly judged. She wasn't fourteen. And she didn't need Phillip's blessing on her wardrobe. If she shouldn't repeat Maggie's past and be blinded by love, nor should she repeat her own past and let desperation for acceptance guide her actions. "I'm sorry, Phillip, I can't marry you." Until the words were out, she hadn't known for sure whether or not she was strong enough to say them. A tiny bud of pride blossomed within her. His face registered shock. "Because I complained about your clothes?" "Of course not. I care about you and I'm flattered you asked me to be your wife, but...we're a bad match." Since he very rarely experienced any kind of failure, she held her breath, wondering if he'd be furious. He merely stared. "What did I do wrong? We can talk about it." "It's more like what I did. Almost. I came close to kissing a man last night." "You want someone else?"
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I don't know. "It's not that. It's just that feeling that for someone else made me see you and I aren't right for each other, that I'm not truly as committed as you deserve." She tried a smile to soften her abrupt announcement. "I'll still vote for you." "Really?" "Absolutely. You'll be a great senator." He brightened somewhat. "You think the Judge will still endorse my candidacy?" "Not a doubt in my mind." The Judge would be furious...but not with Phillip. She'd really done it this time—the disapproving wrath she'd always feared would no doubt materialize. Best to worry about that later. Pulling off her engagement ring, she said softly, "This belongs to you." He palmed the sparkling piece of jewelry, then gave her a sheepish smile. "I guess I can use the refund money to help defray campaign costs." He was gone moments later, and she wasn't sure what emotion was stronger—the exhilaration of feeling free for the first time, or sheer terror over what the heck she was supposed to do with her life next.
Chapter Eight The knock against Jack's door was surprisingly urgent. He'd just arrived home, had been changing and checking email before going to Risa's, so it shouldn't be her. Why come over when she expected him in fifteen minutes? Bang, bang, bang! Uneasy, he opened the door. "Jason!" The little boy stood in the hall, brown eyes frantic. "I thought I should get you. Aunt Risa's crying." Panic gripped him. "Is she all right? Is Grace?" "Everyone's fine—'cept Yertle. He went to heaven, but that's okay. He can keep my daddy company. Daddy would probably like a pet. And since I have the aquarium already, maybe Mom will let me get another turtle. Or fish. Or—" The door to 7-H swung open and Risa charged into the hallway, Grace in her arms, Natalie following behind with a thumb in her mouth. "Jason Matthew Griggs!" Risa's tone was that parental combination of relief and rage. "Sweetie, never, never leave the apartment without asking me! Do you have any idea how worried..."
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She lifted her head, casting Jack an apologetic glance. Jason had been right about the crying, her golden eyes were indeed red-rimmed. "I'm so sorry. I was, um, in the restroom, only gone a minute. They were watching a video. Jason, it's not safe for you to leave the apartment. Most strangers are nice people like Jack, but when I think about—" Jason's lower lip quivered, and Risa was white as a sheet, probably stricken by all the sinister possibilities she didn't want to mention to the kids. Natalie popped her thumb out of mouth. "Hi, Mr. Jack." "Hi, beautiful. You know, kids, I've never noticed before, but there's kind of a funny smell in the hall. Maybe it's from Pierpont the poodle." Natalie giggled, and he continued, "Why don't we all go into Risa's apartment where it doesn't smell funny and sort this out?" Once they were inside, standing in the white carpeted space between Risa's living room and the breakfast bar that separated her kitchen from the rest of the apartment, Risa focused on the kids. She knelt in front of Jason, careful to hold Grace far enough away that the infant's tiny grasping hands couldn't tug her brother's hair. "It's been a tough day so I won't send you to your room, just promise me you'll never do anything like that again." "I promise," the little boy mumbled. "Good. Then maybe we can order a pizza and play video games tonight," Risa said, straightening. "I'm going to look for my delivery coupons." The kids were all smiles as they resumed watching their movie, and Jack followed his red-eyed hostess into the kitchen. He noticed her hands trembled as she shuffled through discount offers. "Yertle shuffled off his mortal coil?" "I have a turtle in my freezer next to the frozen peas." Then she burst into tears. "You okay?" He felt like an imbecile; people who were wailing and trying to muffle it with a dish towel were not okay. "Fine." She lowered the towel. "Incompetent, but fine. I buy milk formula for a lactose-intolerant baby, I lose one of my charges, I get the kids a pet and the thing's dead inside a week. It could've at least had the decency to kick the bucket before the ridiculous vet bill, which cost more than the turtle and all its housing in the first place. Apparently, the little guy had pneumonia. The vet pumped him full of expensive antibiotics, and assured me as I was writing out the monstrous check that the turtle would show signs of improvement by tonight." Jack bit down on his lip, struggling not to see any morbid humor in the situation. "He didn't even last the entire drive home!" A small giggle tore out of her. "Oh, heavens, I shouldn't be laughing. That's just wrong."
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"You seriously have a turtle next to your peas?" "In a sealed baggie. The kids wanted to properly bury him, but since I don't have a yard, we're preserving him till Janine gets back. I was worried she'd be mad I bought them a pet. Now I'm worried what she'll think when she finds out I killed it in a matter of days." "Risa, it wasn't your fault—all turtles meet their Maker eventually. And the kids are coping." She rolled her shoulders, and he recognized the action as someone trying to relieve tension. His fingers itched to massage her tight muscles, to offer comfort it wasn't his place to give. He bounced Grace at his hip, watching her adorable baby grin because it was safer than watching her more-than-adorable babysitter. "I guess that after losing their father," Risa said, "they have some perspective on the turtle. Nat told me she was glad Yertle wasn't sick anymore, and Jason thinks the idea of having a funeral is cool. I suspect he plans to tell his class about it next week for circle time. He mentioned that an actual funeral would be much cooler than the time Mikey Baxter flushed a goldfish." Jack shifted his weight, rearranging Grace in his arms. "Um, I understand being upset about Yertle and worrying you let the kids down, but..." "I wasn't bawling over the turtle. It's just been a very long day." He noticed her hand—the bare left finger—at the same time she blurted, "Phillip and I broke up." Broke up? Shock numbed him. He plunked into one of the kitchen chairs before he either lost his balance or dropped Grace. His first impulse was to be jubilant, but Risa had been crying. "If you don't want to talk about it, I won't pry." She sniffed. "No, it's okay. It was my doing. Phillip was just the wrong man for me." Yes! "I see." Narrowing her eyes, she said, "I suppose you do. You and Janine both saw, hinted, tried to get me to see it. Phillip's a nice man, but it wouldn't be right for me to marry him" "Did he take it okay?" Though Jack hadn't personally known her that long, he'd feel her absence like a void if she weren't in his life. "He did, actually, but I've been too much of a coward to call my step-father. Lord knows how he'll take it, which is probably why I'm such a mess. It was one of my mother's last wishes that he and I get along, be a family." Jack thought that she deserved some time around a real family, one that griped and fought and made up, without its members worrying that they weren't allowed to make mistakes. If she was free of her engagement to Phillip, free to pursue a life in
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which love played a part, she should have a closer look at how unconditional affection worked. "Are you and the kids busy Saturday?" he heard himself ask.
"Are we there yet?" Risa asked teasingly. Jack smirked. "Isn't that supposed to be the kids' line?" The children were being angels. Jason and Natalie had been playing the Alphabet Game and Grace was zonked out in her car seat. It was Risa who was edgy, wondering what Jack's family would make of her, wondering how he'd described her. His neurotic neighbor who had a habit of staring at his mouth and getting distracted? "Um, Risa?" He tapped the control panel above the steering wheel—she'd suggested he drive the van since he knew the way. "When was the last time the engine was serviced?" She laughed. "Because of the light saying something's wrong with the engine? The engine's fine. Something shorted with the light, is all." "Good to know. I didn't want to break Janine's van. Seemed rude, since I've never even met her." "I'll have to introduce the two of you. Janine would love you." What woman wouldn't? Gorgeous, funny guy with no known vices and he adored kids. Now that she thought about it, Risa couldn't imagine why he was divorced. Why would a wife have let him go? "So...tell me who everyone is again. I'll never keep your family straight." "That's okay, I have two brothers and two sisters and stopped being able to tell them apart years ago. I just call all the girls 'gorgeous' and the men 'bro'." "Liar. I know how close you are to your family." "Yeah, we're close." But something about the way Jack bit the words off more sharply than normal made her think that there was something wrong. Was he fighting with one of his siblings? "Everything okay? You sound..." He sighed. "I should just tell you since it will probably come up today. The joke in the family has always been 'Wolfes mate for life.' I'm the first one in four generations to get a divorce. It's...awkward at times." Her heart squeezed. "Oh, Jack, that has to be tough. I know what it's like to be in your own home and feel like you stand out or don't belong somehow."
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"Thanks. It's nice to have empathy and not just pity. I know they mean well, but they started feeling sorry for me even before the marriage, so the div—" "What? Why?" His handsome face colored, then became deliberately neutral as he pointed toward an exit sign. "Good news, everyone, we're almost there!"
Risa couldn't remember ever feeling so blissfully content, and it wasn't just because of Mrs. Wolfe's sinfully delicious chocolate silk pie. The entire day had been like a fairy-tale...or at least, her version of one, dreamt up in the Judge's spacious but unwelcoming home. There were no people alive more welcoming than the Wolfes, as far as Risa was concerned. Jason and Natalie had fit right in, accepted into the clan's various children, and Jack's siblings had been delightfully entertaining, the way they affectionately ribbed one another and showed honest interest in what Risa did for a living. It was easy to see how Jack had become such a wonderful man, coming from warm, funny people like these. She watched him now, from her folding lawn chair, as he stood on the beach, holding a sparkler for Natalie. "He is so good with kids." Jack's youngest sister, pregnant and practically glowing even in the falling dusk, nodded with a wistful sigh. "Just one of life's weird ironies, isn't it? That a man like that can't father—" "Sasha Marie!" This from Angela, accompanied by a smack on the back of the head. "Hey! Be gentle with the pregnant lady," Sasha complained. Angela, having survived pregnancies of her own, wasn't that easily chastised. "I think we've probably talked Risa's ear off enough, don't you? Let's go see if Mom needs any help loading stuff up for the night." Though it took some effort to pull herself out of her chair, Sasha toddled after her sister. Risa wasn't an idiot, though, and could piece together the rest of Sasha's words. Jack had said his family felt sorry for him—because he couldn't have children? Surely that wasn't why his wife had left? There were other options available to couples who couldn’t conceive, but very few men like Jack. Almost as if he could feel his gaze on her, Jack looked up, smiling at her in a way that made her heart somersault and her sun-warmed skin heat even more. She returned the grin with one of her own, shy, but not trying to hide what she felt. She didn't know if she could trust it yet, these emotions that were more instinct than pragmatism, but at least she was free to find out now. With that thought drifting through her mind like a refreshing breeze, she rose, walking toward him.
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He straightened, too. The last of the sparklers had exhausted itself, and he left the kids to try to spot the first stars of the evening, meeting Risa halfway on the beach, out of earshot of anyone else. "Hi," he said. "Hi yourself." She felt like a girl at her first dance, hoping the boy she liked would ask her for a turn around the floor. If he didn't, would she have the guts to ask him? "I hope you had a good day," he said. "The best. Thank you for sharing this—them—with me." Pleasure etched itself in his boyish expression, his obvious delight that she liked his family. "You're welcome. I'm just glad it was at the beach, where Mom couldn't pull out twelve albums' worth of naked baby pictures." She swallowed, feeling strangely free and bold with the wind off the water rippling her hair and the sand cool and smooth beneath her bare feet. "I can think of worse fates than seeing you naked." His eyebrows shot up. "Well...I...well." A laugh rippled out of her. "And here I thought you were too much of a smart aleck to ever be at a loss for words." "I suppose it's only fair that I return the favor." He took a step closer, bending his head so that she could clearly see the mischievous expression that had replaced the shock. "Although maybe it's not technically putting you at a loss for words, I can think of a few ways to keep you from calling me names." "I take back the 'smart aleck,'" she said, her heartbeat thundering in her ears. "Too late." His lips brushed against hers. "Besides, I am a smart aleck. I'm also...a very...good...kisser." It might have been bragging, except that, in reality, he was a great kisser.
Chapter Nine "Oooooh Aunt Risa's kissing Mr. Jack!" Jason's announcement had the same effect as a bucket of cold water being thrown over the kissing couple. Except, Risa thought sourly, the splash from a bucket of water might not have echoed up the beach and drawn the attention of Jack's entire family. She sprang back, which was a bad idea since the kiss had left her shaky and unbalanced. To add to the sudden awkwardness of the moment, she almost landed on her butt in the sand. Jack helped steady her, his hands skimming her bare arms. "You okay?"
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"Yeah." She cast a worried glance over her shoulder, hearing snatches of murmured conversation and seeing Jack's mother barreling toward them. "Better let me head her off," he suggested with a crooked grin. "Unless you specifically told anyone differently today, they all think you're still engaged. If you'd been anyone else, they would have made polite conversation by asking about wedding plans earlier, but they refrained out of deference to my feelings...Angela told everyone I might be smitten with you." "Yeah?" Her toes curled at the idea of big strong Jack smitten. He brushed his hand over her cheek, his affectionate gaze needing no words. Then he went to deal with his mom, leaving her to deal with Natalie and Jason. "Are you gonna marry Mr. Jack?" Jason asked. "That would be so cool! Could I be the ring-bearer? Mikey Baxter got to be the ring-bearer in his cousin's wedding." Risa fervently wished the Baxters would move to Alaska. "No, Jason, I—" "Can we tell Mommy?" Natalie looked delighted to have something interesting to share with their returning mother. Time for a quick subject change! "Speaking of your Mommy, we should head back, get your stuff packed up and change out of these sandy clothes before we pick her up." Risa figured the kids would sleep on the way to the airport, especially after the fun they'd had playing in the fresh air today. "Let's go get Grace from Jack's dad and tell everyone thank you for the nice time." They managed to say all their goodbyes without too much clumsiness, and Risa tried not to acknowledge the sly smiles sent her way. Angela was the only one to speak her mind, whispering as she hugged Risa, "He's been through too much bad--he deserves someone terrific like you." The comment left Risa with conflicting feelings as she and Jack loaded the kids into the van. On the one hand, so much acceptance in one day left her grateful and touched. On the other, she wasn't sure where a single kiss would lead. And underlying her emotions was a profound sadness that Jack should have endured heartbreak. Why did rotten things have to happen to people like Janine or Jack or Maggie? Life could be so unfair. Then again, recalling today's easy, sunlit laughter, topped off with that storybook kiss, she decided that sometimes life was pretty freaking spectacular.
When the elevator doors parted at the seventh floor, Risa and Jack exchanged hushed glances. Jason had fallen asleep mid-piggy-back ride, with Jack supporting the child with one hand so he didn't slide off, and Grace was dozing in the baby sling across Jack's wide, muscular chest. Risa carried an equally unconscious Natalie.
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"It's silly to load them back up twenty minutes from now," Jack whispered as they walked toward 7-H. "Why don't I just stay at your place with them while you get their mom?" It sounded like a perfect idea to Risa, but she wondered how Janine would feel about a stranger keeping her children. She unlocked the door, considering. "I—Janine!" Her friend unfolded herself from the couch, turning off whatever she'd been watching on the television. "I missed you!" She cast Jack a speculative admiring glance before turning back to Risa. "They cancelled the last flight of the evening and notified passengers that they could catch an earlier one or wait until morning. I came back early and caught a cab. I take it you didn't get the messages on your cell phone?" Risa felt her face flaming. What kind of babysitter didn't check her voice mail? "I— this evening was so...I had other things on my mind, but I hope you don't think I'm terribly irresponsible. The kids—" "Look in good hands to me," Janine said with a soft smile. "I missed them terribly." Grace had already wakened to the sound of her mother's voice and began an excited baby babble that stirred Jason. "Mommy!" he squealed, no doubt damaging Jack's hearing. Jack slid the little boy down, then unfastened the sling as Jason told his mother what a fabulous week he'd had. "We had pizza, and Jack showed me how to play this new racing game, and Aunt Risa helped me with my spelling words, and Natalie and I got to swim today, and Aunt Risa might be getting married to Mr. Jack." Janine laughed, casting the adults an apologetic smile. "Kids make fanciful assumptions. Jason, honey, Aunt Risa is marrying Phillip—you remember him?" Risa cleared her throat. "Um, actually..." "You two have a lot to talk about," Jack said, looking torn between amusement and panic. "I'll just show myself out. Ms. Griggs, it was lovely to have met you. You have three amazing children." Risa glared in the direction of the door, which he closed behind him, stalling until she had to meet Janine's gaze. "So that's the hunky neighbor, huh? He does live up to description." Sitting down on the couch, a slowly waking Natalie cuddled against her, Risa invited, "Tell me all about your vacation!" "It was wonderful and relaxing and you are the best friend in the world for sending me on it, but honestly, sipping mai-tais by the pool doesn't actually make for the
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most entertaining anecdotes. I'm more interested in how Jason concluded you'll be marrying Mr. Jack." "I'm not really marrying him!" Janine grinned broadly. "Any chance I can have him, then?"
Jack was on his way toward her apartment when Risa's door suddenly opened, nearly giving him a heart attack. He quickly bent down, as if retrieving the morning paper. She stopped in her tracks. "Oh. Hi. I was just coming over to see you." Her words, the sweetly hesitant way she said them, washed over him like the bright warmth of a sunbeam. "Really? I was just...coming over to see you, too. I thought maybe you'd like to go out for breakfast or something." If the kiss on the beach yesterday was any indication of things to come, he voted strongly for 'or something.' He didn't want to rush her into anything, but he badly wanted to taste her again. "Breakfast sounds nice, as long as you let me buy. I wanted to thank you for all the help this week." "Is that why you were coming over? Just to say thanks?" Peering up at him through her lashes, she shook her head. "Not just. There were...other reasons. After all, I promised to sit for a painting, unless you were kidding about that." "I never joke about my art," he said in an exaggerated tone of self-importance. It had the desired effect of making her laugh. "Well, then. I suppose something like that would take several sittings. We might have to spend, I don't know, hours together. Days, maybe." How would she feel about years? Jack blinked, realizing it was the first thought he'd had about the long-term future since Amy had left. It panicked him a little, the acknowledgement that he was falling for Risa. The realization that he could be hurt again. He was glad when she spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "So, anywhere in particular you'd like to eat?" "Nope, I'm not picky." Anywhere Risa was sounded good to him.
It had been such a perfect day that Risa had to remind herself she didn't believe in fairy-tales. Sitting in the sunlight that spilled through Jack's balcony door while he sketched her in preparation for a later portrait, she'd talked to him about her job,
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her mother, her favorite movies, her weird idiosyncrasies she normally didn't share with anyone but Janine. She couldn't decide which was better—the hours of easy conversation they'd shared, or just staring at him, watching the way he looked when he was concentrating, being able to stare unchecked at his eyes, the tiny indention of a not-quite dimple next to that full mouth. She could admit to herself now that she'd occasionally regarded her mother's romantic decisions with a kind of gentle scorn. Though she'd adored her mother, Risa had vowed to make more logical choices. It had been simple to say, since she'd never known what falling in love felt like. Now, it was easier to understand Maggie's feelings, the pull of a man who made you feel this special—not that this was love already! Was it? "Risa?" Jack set aside the sketch pad he'd held. "Everything all right? You went pale all of the sudden." "I...I think I should go." She stood. "I really got behind on work this week, and I should take care of some things before returning to the office tomorrow." He stood in her way, arms crossed over his chest. "You're scared." "What?" "You have a very expressive face. Is it because of us?" He moved closer, pulling her into a loose embrace. He'd kissed her earlier, when they'd come back to his apartment, and while it had been thrilling, she'd been relieved he hadn't pushed for more. "I thought things were going perfectly." "Exactly. And that's what terrifies me." She didn't bother to deny it. "I told you about my mother's history." "Her mistakes aren't yours, Risa." "No, I make my own. You saw how my engagement crashed and burned in record time. I just need to think things through. You've already been through so much with the divorce and...everything, the last thing I want is to add to any pain." He narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean, 'and everything?'" "Nothing. Just, one of your sisters mentioned—" "That I can't have kids?" He swore. "They had no right to tell you that." "I know. That's why I wasn't going to mention it. If it helps, I don't think she meant to. Jack, I'm so sorry." "I don't want your pity." His arms dropped away from her. "I'm fine with it." She snorted. "That was believable."
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"Well, what did you want me to say, 'poor me?' I've accepted my role as Uncle Jack." "What do you mean accepted your role? Don't you want kids?" Just because he was single now didn't mean he always would be, or that he didn't have options. He shot her a dark glare. "I can't see how it's any of my neighbor's business, but yeah, I wanted kids. Which was why we—my wife and I—filed for adoption. Instead of sticking it out through the process, though, she decided she'd rather have her own children, with someone who wasn't defective and could give them to her." Risa winced at being downgraded to nothing more than a neighbor, winced again when he said defective. "Jack, it was her loss." "Somehow, it didn't feel that way when I had to withdraw the application for the baby we'd already seen pictures of, or when I had to move out of my home, one we'd rebuilt together. If you don't mind, I think I'd like to be alone now. You're not the only one who has work to get done before Monday." Her feet were like lead weights she could barely move toward the door, but how could she argue her way into staying when she'd been the one who said she needed to leave? Truthfully, she did have lots of work to do. But, as important as Perfect Placement had always been to her, there was a new person in her life who meant more.
Chapter Ten Risa's Monday sucked. First she'd overslept, causing her to rush. When she'd reached the lobby, she'd realized she'd left her briefcase upstairs. She hit the button to take the elevator back up. As the doors parted, Jack had stepped into the lobby and she'd felt her entire world stop. Their gazes had locked for a millisecond before he'd nodded crisply and walked away, and then she'd felt like her world had shattered. Between her preoccupation with him and her getting behind last week, work wasn't going smoothly, and Janine's announcement that the Judge was holding on line three did nothing to calm Risa's mood. Her step-father never called, she thought as she picked up the receiver. Obviously Phillip had told him about the breakup. Thomas Winters was probably understandably indignant that she hadn't told him herself, but she'd managed to find excuses to put it off, what with her babysitting and falling hopelessly for her next door neighbor. "H-hello?" "Clarise, this is your step-father. I'm on my cell phone and in your area. Are you free for lunch?" She had no idea, but since she'd never defied the man in her life, a quick, "Sure" rolled off her tongue. "Good, I'll pick you up in five minutes." He disconnected.
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Running a hand through her already disheveled hair, Risa told herself she might as well get their confrontation over on a bad day. No sense ruining a good day with it. "That was brief," Janine said from the doorway of the office. "He's on his way here. To take me to lunch. Probably to ask how I could let a catch like Phillip get away." "Phillip was not the catch for you. You just tell him that." Risa bit her lip. Did she know who the catch for her was? Yesterday afternoon, she'd been sitting in Jack's apartment all dreamy and moon-eyed over him. Ten minutes later, he'd politely thrown her out. Maybe romance just wasn't her thing. "I don't know what you're thinking, but Jason gets that same expression when I remind him he has a spelling test coming up." "I was thinking about men." "Oh, well that will definitely do it, then." "Janine, you should've seen the way he looked at me this morning!" Since Risa had already shared the humiliation of Jack dismissing her like they were perfect strangers, she trusted her friend could follow the segue. "Honestly, Phillip took our breakup with more warmth than that." "A sure sign that you and Phillip weren't actually in love," Janine said as the outer door opened. "The Judge!" As in, "here comes the..." "Be brave," Janine mouthed before turning. "Good afternoon, Judge Winters. Risa's expecting you."
Once they were in the Judge's sedan, Risa shot her step-father a pained look. "I feel like I’m thirteen, trying to get up the nerve to tell you about a bad grade." The man's bushy white eyebrows crept upward in an expression of austere surprise. "I don't recall you ever getting any bad ones." "A few B's. They weren't A's, and that's what you wanted." "Certainly I wanted to encourage you to do your best. And look at you now, a competent businesswoman, so you see, it's good that I pushed." Sure. But would a little more encouragement have hurt? "I suppose you've talked to Phillip," she said as the Judge turned the car out of the parking lot. Somehow, being
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in the car where they could both look at the road and not at each other made the conversation easier. Marginally. "I did. But I'd like to hear your version of events." She had the insane urge to swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "There's not much to tell. I realized I didn't love him, and so I told him I couldn't marry him. You don't have to tell me, sir, that Phillip is a good man, a successful one who would have made an excellent provider, but—" He made a sudden left, swerving the car into the parking lot of a bank that had closed a few weeks' earlier because a new branch was opening a block over. "Why are we stopping here?" she asked, staring around the abandoned lot. "Clarise, are you of the opinion that I don't value love as an important ingredient in a union?" "Oh. Well, no, I suppose not." "You suppose not? Why do you think I married Maggie, God rest her soul, if not for love? If Phillip Donavan wasn't the man for you, and you know that in your heart, you don't have to justify it to me." It was gruff, but it was approval, and it blossomed inside her like the first rose of spring. "Thank you. Sir. That means a lot to me." He looked surprised by this. "Indeed? I'm glad we had this talk then. Truthfully, I know it would have made Maggie happy if we'd talked more, been closer, but it was hard, you being the spittin' image of a woman I'd loved and lost. And me knowing nothing about parenting. But we did the best we could, didn't we, Clarise?" After a moment, she nodded, even managing a smile to soothe the rare note of uncertainty in his voice. It was too late to ever go back and have the childhood she'd longed for, but maybe a fresh start wasn't out of the question.
"Here." Jack thrust the bag into his sister's arms and was already turning to go when he added, "Thanks for letting me borrow them." "And hello to you, too," Angela said, frowning as she tightened her grip on the video game equipment. "Care to come in for a cup of coffee?" "I need to get back to work," he mumbled, wishing it weren't a bright, shining May afternoon. The gaily chirping birds were giving him a heck of a headache. "You know, you were in a lot better mood when I saw you two days ago."
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Irritation blazed through him, reversing his direction so that he marched back onto Angie's front porch. "Was it you who told Risa about me?" His sister sighed. "So that's what's got you as grumpy as a bear with a thorn in its butt? It wasn't me who told her, no, but—" "Never mind. It's not important." "She's obviously important," Angela said. "Another ten minutes without kids interrupting, you guys might have been horizontal in the surf." "Get your mind out of the gutter. It's not like that with Risa." "How is it, then?" He opened his mouth, closed it. Raked a hand over his unshaven jaw. Had Risa noticed this morning that he hadn't shaved? He wished he'd looked slicker when he'd seen her. Polished was her type, like Phillip. No, Phillip obviously wasn't her type, or she wouldn't have dumped him, and what do you care, anyway? "Jack?" Great. He was having silent arguments with himself and his sister was staring at him like she was going to call for the butterfly nets to come take him away. "I'm fine." "You were a much better liar as a kid. Want to come in for that coffee?" "Yeah, thanks." Driving back to work this distracted was like asking for an accident. Maybe the caffeine would clear his head. "So." His sister pulled down two mugs. "We were talking about Risa." "Not much left to say. She just broke off an engagement, Ange. She's not ready for anything." "She's not, or you're not? Don't think your family hasn't noticed your lack of dates since the divorce." "Well, what do you want me to do, Angela, marry another woman who tells me that she's fine with circumstances I can't control, then changes her mind a few years later?" "Jack. You can't throw your life away because one woman couldn't keep her word. That's just stupid, and Mama will be the first to tell you she didn't raise any fools." After a moment, he grinned. "You've always been such a bossy know-it-all." "Darn straight. And now that I'm old and married, I've got wisdom, too, so take my advice—talk to Risa. You look miserable."
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"Yeah, but relationships bring the potential to become even more miserable." She stirred sugar into her cup, pushed his across the kitchen island. "Love brings the potential for lots of things, little brother, you just gotta be open to them." "Love? I didn't say love. I said relationship, and even that is premature. I've known Risa less than a month." Angela shrugged. "Greg and I knew each other all through high school and all through college before he proposed; Mom and Dad eloped after two weeks and are still going strong. I don't think there's a right way or wrong way to do it. The trick is, you actually do it instead of chicken out. If you don't talk to her, I'm telling all our siblings that you're a pansy."
With his sister's pansy accusation ringing in his ears, Jack decided to make a grand gesture. Something that, best case would strike Risa as romantic and dramatic— especially since Phillip didn't seem like the type who ever demonstrated she was worth a little drama and effort—and worst case, Jack's actions would at least make her laugh and break the ice. What he wanted to say would be a lot less terrifying and awkward if she was smiling at him. So, he hoisted himself over to Risa's balcony and knocked on the glass sliding door. Although it was still fairly early in the evening, he'd heard her come home about half an hour ago. Now, he saw her wandering toward him, wearing work clothes and a puzzled expression. She was laughing, but appeared understandably confused, when she unlocked the door. "Jack?" "Can I come inside? I'm parboiling out here." "Well of course you are." She moved aside. "It's May and you're wearing...flannel?" "Pajamas my nephew Tyler gave me last Christmas. I'm doing a recreation here, but I drew the line at weird facial goop." For a moment, she frowned, then realization dawned in her eyes. "The apricot facial mask. From when I landed on your balcony in my pj's." "Right, the night we met. Risa, I don't know if you're aware of how much you've changed my life since then." "Oh." She swallowed nervously. "You mean in a good way, right?" He grinned. "Yeah. Occasionally maddening, but good." "Maddening? Hey!"
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"Well, you try installing firewall tests for a billion dollar corporation with your gorgeous next door neighbor occupying all your thoughts." "I'm not gorgeous," she said self-consciously, "but I know a little something about not being able to think of anything but your neighbor." He cupped her cheeks in his hands. "Say what you like, I see gorgeous. I also see the woman who's inspired me with the courage to face life again. After you told me a little about your mother, I thought you were avoiding the risks that come with love. But I was hiding from those risks myself. Not being able to have kids of my own has always been painful, but I was using that as an excuse not to consider any more long-term relationships. I rationalized it, but really I was just being a. . .well, to use my older sister's term, a pansy." Risa laughed. "Oh, Jack, that's not how I see you at all. And you were right about my not wanting to take risks. Maybe I just hadn't met someone worth the risks before." "And now?" She stood on her tip-toes, kissing him gently, thanking him for this silly stunt, for bringing so much laughter and emotion into her life. For freeing that emotion within her. She felt as if she and Janine were closer than ever before and maybe even she and the Judge could build a real relationship now. When they broke apart, Jack leaned his forehead to hers. "One of the things Amy said when she left was that she wasn't sure she could ever truly love someone else's child as her own. After watching you with those three kids this week, I know that would never be true of you. You have a lot of love inside you, Risa Alexander." Tears stung her eyes. "Thank you. That's a really beautiful thing to say." "If you don't already have plans for the evening, I could hang around and say some other great stuff." She laughed. "All right, but expect to be interrupted frequently." To prove her point, she kissed him again, reveling in the jolts of electricity that shot all the way to her toes, the excited dip in her stomach that made her feel as if she were about to shoot over a hill on the best roller coaster of her life. Funny, she'd always wanted to feel like she belonged—had even founded a business devoted to helping others fit somewhere professionally—and here, in Jack's arms, she finally knew just where she wanted to be.
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Fast and Furious by Lori Borrill Magazine publisher Drake Whitley lives life in the fast lane, slowing down only to savor the finer things in life, like good Scotch and hot women. So when he drives his newest toy off the road en route to New York from Memphis, Drake is more than happy to accept a ride from a local beauty. The chemistry between them is undeniable, and as luck would have it, Bonnie Bristol is in the market for some steamy sex to take her mind off her own troubles! But when attraction quickly turns to affection and desire becomes need, can these two turn a sizzling three-day fling into something more permanent?
Chapter One According to Drake Whitley, only three things in life were best savored slowly: the succulent taste of a prime Kentucky rib eye, the smooth heat of a fine glass of Scotch and the tender flesh of a beautiful woman. Everything else, he thought as he hit the gas on his new Lamborghini Murciélago, was far more enjoyable at a high rate of speed. He gripped the soft leather steering wheel, his pulse climbing with the speedometer as he threw the car into sixth and tore the road out from under him. To a casual driver heading east on I-40, his smoke-black Italian sports car might be nothing but a mirage, a shadow forming in the west then whipping out of sight before the other driver even realized Drake had been there. He loved stretches of roads like this one from Memphis to Nashville, where traffic was sparse and the hills and bends offered a driver a worthy challenge. After all, anyone could hit 140 along the Utah salt flats. Only people like Drake—who had nerves for speed and the money to buy it—could do it through the Tennessee valley. A quick grin clipped his lips as he leaned into a turn, his new toy proving to be everything the dealer had promised. At more than a quarter million dollars, it should be. This wasn’t the first Lamborghini Drake had owned, but it was the newest—so finely equipped that he’d declined the offer to have it shipped to his home in New York, opting instead to drive it from Memphis himself. It seemed criminal to load a machine built for speed onto a slow-moving truck. And besides, as the owner and executive editor of High Velocity—a magazine devoted to all things fast—a little firsthand market research never hurt. At least, that was the official line he had given back at the office. The real truth was that his spirit needed a road trip. Drake couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had come on, but somewhere in the last six months, his mental engine had begun to sputter. A sense of unease had come over him, a feeling that things were off, that there was something more out there, but he didn’t know what it was or where to find it. He’d had this feeling once before and he’d answered it by following his gut, taking his share of the money from his family’s ranch in Austin, Texas, to New York where he’d started up High Velocity. It had been a move of instinct and need, one he hadn’t understood but followed nonetheless. And it ended up making him millions, not to mention immensely happy. Since then, Drake never dismissed his gut or the senses that drove him, and this time they’d told him to pick up the Lamborghini and spend some time on the road. So he settled back in
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his car and kicked into a comfortable groove, opening his mind to accept whatever the road brought him. He’d just passed Nashville when his eye caught a sign for the Dahlia Speedway. The name jogged his memory of an old, run-down drag strip that had just gone through major renovations. It might make a good story for the magazine. At the very least the town would be a fitting place to stop off for a bite to eat. He blinked and checked his speed, deciding too late to bring it down and look for the next sign. Because when it flashed before him at the threshold to the exit, he hit the turnoff too fast and went sailing over the hill. He took air and came down hard, metal scraping against asphalt as the car veered one way and the road veered another. Drake shot out an expletive and cranked the wheel, fighting to stay on a road that wound too tightly. He hit the brakes but the car kept careening, tires screeching and smoke billowing as he lost the battle for control. Each time he straightened from one curve, the road twisted into another, and he worked feverishly, adrenaline coursing through his blood as he pumped the brakes and held on tight. But it was all too little too late. Because before he could blink, the road was gone.
Chapter Two A bottle of Jack Daniels and a night of sweaty sex with a hot, studly man. Bonnie Bristol had concluded those were the only two things that could shake away her gloom. She had neither of those things handy. It was probably a good thing. The booze would only leave her sick and more depressed tomorrow morning. And the man? Well, in a small town like Dahlia, there weren't many of those to choose from. Reason number 437 why she hadn't planned on still being here at the ripe old age of twentyfive. College was supposed to have taken Bonnie out of Dahlia. With a degree in journalism under her belt, she was supposed to have set off to see the country. Maybe even the world. Instead, all she'd seen was this tired stretch of highway between Nashville and home, 30 miles of scenery so familiar she could paint every linear foot of it with photographic precision. Thrusting her dad's beat-up Chevy truck into gear, she kicked up what speed she could to pass a dairy tanker heading east on I-40. The transmission in her Firebird had died last winter, and without the funds to repair it, she was now relegated to the last working vehicle she and her mother owned—her dad's big red pickup, a sleepy old relic barely capable of hitting 60 on a downhill grade. Not that Bonnie was complaining. She wasn't in a hurry to get home to share the news that her last-ditch effort to save the family home had failed. Mr. Mayfield, the investor who'd expressed a faint interest in becoming a partner in the Bristol House Bed and Breakfast, hadn't liked Bonnie's financial prospectus, and with her final shot now obliterated, she had nothing but despair to spread when she got back to the B and B. Despair that would go down so much easier with a stinging shot of Jack.
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Or a man. God, when was the last time she'd had an orgasm at the hands of someone besides herself? She let her mind wander as she turned off I-40 and headed south toward town. Strong, warm hands cupping bare and ready breasts, wet lips on her thighs, firm flesh against her hands. She'd give anything for that welcome ache between her legs, the scent of sex on her pillows and tangled sheets that didn't come from restless sleep. Her mind had trailed so far off course that she didn't even see the erratic skid marks on the road until she was right on them, a deep and arcing curve to the left then a sharp switch to the right. Letting up on the gas, she instinctively slowed and followed the tracks with her eyes until they led her off an embankment, four sharp trenches freshly dug in the moist grass. She hit the brakes and pulled over, leaving the truck behind to survey the field on foot. And when she stepped to the short ridge and looked down, her eyebrow curved with intrigue. Down the embankment, the tracks led to a car that, through some miracle, had come to a stop wedged between two gnarly oaks. And behind it stood a tall and studly man, much like the one in her daydream. He looked more pissed than hurt, and as she called out and headed down the hill, she caught sight of two sizzling blue eyes apparently glad to see her. By the looks of things, she just might have found her hot, sexy man. And the shot of Jack? Bonnie thought her handsome stranger could use one, too.
Chapter Three Drake stood in the grassy field, dazed and surprised that he wasn't dead, much less hurt. Then he heard the sweet Southern voice and glanced up to see a sultry beauty casually strolling down the steep embankment. Maybe he had died and this was heaven. If so, he'd have a hard time mourning his own demise. A man could hardly complain about spending eternity with something that looked like that. Almost effortlessly, the woman scaled down the hill despite her tight-fitting skirt and legslimming heels. Her sleek auburn hair was pulled back, but a few wayward strands had broken loose, catching the sunlight like silky copper ribbons. Though her skin was fair as butter cream, her deep green eyes said sexy siren—just the way he liked his women. And as he took in her tall curvy frame, he noted a few more things he liked about her, too. Yes ma'am, if this was heaven, he could definitely handle the welcoming committee. "Anyone hurt?" she asked as she stepped to the bottom of the grade and moved toward him. He blinked, forgetting why she would ask such a question. Then his mind popped back to his accident and the new toy he'd just squeezed himself out of. "Uh, no." He brushed any remnant specks of shattered glass from his jeans.
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She appraised the car and where it had landed. "Six inches to the right and you wouldn't be standing there. Those Lamborghinis are built for speed, not safety." She placed her slim hands on her hips and surveyed the situation. "Anyone else in the car?" He shook his head, suddenly rendered speechless by this stunning woman and her nononsense style. Though she was dressed to the nines, she didn't seem to give a whit that her heels were now caked with mud. Nor did she look the least bit surprised by him, his situation or the two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar sports car wedged between the trees. And then there was the beauty aspect he was still trying to get a grip on. He'd thought those smoky eyes were green, but on closer inspection they were dotted with flecks of blue, the color changing in the light like opals. She had a delectable mole high on her cheekbone that gave her almond-shaped eyes an exotic look, though her drawl hinted that she'd grown up nearby. He found her so striking and intriguing that he felt he could study her for hours, but before he could gawk, she jutted out a hand and said, "Bonnie Bristol." He blinked and offered his own. "Drake Whitley. Uh, thanks for stopping." Oh, that was smooth. She regarded him curiously but shook it off as she reclaimed her hand. "Follow me. I'll give you a ride into Dahlia. On the way, we'll call Tater to send a tow truck for the car." He raised a brow. "Tater?" She smiled, and damn if it didn't make her even prettier. "His real name's Winston. Call him Tater if you want to keep that handsome nose of yours." Her compliment slipped under his skin and he instinctively responded with a dose of Texas charm. "Yes, ma'am." He tipped an imaginary cowboy hat he hadn't worn in years. She chuckled and headed up the hill. "So exactly how fast were you trying to take those turns? I'm guessing eighty, eighty-five based on the skid marks. That's a little much even for a Lamborghini." The last speed he'd seen was eighty-three, he thought, noting her knowledge of cars. Then it hit him. "Bonnie Bristol," he said. "Are you related to Jimmy?" Her smile evaporated. "He was my father." Drake stretched his memory to the once-famous drag racer who'd had a reputation for driving hard and living even harder. The man had died a few years back, though he'd lived longer than most had expected. Jimmy Bristol had been all spit and fire, afraid of no man or machine, and he'd broken a few speed records thanks to it. Broken a few bones, too, if Drake remembered right.
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But by the looks of things, Bonnie wasn't keen on reminiscing about her father. Pursing those sensual lips, she turned and headed back up the hill, walking up as coolly and casually as she'd walked down it. And as Drake followed her shapely figure up to the road, he wondered how much more interesting this day might get.
Chapter Four "You own High Velocity magazine." Relief came over Bonnie when she finally placed the name and face with where she'd seen Drake before. It had been bugging her ever since he'd introduced himself, and now that she'd made the connection, she felt rather silly for not getting it right off. Every female who hung around racing had heard of Drake Whitley. Heck, the guy had even made People magazine's Sexiest Man Alive issue in the Sexiest Entrepreneurs category. And he's been looking at you like you could be his next meal. She bit her cheek to keep from grinning. Her body-hugging Evan Picone suit hadn't impressed Mr. Mayfield back in Nashville, but it had definitely caught the eye of one heart-stoppingly gorgeous millionaire. Maybe this day wouldn't turn out so bad after all. "You're familiar with the magazine?" Drake asked. "I'm Jimmy Bristol's daughter and I grew up in Dahlia, remember?" His laugh was low and genuine. She liked that. It fit his easy smile. "Were you heading to Dahlia for a story?" she asked. "Maybe." As she drove the old Chevy toward town, he shared his plans—namely that he had none— and the events that had led him to where she'd found him standing in the field. "I suppose now I'll be spending the night in town while I figure out what to do with the car and make arrangements to get home," he said. Absently, he patted his pockets. "Darn, I didn't think to look for my cell phone. It's probably on the floor of the car." She pulled out hers and offered, "You're welcome to use mine." "That's okay. I can get it after your potato friend tows the car in." He winked and smiled, making her laugh. Lord, when was the last time she had really laughed? It hadn't been since Jimmy died and she and her mother had discovered how he'd been affording their wealthy lifestyle.
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In any event, laughing felt good, if only for the moment—just as it felt good to lust over this tall, handsome cowboy. Before she'd come upon Drake, she'd been daydreaming about a steamy encounter with a hot, worthy stud. But Drake Whitley exceeded even her fantasy. When her imaginary hands had lingered over her pretend lover, he hadn't been nearly as mouth-watering as the orgasminspiring dish sitting next to her, and she mentally chastised her own imagination for not setting the bar higher. Real men weren't supposed to one-up a horny woman's fantasy, but this dreamy stranger with his sexy Texas drawl had somehow managed it. And, oh, wouldn't she love to trade in fantasy for reality when it came to this one? Still holding the phone, she asked, "Are you sure? Don't you have a wife or girlfriend who will be worried about you?" Okay, so that was as subtle as a freight train, but Bonnie didn't care. The way her life had turned out, she was ten sheets beyond playing coy these days. "I don't have one of those," he said, the look in his eye suggesting he was glad she'd broached the subject. He'd cocked his mouth into a grin that brought out two charming dimples she'd love to run her tongue over. "How about you?" he asked. "I don't have a wife or girlfriend either." The low chuckle bellowed into a hearty laugh. "How about something of the manly type?" he corrected. "No, I'm plumb out of those." As she followed the winding road into town they quieted, filling the cab with a sizzling silence that crackled with electricity between them. Though he hadn't moved, he seemed closer now, those firm thighs only inches from her, emitting heat that pooled between her legs and began a slow crawl up her chest. Casually, he crossed an ankle over his knee and stretched an arm over the backrest, sending an earthy scent wafting to her nose. Now his fingers were close enough to caress her shoulder, and she had to fight to keep from leaning in and brushing a cheek over them. Or just throwing the car in Park and taking him there on the side of the road. Damn, she'd been horny before she'd picked him up. Now the truck was thick in pheromones and her body was heading toward overdrive. "Interesting," he said, his tone suggesting his thoughts might be right in line with hers. He glanced at his watch. "I suppose I should find a room for the night. I take it there's a hotel in town?" She gripped the wheel and fought to keep her voice casual. "Oh, I can do even better than that."
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Chapter Five Drake stepped out of the shower and toweled off. After retrieving his phone and overnight bag from the Lamborghini and picking up a rental car, Bonnie had set him up in a room at Bristol House, the bed-and-breakfast she and her mother ran. Though the room was decorated in flowers and lace, he felt surprisingly comfortable there, just as at ease there as he would have been at his home in New York or his family's Austin ranch. Since his four-day road trip would now be a three-hour flight, Drake thought he might hang out in Dahlia for a day or two as consolation. The garage where Bonnie had had his car towed was actually a top-notch facility that catered to the speedway. It alone would make an interesting article for the magazine, as would the speedway itself and the small Tennessee town that lived off it. But more interesting than all of that was Bonnie Bristol and the unmistakable sexual chemistry that sizzled between them. He'd taken this trip to relax and unwind, and he couldn't think of a better way to do that than in the willing arms of a beautiful woman. All afternoon, he'd had a hard time keeping his eyes off her as she masterfully took over his sorry situation and shuttled him about town. If he had three women like her at the magazine, he could fire the rest of the staff. Though, in retrospect, that wouldn't help him get any work done. Half the reason she'd needed to take over was because his mind was too distracted by the thought of her naked. If the plans had been left to him, he would have rolled her truck off the road and spent the rest of the afternoon getting hot and heated in the back. Hence, the cold shower he'd needed once they got to Bristol House. It had marginally taken the edge off, but as he slipped into a fresh set of clothes and made his way downstairs, he wondered how long even that would last. As the only guest at the moment, the house was quiet but for voices in the kitchen. He followed them down the hall, stopping short of the doorway when he realized the conversation was actually an argument. "We're making money here. Why wouldn't he want to invest?" It was Bonnie's mother, Sarah, who he'd been introduced to earlier. "We don't make enough," he heard Bonnie say. "Our profits aren't even covering the mortgage. He didn't consider it a sound investment." "But that was the point! If it weren't for the heavy debt we would be making a profit. Why did he think we needed him in the first place?" Sarah sounded as if she was in tears, and Drake took a step back, feeling as though he shouldn't interrupt. Unfortunately, the front door stood at the other end of the hall, and there was no way to get there without crossing the kitchen.
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"I don't know, Mom. It was a long shot to begin with and it didn't work. We'll figure something else out." "No, we won't. This is over. I'm calling Aunt Stella and taking her up on her offer. The good news is you can finally get out of here like you've always wanted." Now the woman was sobbing and Drake took another quiet step away, realizing his only option was to go back up to his room and wait it out. But before he could, he heard stomping feet and the loud slam of a door. "Mom, it's not—" he heard, and then the room was quiet. Slowly, he stepped to the doorway and glanced in to see Bonnie alone in front of the sink. He cleared his throat, and when she turned, he saw that she was crying. She quickly wiped her eyes. "How is the room?" "It's perfect." He took two more steps in. "Can I help you?" She smiled nervously and shook her head. "No, thanks. Just family troubles." "I've got a strong shoulder, and I'm pretty sure I owe you something for all you’ve done for me today." The suggestion seemed to spark an idea, because the sorrow in those green-blue eyes cleared and she stood up straight. "You know what I really want?" He shook his head. "I'd love a night on the town." She wiped a stray tear and visibly perked. "You're on vacation, right? Let's go get a drink and do some dancing, whad'ya say?" He grinned. "Sounds like something I’d be all over."
Chapter Six A shot of Jack or a night of sweaty sex with a hot, studly man. Bonnie had figured either of those things would pull her out of her gloom, and damn if she didn't have both of them right here at her fingertips. She slugged back the shot and let the burn water her eyes and pucker her lips. "Oh, that stuff is horrible," she said through a wheeze. Drake sipped his beer. "Then why do you drink it?" "I hate the taste of alcohol, so when I'm looking for a buzz, I go for the most direct route." "Well, that'll do it for sure." He waved over the bartender and pointed to her glass. "No, thanks," Bonnie said. "I'll take a Coke from here on out."
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While she'd needed the dose of courage, she didn't care to lose her head. If the rest of her evening went as she hoped, she'd want all her faculties to enjoy the sinful specimen sitting next to her. She'd talked Drake into taking her up to Nashville for drinks and dancing at the Last Day Saloon. She'd chosen the spot not only for the nightly live music, but because the saloon also happened to be located on the bottom floor of the Sundowner Hotel. If she and Drake were so inclined to share a room for the night, they wouldn't have to go far. And though Bonnie couldn't speak for her companion, she knew that she was most definitely so inclined. The bartender brought her Coke and she took a quick sip before sliding off her stool and grabbing Drake's hand. "Listen to that, they're playing my song." He regarded her quizzically, but followed nonetheless. "All My Exes Live in Texas?" "I'm a huge George Strait fan." Gripping his hand, she led him to the old oak dance floor where she learned quickly that though he was a big New York magazine executive, at his core Drake Whitley was pure Texas cowboy. He danced like a pro, making it hard for her to keep up. But when the song ended and the music slowed, she got what she'd really come here for. He slipped his hand around her waist, drawing her close and filling all her curves with the sensation of hard, rugged man. Fingers laced, thighs rubbing against thighs, her breasts molded into his torso, the height of him fitting nicely against her five-foot-ten frame. Bonnie didn't often find men tall enough to settle in like they should, and it was a rare experience to place a hand on his shoulder and actually tilt her head up to meet his eyes. It was a wonderful feeling, especially when those eyes reflected back enough lust and attraction to turn her to putty in his arms. "I think this is my song," he said, his gaze dipping to her lips. Reflexively, she moistened them, slipping her tongue across her mouth and turning those flames in his eyes to bonfires. Slowly, they rocked to the music, more a smooth caress than a dance, and Bonnie noted his growing interest forming in the bulge against her waist. The thick length put an ache between her legs as it pressed against her like a promise of carnal pleasure. She wanted to feel it unconfined, to take the silky flesh in her hands and taste it on her tongue. He slid his hand lower down her spine, his little finger tickling her bottom as his chest expanded and contracted with slow, deliberate breath. She felt nearly driven to the edge simply moving against him on a loud and crowded dance floor. What could he do to her in the quiet comfort of a private room? She intended to find out. Moving her hand off his shoulder, she trailed a finger along his jaw, stopping square at the cleft of his chin. "I think this song is great, too, but I can do without all the people."
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His mouth curved into a smile. "My thoughts exactly." "This is a hotel, you know." "I noticed that." He lowered the hand on her back even farther. "Was that a coincidence?" "Not by a long shot." "So you lured me here to get me into bed?" "Yep." His casual smile widened. "Bonnie Bristol, I think I like you."
Chapter Seven It wasn't like Drake had never made love to a beautiful woman before. He'd had plenty in his thirty-four years. What was new and foreign this time was how badly he wanted her. Somehow, when it came to Bonnie, simple desire had been trumped by deep guttural need, and as he tore his clothes off and looked at her body in all its naked glory his mouth literally watered for it. The feeling left him a little unsettled. He liked his love life exactly the way it was—light, simple and totally without strings. Drake wasn't in the market for more than a fling. Feeling a hunger this deep for someone he'd be leaving behind stuck a thorn in his side that he chose to ignore for the time being. It was the situation, he told himself. He'd been restless back in New York, and this trip was supposed to have relieved it. Instead, he'd wrecked his new car, ruined his plans and had immediately run into a sexy woman with problems of her own. This was simply garden-variety attraction kicked up a notch by mutual sympathy for each other's woes. He was sure of it. So with that reassurance paving the way, he let his reservations go and dug in to enjoy the ride. Their clothes shed, he took her hand and pulled her close. He'd liked the way she'd felt against him on the dance floor and wanted more of the same without the pesky distractions. "See," she said, "this is so much better without all those people." "Or the clothes," he concurred. He cupped her breasts in his palms, perfect handfuls that offered plenty to fondle without having too much get in the way. She smelled like spring flowers and felt like pure sin, the sultry combination warming his blood and setting the mood for lots of wonderful things to come. He slid his hands down her firm waist, over long lean thighs, taking in all the smooth curves like a topographer studies a map. He loved how perfectly they fit together, waist to waist, slick heat to hard flesh. It was as if she were built to his unique specifications, and it gave him a number of ideas for things they'd be capable of doing without even needing a bed. He wanted
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to get to know her—what made her shudder, what made her ache, and he wondered how much time he'd need to have all her nuances figured out. Maybe a lifetime, buddy boy. The stupid voice didn't sit right with him, but before it could cool his mood, Bonnie clasped his hips and smoothed her body against him, wiping his mind of all but sex and setting his intentions back where they belonged. Sweet, seductive Bonnie Bristol. You have exactly the right idea. Bonnie sighed as Drake set her down on the bed, his talented hands working wonders to relieve the anxiety she'd been harboring for months. Every inch of him was hard and firm, like sculpted stone covered in silky flesh. And the feel of that strength surrounding her body was nothing short of ecstasy. He cradled his thigh between her legs and she rocked against it, slow and deliberate, as he licked and sucked her breasts. His tongue swept like liquid gold, covering her with the smooth sensation of satin drizzled over her skin. And when he gripped her waist and thrust her sex against him, hot spasms of pleasure made her gasp. "Mmmm," he moaned. "I take it you like that?" Trailing a finger down her belly, he stopped at the apex of her thighs. "How about more?" She opened her mouth to answer but before she could, he slipped a thumb between her folds and stole the breath from her lungs. She closed her eyes and groaned, her ability to do much else draining away with every smooth stroke. It was as though the man had more than two hands, his fingers, legs, mouth and chest all working together to bring sensation to every corner of her body. One moment he ground against her, the next he was square on top, stroking his length along her sex, teasing her toward the edge then changing motion right at the brink. It seemed he enjoyed keeping her at the height of arousal without granting her that heavenly release. She closed her eyes and let all her problems spill away, the disappointment that was her life, the grim outlook of her future evaporating just like she'd needed it to, if only for this little while. Beneath his grasp, nothing real in the world existed. And when he dipped his mouth between her thighs and traced that silky tongue right where it mattered most, that succulent climax came swift and hard.
Chapter Eight Drake couldn't think of anything sexier than watching a woman lose herself to orgasm. And nothing made him feel more like a man than being the one responsible. Especially when the woman was Bonnie Bristol. He loved seeing that tough exterior of hers dissolve under his fingers, watching those worry lines on her brow soften then disappear. But most of all, he loved seeing her relinquish control. He got the impression it didn't happen often, that Bonnie was someone who kept herself firmly on top. And make no mistake, Drake was always open to letting a woman take the lead. But
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first he liked to know that sex could be a two-way street, and his lovely companion hadn't disappointed. With her expression sated and her body still quivering with remnant pleasure, he slid on a condom and settled over her. "You look as though your rotten day is improving," he said. She smiled. "It's on the rise." She lifted her hands and smoothed them down his back, sending a tremor over his spine that hardened his already aching shaft. "How about you?" she asked. "You're the one who wrecked his new and expensive toy today." She glided her hands lower and cupped his ass. "I'm wondering what might make you feel better." "How about this?" He parted her legs and slipped inside, slow and easy, her smooth heat encasing him, snatching any more words from his throat and replacing them with a low, sultry groan. She fit him like a fine supple glove, her muscles contracting as he filled her in one long, hot stroke. The mere perfection of it nearly did him in right there, and he had to hold for a moment, staring into those beautiful blue-green eyes while he waited for his anxious body to calm. He studied her lips, moist and pink to match the flush of her cheeks. She looked sexy and wild, yet soft and vulnerable, and as he watched her, he found himself intrigued by the paradox that was this woman. Lying beneath him, her willing body spread out to accept him, he could see a strength that went bone deep, yet those eyes revealed a side that was unmistakably gentle. He liked the combination, liked the way it settled in his gut. And as he gently began moving in a slow, even stroke, he found he liked the way she melted into his body, too. Those gentle eyes darkened as she thrust to meet his rhythm, the steady motion building new tension, sending her toward another heavy climax. He couldn’t stop watching her, seeing the transformation from sated to hungry to burning as he picked up speed and sent her careening. Lacing her fingers in his, he held on tight as the pressure built to the point of bursting. So close to the edge, he shut his mind from it to hold on a little longer. He wanted to feel her explode, to feel the pain of those slim fingers clinging tightly as she came apart beneath him, and he wasn't about to let this end until that happened. It was strange for him to be so fixated on his partner. While not a selfish lover, his thoughts were usually grounded in his own pleasure. But tonight, he seemed to feed off hers. There was an excitement about her, an anticipation for the moment that made this journey about more than sex with a stranger. And when those eyes finally closed and the heat between them took her over, that pleasant cry was all he needed to go tumbling along after.
Chapter Nine This was, without a doubt, the best time Bonnie had had in as long as she could remember. Somehow, what should have been a quick drink and an even quicker romp in the hay had
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turned into an evening of dancing, dining, mind-blowing sex and now movies in bed with a pile of Nashville's best hot wings. Drake licked the spicy sauce from his fingers and grabbed his beer from the nightstand. "I can't believe you've never seen Smokey and the Bandit before. What kind of Southern racing gal are you?" Somehow between orgasms they'd stumbled on the conversation of movie car chases, and the next thing she knew, Drake was on the phone ordering movies, drinks and her favorite chicken wings using a pricey delivery service that would bring anything from anywhere as long as one had the money to pay for it. It was a lifestyle Bonnie could easily get used to. Though she had to admit, when it came to Drake she suspected she'd have just as much fun in a tent in the Ozarks as she would being treated to luxury. In this short span of a day, she'd learned quite a bit about him, including the fact that he shared her same hunger for life. Like Bonnie, Drake didn't say no too much and wasn't afraid to go after the things he wanted. It was exactly the way she lived—or would be living if her father hadn't left her saddled with a pile of debt and responsibility. Shaking off that thought—because she wasn't going to let anything ruin this perfect night— she went back to Drake and his slam against her Tennessee roots. "I'm a Southerner who wasn't born until the eighties," she said. "That was well into the age of VCRs." He slugged back his beer and set it down. "Jimmy Bristol's daughter should have been raised to memorize all the classic car chase movies. Tell me you've at least seen Bullitt." "I've seen Bullitt. And The French Connection, and my personal choice, Mad Max." He overexaggerated a sigh. "That's a good thing. For a minute there, I thought I'd have to replace you." She arched her brow at him. "You replace me?" He grinned, obviously enjoying the fiery look of affront in her eyes. "I have standards," he said. Now he was nearly chuckling as he took the bucket of hot wings and set it aside. It was a smart move on his part given that she was just about to find a creative use for those leftover chicken bones. She wadded up her napkin and threw it to the ground. "I think you're mistaking me for someone who can't whip your ass." Now he did laugh. "Oh, honey, I'm counting on it." With the friendly flames of challenge singeing her smile, she proceeded to show him exactly what she could do to a man who insulted her character. It started with an elbow to the chest that turned into a wrestling match. All it did was get him hard. So she straddled his waist for more leverage, but that only resulted in his cock inside her, his mouth on her breasts and her body grinding them toward another pounding climax.
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She reveled in sex this way, with her on top, leaving his hands free to toy with all her sensitized parts. She rode him hard and fast, the quick thrusts testing the limits of her endurance as she churned and rocked. And the faster she moved, the more serious his dazzling blue eyes turned. Gone was the teasing smile on his face, replaced by the desperate struggle of a man on the edge. She liked seeing him there, liked the pain of those strong hands gripping her hips as she pushed and plunged. But most of all, she liked to see him buckle and break when his climax took control. And when it did, she broke off her own restraint and sailed away, too. Completed, but not beaten, she collapsed on his chest, her body sated and tired and her spirit well fed. She listened to the pounding of his heart as his chest rose and fell under her cheek. Then she listened while it calmed and slowed. "Gee," he finally said, his voice tired but laced with pleasure. "What else can I do to piss you off?"
Chapter Ten If Drake had his way, he and Bonnie would be spending another night in Nashville. Maybe three. After all, he'd gone on this trip to get away from the bustle and do a little soul searching, and while he hadn't come up with any major revelations, he was sure having fun. But though he might be able to take off on a whim, he realized the rest of the world had jobs to do. He checked the clock on the dash of his rental car and noted that it would be almost 10:00 a.m. before they got back to Dahlia. "You won't be late?" he asked, trying to remember if she'd told him what she did for a living. While he'd gotten to know her intimately last night, conversation hadn't had much to do with it. "No. I'm a reporter so I mostly make my own hours." He looked at her curiously. "A reporter?" "I'm one of two field reporters for the Dahlia Voice. It's not a big publication, but it pays some bills and leaves my nights free to help Momma out with Bristol House. She waitresses nights so I take over for her by handling the dinner hour." "Sounds like a handful for the two of you." She shrugged. "Well, folks gotta do what folks gotta do." He remembered the argument he'd overheard the day before, both Bonnie and her mother upset and her mother's comment about Bonnie leaving Dahlia. "What would you do if there was no 'gotta' involved?" he asked. "I wouldn't be wasting away in Dahlia, that's for sure."
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"You don't like it there?" She cracked a knowing smile. "Would you?" He didn't have to think long to answer that one. "No." Even Austin, Texas, hadn't been enough for him. Sure, he enjoyed going home for visits, but Drake couldn't imagine being tied to his family's ranch the way his brothers were. And as he got to know Bonnie, he couldn't see her chained to a bed-and-breakfast for the rest of her life. "Don't get me wrong," she said. "I love Dahlia and it will always be home, but when I took off to study journalism, I'd had my sites set closer to National Geographic than the Dahlia Voice." "What happened?" "My father died and we found out where he'd gotten all the money he'd been throwing around." She shook her head and stared out the window, the resonant anger clear in her voice. "We always knew he was a gambler. We just hadn't known to what degree." "Until he died." She nodded. "Momma discovered he'd mortgaged out the home that had been in her family since the town was founded. There was no way she could make the payment with what little he'd left in savings. So we sold what we could and turned it into a B and B. Momma took a night job at the restaurant and I left college four credits short of my degree." Drake was saddened but not surprised. Jimmy Bristol's reputation supported everything she said. "I'm sorry," he said. She shrugged it off. "Don't be. National Geographic wouldn't have taken me without experience anyway, so I'm getting my feet wet at home." "You know, when I first pulled off I-40, I wanted to check out the Dahlia Speedway for a possible article. Would you be interested in freelancing it for me?" She looked like he'd just handed her the deed to the Taj Mahal. "You serious?" "Who better to write a feature on the place than the woman who grew up in the middle of it? Besides, with the Bristol name, you'd bring more interest to the article than one of my staff writers. And you'd be saving me the travel expenses." It took her half a blink to say yes. "Can you stay in town another day? I can take you over to the speedway and we can toss ideas." For a repeat of last night, he'd spend the week, but he kept that part to himself. He didn't want her to get the wrong idea about his motivations. In truth, he'd never have made the offer if he didn't have faith that she'd do a good job. This wasn't about getting more sex or offering a handout. Bonnie's article, along with her name, would easily pay off for the magazine, he was sure.
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Though, if she were so inclined to spend another night or two in his bed, he wasn't going to turn her away. "I think that sounds like a great idea."
Chapter Eleven If there was one thing Drake had not expected Bonnie to be good at, it would be anything involving domestics. Yet, without any noticeable fuss, she'd thrown together a roasted pork stew that was so good he nearly sobbed over the bowl. Despite all the fine restaurants in Manhattan, nothing could match real home cooking. It was one on a short list of things he missed about his family's ranch, and the twice yearly visits back home didn't give him enough of it. "Where did you learn to cook like this?" he asked, buttering his third helping of corn fritters. "Grandma Parson owned a restaurant in town and both my momma and I practically grew up there. She's passed now and the restaurant's long gone, but Momma and I are trying to keep up the tradition here at the B and B." She finished the last of her stew and pushed the bowl away. "You should try Momma's biscuits and gravy. It's her specialty." He looked up from his plate excitedly. "Can I?" She laughed. "Just say the word. I think she's sweet on you." "I'm sweet on her," he said, and he meant it. When he'd met Sarah Bristol earlier he’d instantly taken a shine. She was one of those salt-of-the-earth types he often found during his travels through the South. And though much of Bonnie's spit and fire had to have come from Jimmy, Drake could also see the softer side of Sarah seeping through. It made for a nice combination, he thought to himself. In fact, every layer Bonnie unpeeled seemed to reveal a shiny new jewel inside. They'd spent the day touring the town, throwing around ideas for the article. Drake quickly noted she had good instincts, and the more they talked the more he knew the final product she delivered would be quality work. Work too good for the Dahlia Voice. You should be offering her your bed and a job. Now, there it went again, the stupid voice that wouldn't stop nagging him. The one that kept insinuating that he'd found a prize he needed to claim, and Drake had to keep reminding himself that he wasn't out to play for keeps. He hadn't gone on this trip to fix his love life. In fact, his love life was the one thing he'd had happily under control. No, this trip was supposed to resolve his general anxiety, not create new problems. Especially when it appeared Bonnie had enough problems of her own. "You okay?" she asked, stirring him from his thoughts. "You're staring into space like you've just spotted a ghost."
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In a way, he had—the ghost of his happy love life. Then he remembered that no one was asking anything from him here, most certainly not Bonnie. He shook his head. "My mind just wandered, is all." That deadly look came over her, the one he was learning to recognize as the precursor to something both sinful and divine. Shoving the plates aside, she slipped up on the large oak table and spread her legs before him. "Well, what can I do to wander it right back?" She pulled her thin pink T-shirt off as if to make a suggestion. He rose and took those luscious bare breasts in his palms. Oh, Bonnie, you always have exactly the right idea. She grabbed his hips and pulled him between her legs. "Yep, I figured this table would be about the right height." Then she stopped, placed a hand to her lips and blinked those big eyes in mock innocence. "Oh, you weren't still eating, were you?" The comedic expression got him chuckling and hard and forgetting about their problems and the dumb voice in his head. "Yes, actually, I was still eating." He pressed his lips to hers and took a long, sumptuous taste. "But you're the cook. If you want to change the meal, who am I to argue?"
Chapter Twelve When it came to love affairs, Bonnie lived by two rules: never let a man break your heart, and never let a man cause you to give up your dreams. With the two going very much hand in hand, she'd had a pretty easy time living by them so far. There were a couple guys in town she'd never gotten close to because she knew she'd enjoy them too much. While they'd made passes over the years, she'd held them off, knowing that there was too much heat there, too much attraction for her safety. Thanks to their particular traits and close proximity, it would have only been a matter of time before they'd had her losing her heart or losing the life away from Dahlia she'd always wanted. Most likely both. So she'd done a good job staying away. Instead, she'd whet her healthy sex drive on the speedway traffic that came and went. After all, how could a woman lose herself to a man over the span of a three-day fling? The answer stood in front of her, curling her insides with his gorgeous Texas smile and sharp New York wit. What a lethal combination. One she hadn't seen coming until it was nearly too late. For a second day in a row, they'd made their rounds through the town. She'd brought him to the speedway to meet Drew Fisk, the track's manager. And now they were finishing up at Morgan & Son's garage where Tater, George and Artie were swapping stories. Bonnie was taking notes, which seemed easy enough if only she could keep her mind on the article instead of the sexy cowboy she couldn't seem to get enough of.
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Last night, they'd had sex on her mother's kitchen table, then again on the stairs, neither of them able to quite make it to the bedroom without noting an interesting opportunity presented by a long, steep stairway and a wooden handrail. And then they'd made it to bed where the real fun had started. They'd had two glorious nights of sex, and while she could handle a dozen more, she had to admit to herself, this desire was quickly getting more than physical. Drake wasn't the typical stud who waltzed into town and then back out. He was the kind to slip into her heart if she wasn't real careful. "So the truck will be picking up the Lamborghini tomorrow," Drake said. "I'm having it shipped back home while I fly back to New York instead." "You taking off outta Nashville?" Artie asked. Drake nodded. "Yeah, I should probably call the airlines and see how often the flights go out." Bonnie blinked, realizing that over the last couple days, she had forgotten all about Drake's car and his plans and his life beyond the city limits of Dahlia. It struck her with a mix of sadness, anger and relief—sadness that her time with him was apparently ending, anger that the prospect hurt so much and relief in knowing that the man would be leaving town before that hurt could grow into full-blown heartache. Life had handed Bonnie enough raw deals; getting torn up over a temporary fling was a luxury she couldn't afford. Still, she couldn't shake off that resonant feeling of loss. She'd connected with Drake, appreciated his respect for her and cherished the heat they had in bed. In another time and place, she would have loved to see where they could take it. Come on, Bonnie, you know you want to see where this could go right now. She stiffened her shoulders and jutted her chin, not willing to let her emotions get the best of her. Almost a decade in the dating game and she hadn't let anyone steal her heart yet. She wasn't about to start now. So why did it feel like it had already happened?
Chapter Thirteen "Oh, God," Bonnie said as she and Drake took the steps up the porch of Bristol House. Drake looked up to see an official-looking sign taped to the door. Bonnie quickly tore it down, but not before he had a chance to notice it looked like an order to vacate the home. "What's that?" he asked. "Something I don't want Momma to see." It was late and they'd just gotten back from having dinner at Headlights, a local restaurant and watering hole.
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"She was going to run some errands before heading to work," Bonnie added. "I'm hoping this was posted after she left." She held the paper in her hands and looked at it with an expression of sorrow that tore something inside him. "I'm almost sure she hasn't seen this or she would have called." "Are you two being kicked out?" he asked, already knowing by the look on her face that it was true. As they walked into the house and settled in the kitchen, Bonnie told him again about the debt Jimmy had left behind, though this time she explained the gravity of the situation. They were so far into default on the mortgage that she and her mother were losing the home. "It's not that we didn't see it coming," Bonnie said. "Momma's already making arrangements to move in with her sister, Stella. She's got the job, and without the burden of the B and B, she'll have saved enough to get a place of her own sooner or later." Though Bonnie was trying to lighten the situation with a calm expression on her face, her eyes gave away the truth that in reality this B and B had meant everything to her mother. He recalled Sarah's comment from a couple days before, the one about Bonnie finally being able to leave. It gave him lots of ideas he wasn't prepared for or willing to consider given his own state of flux, but he found himself asking the question nonetheless. "So you'll be able to pursue that job with National Geographic?" She smiled, albeit grimly. "Not for a while, at least. We'll have a lot to deal with. Though we've sold off most of Daddy's things, this house is filled with antiques that have been on my momma's side of the family for generations. We'll have to figure out what to do with them, what can stay, what can go." She glanced at the crumpled page she was still holding. "And by the looks of things, we won't have a lot of time." She folded the paper and tucked it into her pocket. "She's going to need me to get through this. Then maybe next year I can start thinking about what to do with my life." A sudden urge came over Drake to blurt out all kinds of suggestions—like maybe paying off her mortgage and bringing her to New York, about offering her a job at the magazine, telling her she could see the world the way she wanted by coming with him. It hit him so quickly, he nearly opened his mouth and uttered each and every one, and it both startled and unnerved him. So he did the most surefire thing he could to make sure the words didn't come tumbling out. He pulled her close and covered his mouth with hers.
Chapter Fourteen "I'm sorry," Drake whispered, touching his lips to Bonnie's as he cupped her face and brushed a tender thumb across her cheek. The soothing gesture spilled over her like a steamy, relaxing shower. It had been a long time since Bonnie had anyone to lean on. While her mother had always been a strong woman, these problems Jimmy had left behind had taken a toll on her, and over
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the last six months, Bonnie had been the pillar of strength Sarah Bristol had needed. Until now, Bonnie hadn't realized how much energy that had taken to maintain. Accepting his gentle comfort, she guided his hands up under her shirt, releasing a long sigh when the warmth encased her and placed her blood on a slow simmer. Amazing, how it took only his touch to slip her mind and body into a space where nothing mattered and time stood still. And if there were ever a time when she needed that distraction, it was now. While her fingers went to work releasing the buttons of his shirt, he feasted on her most sensitive places, easing her mind from worry to the pleasure he had to offer. She pulled off clothing that got in the way and nudged them toward the front parlor, spying her grandmother's old stuffy sofa and guiding him there, where they had better access to each other. She tossed the last of her clothing before straddling his lap and settling over him, the firm feel of his body under hers setting the wheels in motion. She touched his face and planted a slow, deep kiss on his lips, relishing the taste of him, the way that jaw felt in her palms, his sharp, woodsy scent and those fabulous hands that knew exactly how to please her. His hot mouth blazed a path from her lips to the base of her neck, and she titled her head back to better enjoy it, letting her silky moan encourage him to keep going. Skimming her fingers down his stomach, she tugged against his jeans, the last barrier that stood between them. "These need to go," she said. He stopped for a moment to tug a condom from his pocket, one he used to sheath himself after she pulled open his jeans and released his ready length. The man was hard and thick, the simple sight of the erection churning her blood to a boil, and as she glided her needy body onto him, all the empty places in her spirit seemed to fill. "You're so incredibly beautiful," he said, clasping his big hands to her waist and coaxing her into a smooth and steady rhythm. The look in his eyes said those words were more than a simple compliment, and for the first time since they'd started this encounter, she noted something different on his face. Something had come over him, a contemplation she hadn't seen before. She tried to study it, to hear the thoughts that might be driving it, but before she could get too far, he whispered a thumb down to her sex and began circling the slick sensitive spot. She gasped at the sharp sensation, digging her fingers into his shoulders as she braced for the steady stream of pleasure that ebbed and flowed like the tide. "I love the way you do that," she moaned, but instead of bringing a smile, the serious intent in his eyes simply darkened. She wanted to know what it was, wanted to understand what was behind this new expression, but his hands and body kept conspiring to snatch her thoughts. His thumb caressed her while his thick shaft hardened and probed, the two working together to push her toward that familiar edge. But still, something had changed. Something she couldn't quite grasp until he hooked his hand around the base of her neck and pulled her mouth to his. And then she felt it. In the hunger of those lips, in the heady stroke of his tongue, in the fierce clutch of his hands.
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Drake Whitley was leaving, and this night would be their last.
Chapter Fifteen Drake crushed his mouth to Bonnie's and held on tight, feeling as though he needed to drink up as much of this woman as he could possibly store and take with him. Because if he hadn't seen it before, he knew now without a doubt that first thing tomorrow morning he needed to get out of town. He didn’t want this ache in his heart, or the dangerous thoughts running through his head. Bonnie Bristol was getting to him, and he didn't like it one bit. Over the last three days, the tall, stunning beauty had been unwittingly plundering his resolve. In the intensity of their sex, in the strength of her spirit and the sharpness of her mind, in those beautiful eyes and those mind-numbing curves, she was seeping into parts of his soul he wasn't prepared to share just yet. Straddling his waist, she moved her glorious body in a rhythm that pulled him deeper. Every time they had sex, she seemed to know him better, to thrust him higher and spin him further into a climax that got more pleasurable every time. And if it was only sex, he'd be fine with that. But it wasn't. Somewhere in the last couple days, sex had turned to lovemaking, attraction had turned to affection and desire had turned to need. It scared the wits from him, and he responded by sinking farther into her flesh, swiping his thoughts away with his mouth, his hands and his cock. His body swelled inside her, speeding swiftly to the edge, and though in the past he'd tried to temper the rush, this time he let it come. He needed this to end, yet wanted it to go on forever, so instead he pulled them both faster and faster toward a sharp and jutting end. Sweat glistened over her as she kept up the pace, her breath turning to the shallow pants that he'd learned was the signal she was near. "Come on, baby," he urged, not holding back and not wanting her to, either. "It's coming fast," she warned. "I can't—" But the sensation stole her words. He latched on to a breast and sucked hard, twirling the nipple with his tongue then moving to the other as she lifted and thrust, stroking him to the brink. He could feel her body crumbling, the slick swell of flesh around him as she hammered against him once, again, then one too many times. And then, with a bellow that echoed through the room, she split apart, taking the last of him with her. White heat blinded him as he spilled and spilled, the orgasm draining him of all he had to offer, though it still didn't feel like enough. He cursed through it, angry with himself that he'd let her get under his skin. From the start, this trip had taken a wrong turn and he hadn't been able to right it. He'd kept following his whims, thinking they would lead him to answers, but they'd only left him dazed, starved and confused. It was this damnable situation, he knew it. Bonnie was lively and sexy and in trouble. A beautiful damsel in distress, and he was falling into it like a silly lovesick schoolboy. Drake had
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no doubt that all he needed to do was get out of Dahlia, get away from this mess she was in and his life would find its way back to normal. Whatever normal had been. So as their rhythmic motion calmed and the resonant climax subsided, he held her tight, closed his eyes and mapped out a plan.
Chapter Sixteen Bonnie and her mother worked outside in the back garden of Bristol House, pulling small weeds and tending to the wide rows of early sugar peas they'd planted after the frost. The gentle vines wound themselves up the trellises sprouting the pretty white blooms that would soon be the plants' succulent treats. It seemed silly to be wasting energy out here. By the time the peas were ready for picking, she and her mother would have surrendered the home to the bank. All of this around them would fall into disarray after the house fell vacant, waiting for the auction that would hand it over to a new owner. The thought brought tears to Bonnie's eyes that she quickly stifled. Her mother was barely holding herself together, running on autopilot in an attempt to keep a stiff spine even though her heart was crushed. "I can get it back," Bonnie said, speaking to herself as much as her mother. Sarah looked up from the herbs she'd been clipping for the scones she'd bake later. "How do you figure?" "Property is always for sale, Momma. The house isn't going anywhere. Once I get a goodpaying job, I can always buy it back from whoever ends up with it." Her mother smiled and simply shook her head. "I think it's time you started thinking about yourself, child. You've spent enough years trying to clean up your father's mistakes. I know you did what you could and I'll always love you for that. Now, I just want to see you happy." Those were the words Bonnie had waited to hear ever since her father died—the free pass to move on with her life and pursue what she'd always wanted. Unfortunately, she couldn't shake the feeling that what she wanted had flown out of Nashville the day before. It was stupid, pining away for a man she'd only known for three days. How could she seriously think they'd end up with something special? They'd barely gotten to know each other. She had no idea how he really lived or how the two of them would fare over the ups and downs of everyday life. For all she knew, he could be an ogre on the job. He could have wandering eyes like her father. He could be looking for a wife who would shut up and look pretty for him while he did what he wanted and kept her contained. He could hate kids and puppies for all she knew. So why was she fretting over the loss? Because you know in your heart that none of those things are true. For the twentieth time today, she reminded herself that it didn't matter. She couldn't go running off with a man. Not now. Not with her mother facing the most difficult time of her life.
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"I'll be happy, Momma, when we own this house free and clear and know that no one can take it away." Her cell phone rang and she pulled off her gloves and checked the caller ID. "Speak of the devil," she muttered when she saw the mortgage company's name on the screen. They were probably calling to confirm she'd found the notice on the door two days ago. Though she wanted to let it roll to voice mail, she decided it wasn't worth delaying the inevitable, so she flipped open the phone and said, "Hello?" "Is Sarah or Bonnie Bristol there?" "This is Bonnie." "Hi. This is Wendy Sinclair at West Side Mortgage. I'm calling about the lien on the property at 24 Berry Hill Drive." Bonnie rose to her feet, using the gloves to brush the soft dirt from her knees while the woman continued to explain. And when it finally sunk in why she was calling, the gloves slipped from Bonnie's hand and dropped to the ground.
Chapter Seventeen Drake stared out the tall windows of his Manhattan apartment, holding a Scotch in his hand and telling himself for the umpteenth time that he'd done the right thing. Hell, he'd done better than the right thing. After all, how many women got a home and a magazine contract out of a three-day fling? It had been more than a week since he'd left Dahlia. Bonnie had called to thank him for paying off the loan on Bristol House, telling him the gesture had been too generous—although she hadn't declined it. The memory made him smile. He would have thought less of her if she'd insisted he take the money back, but she hadn't, smart woman. Instead, she'd handed the phone over to her teary mother who'd called him everything from a saint to a savior. Right now, he should be standing here happy that he'd been able to put some of his power and money toward a just and worthy cause. Instead, he was drowning his misery in a drink, staring at the dingy gray streets of New York and feeling as though he'd cut and run from something that might have been truly wonderful. Because that's exactly what you did, cowboy. You felt the twang of something like love and it spooked you. And instead of having the guts to explore it, you paid off your conscience and hightailed it out of Dodge. He slugged back the last of his drink to drown out the voice. That whole notion was ridiculous. He'd gotten caught up in a fantasy affair in a dreamlike town full of fast cars and racing legends and steaming-hot sex. None of it translated to the real world he lived in, and he knew better than to try to bring a slice of it home. Like putting sand in a bottle and pretending it was the ocean. There was a time and place for everything, and when it came to him and Bonnie, that had been three glorious days in Dahlia, Tennessee. End of subject. So why can't you put her out of your mind?
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Cursing, he moved to the bar and poured himself another drink. Two weeks ago, he'd been so sure of his life. He'd taken that drive out of Memphis on a whim. It had been the same kind of whim that had set him off from Austin to New York ten years ago. Nothing logical, no real plans, just a feeling in his gut. The first time around, that whim had changed his life for the better. He'd ended up with a magazine and a ton of money and an exciting life he more or less loved. This time, it had only taken a restless spirit and churned it into pieces. He'd come back home feeling worse than when he'd left, and he didn't have the damnedest clue what to do about it. And not only that, but this time he was plum out of whims.
Chapter Eighteen The double glass doors read High Velocity Magazine, and Bonnie stepped from the elevator toward them, holding her finished article in her hand. This wasn't the first time Bonnie had been in New York. It was the traveling she and her mother had done with Jimmy that had given Bonnie the itch to live somewhere bigger than Dahlia, Tennessee. But this was the first time she'd come as a free adult with options in tow. Options like setting up house in New York, if a special someone might ask. She shoved down the thought. She'd worked hard to temper her anticipation ever since she'd called Drake and told him she'd be in town. The pleasure in his voice had given her all kinds of ideas. Bad ones. Ones that involved him asking her to stay in New York so they could pursue what they'd started back home. It was dumb and foolish and she knew it. Definitely not the kind of thinking she'd ever expected of herself. A month ago she would have laughed at the idea of chasing after a man. Then again, a month ago, she hadn't met Drake Whitley. And though Bonnie had been casual about her reasons for taking this trip, in reality she'd needed to come here. She had to see him one more time to find out if there could be more between them or if she needed to close the door on Drake for good. She stepped into the office, taking in the surroundings as she made her way across the spacious room. It felt like him—rugged but refined, the decor a mix of leather and suede and dark chunky wood, just what she would have expected. She crossed to the young woman seated at the desk, but before she could introduce herself, she heard the voice from the hall. "Bonnie." A smile spread her lips when she spotted Drake. His tousled hair was combed, and his casual jeans had been traded in for a sharply fitted shirt and fine tailored slacks. It only made him more handsome. Grinning, he stepped over and put a hand on her arm. The warmth from his fingers surged through her veins. In three weeks, if she'd at all forgotten how good he'd felt, it came back tenfold in the act of that simple touch.
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"You look great," he said, studying her for an extra moment as he took her hand in his. He had a strange look on his face, one she couldn't quite read, but before she could question it, he blinked it off and led her back to his office. They made small talk, Drake growing more and more distracted as she perused his office, and it began to rattle her nerves. Though she hadn't known what to expect from this meeting, awkwardness began to fill the space between them. And the more they chatted, the more she felt like this reunion wouldn't turn out as she'd hoped. "Have I come at a bad time?" she asked, thinking maybe there was something going on here that had nothing to do with her. But instead of answering, he simply stared at her, almost as though he didn't know her. "No, this time is fine," he finally said. He slipped to his seat. "Let's…um…see what you've brought." A stab of hurt shot through her that she tried to hide by moving to the window and taking in the New York skyline. She'd feared this, the reality that what they'd had back in Dahlia wouldn't translate to Drake's world. And now that she was here, facing it head-on, she wondered what she'd been thinking. She was obviously making him nervous, which wasn't at all the warm reception she'd hoped to find. He must have seen an expectation in her eyes that unnerved him, and now he was fumbling, trying to figure out how to let her down easy. And if that was the case, she needed to pull herself together before she butchered her pride. She reminded herself that in the end, this was for the best. If she hadn't come back here to see for herself, she would have spent countless months—maybe years—wondering if something could have developed between them. So while this might be crushing now, at least she could bring closure and move on. Because looking at him behind that big walnut desk, it all became clear as crystal. What they had back in Tennessee was done and gone.
Chapter Nineteen Drake had felt it the moment he'd walked out of his office and spotted Bonnie standing in the lobby. It had hit him square between the eyes, then again as he watched her standing in his office casually browsing the photos on his wall. He hadn't needed to read her article, but had done so for good measure, making sure this revelation was truly grounded in reality. "So what do you think?" she asked. Her beautiful aqua eyes were filled with trepidation, no doubt thanks to him. He was bungling this meeting and he knew it. It was just that so many thoughts and emotions were spinning through his mind. His whim. His trip from Memphis. The unease in his life, and the empty feelings he'd started to have when it came to his career. This was all about Bonnie. And now that she was here, he wondered why he hadn't figured it out before. "You're a natural, Bonnie. At racing and at writing." Her cheeks flushed. "There's not a lot else to cover working down at The Voice."
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The brush-off was her attempt at modesty, but Drake had been in this business long enough to know she had more than that. She understood the heart of what racing fans wanted, and she gave it to them in this article. Not that he'd needed her to be a good writer. This was about much more than that. He watched as she stood expectantly. She was dressed for business in heels and a slimming pair of trousers, her hair combed neatly and a faint spray of makeup playing up all the right features. She looked much like she had that day three weeks ago when she'd found him in the field. And when she showed up again in his office, it was as though a bright light went on in his head, making everything clear. Bonnie was the missing link. The intangible thing he'd been looking for. The one his instinct had taken him to. But he hadn't recognized it until he'd seen her standing in his office with the New York skyline at her back. It seemed so obvious now, how right she was here. He'd been confused because he hadn't been looking for a lover. But the woman who stood before him wasn't merely a lover. She was a life partner. A soul mate. The missing piece that would fill the void that had somehow grown inside him. And she belonged in this office just as sure as she belonged at home in his bed. Rising from his desk, he stepped to her, taking her hand in his and pressing it to his lips. "I'm glad you came." Her mouth bobbed. Her eyes dropped to his lips. "You're satisfied with the article?" He cupped her beautiful face in his hands. "No, I'm not satisfied with just an article." A heavy swallow curled down the planes of her throat. "I don't understand." He tasted her lips. "Neither did I until now." But now he did. Plain as day. And suddenly everything wrong with his life righted and snapped in place. He nudged her back against the wall, slipping his hands around her waist and pulling her up close. "What would you think about moving to New York?" She blinked back what looked like tears welling in her eyes. Were they tears of joy or regret? He kissed her long and deep, deciding to express with his body what was missing in his words. "I'm not mistaken when I say," he uttered between tastes, "that you're a woman I could find myself falling in love with." He brushed a lock of silky hair from her face and tried to read her expression. Were these all good words or bad? He couldn't tell through the pounding of his heart and the churning in his stomach. "Come be with me," he urged. "I'll show you as much of the world as you want to see, give you all the challenges you desire. Just give me your heart and tell me this could work."
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He studied her face, trying to anticipate her answer. "What do you say, Bonnie? You and me."
Chapter Twenty Bonnie blinked, then blinked again, trying to grasp what Drake was offering. It might have been easier to do if not for his rugged scent drugging her senses, or his hard body pressed against her, pulling back memories of what it could do. It blurred her thoughts, making it hard to focus. And she needed to focus. This wasn't the time for misunderstandings. He stared at her expectantly, waiting for the answer that tumbled about on her lips. She thought he'd offered her a job and more if she wasn't mistaken. And he'd also said something about love. Did he say he loved her or he could love her? She couldn't remember now. But as she looked into those sparkling blue eyes, so certain and delighted, she asked herself what it mattered. She'd come here hoping that there could be something ahead for them, and in typical Drake Whitley fashion, he'd exceeded what she'd even dreamed of. "Yes!" she heard herself say. "Yes to all of it." "Oh, babe." He pulled her close. He sealed it with a kiss that weakened her knees. Heat welled between her legs, three weeks of unanswered desire begging to be tended. He kissed a path under her ear and down her neck, leaving her hot and needy with every supple press. Why hadn't she caught him at his apartment where they could be alone? He tugged her blouse from her trousers and went to work on her belt, obviously sharing her need but not her discretion. "Aren't there people here?" she asked. "No one who won't knock." And with that sinful gleam giving her the okay to proceed, she shoved off her pants, held on tight and wrapped her legs around his waist. He took her right there against the wall, filling her fast and hard with an urgency they both shared. The sensation was glorious, like finding home after being lost in a cold, dark forest for what seemed like a lifetime. And the fact that he felt it as well touched too many places to measure. The climax took them swiftly, mouths joined to swallow cries of joy and excitement and release. And when their bodies and minds calmed, Drake rested against her, cheek to cheek. "We're good together, Bonnie. And I don't mean just like this."
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She clasped her arms around his neck, his body still seated inside her, her legs still clamped around him. The words he'd uttered were exactly the words she'd wanted to hear, the exact sentiment in her heart that she hadn't dared hope for. And she'd heard them sooner than she expected. She kissed him. "I think so, too. But are you sure you don't need more time to think? This is sudden." "I've never done anything slowly or carefully. Not when I know that something's right." Pressing his nose to hers, he stared into her eyes. "Think you can live with that?" Bonnie smiled. "I'm Jimmy Bristol's daughter, remember? I'm pretty sure I can live in the fast lane."
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The Italian Billionaire's Bride by Trish Morey Roberto Peroni left Montvelatte determined to make his fortune. Now a success, he has returned to his homeland as a financial advisor to the prince—and is shocked to find the sister of a childhood friend living in reduced circumstances. Roberto has the means to help Carmelina, but her pride won’t allow it! Carmelina Milazzo is at risk of losing her job as dresser to the soon-to-be princess—and that’s something she cannot afford. But when self-made billionaire (and Carmelina’s former crush) Roberto Peroni steps in and helps her keep her position, Carmelina fears the tycoon will expect repayment on terms even more dear…
Chapter One She was late. Carmelina Milazzo took the Castello de Montvelatte’s wide marble stairs two at a time as she raced up to Sienna Wainwright’s suite, in her arms the soon-to-be-princess’s freshly laundered linen-and-silk suit that she’d specifically requested for this morning’s round of engagements. Carmelina cast a furtive eye for the housekeeper, who would no doubt take a piece out of her for not using the back stairs, but this way was more direct and would shave off seconds, and risking a telling-off for using the wrong stairs was the least of Carmelina’s problems. More worrying right now was the prospect of Signorina Sienna calling Sebastiano to find out where her missing dresser and the promised outfit were. Castello jobs were the most sought after in Montvelatte and there was a queue at least a kilometer long of people hoping to work for the principality’s new leader, Prince Raphael. The slightest hint that Carmelina’s performance wasn’t up to snuff and she’d find herself out of a job and on the scrap heap in a heartbeat. And she so needed this job. Her rubber-soled flats slapped lightly on the marble, her breathing coming more quickly now after her dash across the Castello courtyard from the old stone laundry. One more flight and she would be home free. She looked down at the suit one more time, ensuring she wasn’t creasing it in her rush to get upstairs. It was perfect, the cream linen smooth under the transparent plastic sleeve, the pastel-colored silk thread accents winking at her under the light. Just one more flight… She reached the landing, made a speedy right and looked up too late, colliding full-force with a wall that wasn’t supposed to be there. A gruff expletive reached her ears, mirroring her own reaction as she bounced backward, her arms flapping uselessly, her floundering legs no match for her sudden change of direction. And if not for the strong hands that seized her shoulders and anchored her to the vertical she would have gone sprawling to the floor. “Scusi,” she said breathlessly, going rapidly into damage control, knowing that she was the one at fault but sensing that at least it wasn’t Sebastiano or the prince himself. Whoever she’d run into was too tall and too broad to be the slightly framed prince’s secretary, and from the brief curse she’d heard, his voice wasn’t right for the prince. Not that running down a guest was necessarily a good career move either.
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“I’m so sorry.” And she was, totally and unreservedly sorry, and never more so than when her gaze fell upon the dry-cleaning bag, now lying in a tangled heap on the floor where it had so unceremoniously crash-landed. This time she cried out in despair, her spirits as crumpled as the outfit. “Are you hurt?” the deep voice asked, and this time something about it stirred memories long buried, and for the first time her eyes left the ruined dress to focus on the man who still had his hands on her shoulders. Large hands. Strong. Warm. She trembled a little, surprised such a detail should even register with everything else happening, and she felt his fingers tighten even more around her arms in response. “N-no, not hurt,” she said, as she looked up into his face and this time she was glad he still had his hands on her arms or her knees might have buckled beneath her….
Chapter Two She blinked, but he was still there. She blinked again but it was still him. Roberto Peroni, the boy who’d left Montvelatte years ago swearing he’d make his fortune and who, by all accounts, had. Roberto Peroni, her older brother’s best school friend and the subject of one long and fruitless schoolgirl crush. Roberto Peroni was back. She willed her heartbeat to something approximating normal. Because she was over him. Long ago. Not that that fact stopped her drinking in the details. He was still all too easy on the eyes, still the most arrestingly handsome man she’d ever seen. Time had changed nothing, except to mature, maybe even to improve upon perfection. The line of his jaw had gone from defined to powerfully rugged, his body had bulked up with muscle to better fit the broad shoulders that had hung off the lean teenager’s frame, and the skin around his dark eyes was weathered, more suited to the intensity within. Eyes that now looked down at her quizzically. But of course he wouldn’t recognize her. She’d been invisible to him when they were growing up in the same village. Why should he remember her fifteen years later? She shrugged her shoulders, trying to ward off his hands and, if she was completely honest, trying to shrug off the stab of disappointment that accompanied that last question. It was pure fantasy to imagine that he would.
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And fantasies come true were thin on the ground lately. Unlike responsibilities. And right now she was forgetting at least one of hers. There was an outfit she had to get to Signorina Sienna, an outfit she had to somehow make right before Signorina’s first appointment in… She glanced at her watch and in spite of the balmy morning, almost froze in shock. The Signorina’s first appointment was in an hour! What was she thinking, wasting her time here on the stairs with a veritable ghost from her past? “Please accept my apologies for inconveniencing you, Signore Peroni, but I must be about my duties.” “You know my name?” he countered, refusing to let her break away, the eyes searching her face even more intense, if that were possible. “Have we met? I’m sure I wouldn’t forget meeting such a beautiful woman.” He was flirting with her? She didn’t believe he meant a word of it but it was still hard to dispel the warmth his rich low voice kindled deep within her body. “Everyone on Montvelatte knows about you and your brilliant success.” And then she shrank her shoulders and twisted away and for a second she thought she’d managed to dodge out of his grip and escape. “Don’t go,” he said, forgoing his grasp on her shoulders only long enough to sandwich one of her hands between his own. “Will I see you again?” She looked down at her hand, encased in his, felt the heat that radiated through her entire body, and for the briefest instant was tempted to leave it there as long as she possibly could. But that way lay madness. Roberto had a reputation as a playboy and no matter how much she’d adored him as a teenager, she wasn’t about to fall at his feet now. He assumed she was available, that was all. He didn’t really want her. “I don’t think so,” she said, and pulled her hand free, scooping up the crumpled outfit before heading up the next flight of steps and thinking that in spite of the morning she’d had there was still a chance she could make it. Thought she almost had, when she heard the clipped tones of Sebastiano. “Carmelina!”
Chapter Three Carmelina? So that was her name. Roberto had already turned away, knowing he should turn his thoughts to the upcoming meeting with Prince Raphael and the financial challenges he was supposed to help find answers to, but that didn’t stop him filing away the name for future reference. Carmelina? And the years slid away as a picture formed clear as day in his mind, of a young girl who’d silently followed his every move from behind the nearest piece of furniture or convenient tree whenever he’d visited his school friend Massimo.
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His feet came to a halt on the plush hallway runner. Could it be possible? The Carmelina he remembered had been little more than a chubby child with dark soulful eyes. This Carmelina was all delicious curves and firm flesh under that shapeless uniform, with long dark hair that curled in tendrils around her face and eyes that looked like they’d rather slice him to pieces. But he remembered the look she’d given him, the recognition in her eyes. She had remembered him. It was her. Behind him he could hear Sebastiano’s voice, his words delivered too rapidly and too low to catch, though the tone was more than clear. Then he heard the defensive female voice that followed. Carmelina’s voice. She was being questioned. Chastised. Why should he care? It was none of his business. He glanced down at his watch and cursed. He didn’t want to be late. Rafe would be waiting for him and it wasn’t his place to keep royalty waiting, no matter how far back their friendship went. Yet still his feet remained where they were. He looked over his shoulder, ran the fingers of one hand through his hair and cursed again. Why should he care if the woman got in trouble? Because you don’t want it to be on your account, whispered an inner voice. Not if you want the chance to renew your acquaintance. And he did. Besides, her all-too-quick rejection of his question of whether they might see each other again rankled. Why would she do that? And why pretend she didn’t know him? He fully intended to find out. He turned and strode back to the stairs, where the voices, though subdued, were still echoing off the stairwell’s marble surfaces. He could see them both at the top of the stairs, Sebastiano now with possession of the drycleaning bag that had spun out of her hands when they’d collided, Carmelina with her head bowed and her hands clasped demurely in front of her. “Please,” he heard her say in little more than a whisper, “I need this job so much. I won’t be late again.” She lifted her head to deliver those last words and he saw the glint of light catch on the moisture in her eyes, and he wondered again if he really needed to get involved in someone else’s problems. Besides, if she was in trouble with her employer, who was he to interfere? He half turned to go and she must have caught the movement below because she looked down and caught him watching. She turned her head away, but not before he’d witnessed her liquid eyes harden to a gloss finish, a look of resentment sharpening her features, as if willing him to disappear. No way, he thought, resenting the way she’d shut him out again when he’d come back to help. You don’t get away from me that easily.
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“Sebastiano,” he called, taking the stairs three at a time. “May I have a word?”
Chapter Four Sebastiano’s eyes narrowed, a frown tugging at his brow as he glanced at the elegant silver timepiece at his wrist. “Signore Peroni, aren’t you expected in the library for a finance meeting with Prince Raphael?” “I still have a minute or two, Sebastiano,” he said. “And apologies for this interruption, but I was hoping to catch up with this young woman. The fact you’re here is all the better. There is something I think you should know.” Sebastiano swept a weary gaze in Carmelina’s direction, as if expecting this to be the news that cemented her dismissal. “And that would be?” Carmelina’s already sinking hopes took a nosedive. It was bad enough that Sebastiano had caught her on the forbidden main stairs, already late after coping with her nonna’s latest turn, and with the requested linen blend suit in her hands looking like more a crumpled paper bag. Already three strikes against her, and now Roberto wanted to butt in? Why? Unless he’d been annoyed about her turning down his offer to meet again. She swallowed. Surely not? She’d heard Roberto had a reputation for being ruthless, but surely she didn’t deserve that kind of treatment for simply indicating she wasn’t interested? Roberto looked at her then, a spark in his eyes and the ends of his mouth kicking up into an unexpected curve. “I wanted to thank her for her assistance, and to commend you, Sebastiano, for the quality of your staff.” Carmelina stood breathless, disbelieving, while Sebastiano sniffed, his erect spine suddenly stiffer, his voice, when it came, sounding unusually tight. “This is indeed pleasing news. May I ask what exactly you are thanking Signorina Carmelina for?” The younger man’s smile turned full force and even though his eyes were turned in Sebastiano’s direction now, Carmelina felt the full dazzling effect like a shower of fireworks to the bloodstream. “In my haste to make my meeting,” Roberto started, “I wasn’t thinking. I took a wrong turn and unfortunately ran into this poor woman, sending whatever she had in her hands flying. Then I held her up interminably while she patiently showed me where I’d gone wrong, and it only occurred to me when she’d already departed that I hadn’t even thanked her properly. Let alone commend her for her assistance, when I was clearly keeping her from her duties.” Sebastiano blinked several times, warring emotions skittering across his face. It was nothing to the warring emotions going on inside Carmelina. Roberto was stretching the truth, if not out-and-out lying, and for her. Why would anyone do that? He had no idea who she was, let alone how desperately she needed this job. He had no concept that this was her best chance in years to make some kind of inroads into the family debt. And what he was claiming might just ensure she kept that chance alive….
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But that still didn’t change the fact that what he was saying was untrue. She took a deep breath, shaky but determined. For as much as she needed her job, there was no way she would rely on lies to keep it. She might be desperate, but she hadn’t yet stooped that low. “No,” she said emphatically, and it was Roberto’s turn to look stunned. “It wasn’t like that. It was my f—”
Chapter Five “Come, Signorina,” Roberto interrupted, talking over her, “you mustn’t be so modest. Of course it was exactly like that.” Carmelina fell silent, her eyes narrowed, twin slashes of colour now staining the perfect skin of her cheeks. Sebastiano held up one hand as he cleared his throat, the gruff growl indicative of him not believing anything in a hurry but nevertheless being left with no choice but to rethink his options in the light of new evidence. “Carmelina,” he snapped, thrusting the ruined outfit back into her hands, “take this to Signorina Wainwright immediately and apologize for its condition. She may like to rethink her outfit for today. Otherwise, ensure this is returned to laundry and pressed immediately.” The woman gave a shaky bow to Sebastiano and turned to leave, somehow managing an icecold glare in Roberto’s direction before she disappeared along the corridor, her departure soundless apart from the faint flutter of plastic against air. *** Full of apologies, Carmelina knocked and swung open the door to the suite, only to find the princess-to-be still in bed, taking her time with her breakfast tray. “I’m sorry, Carmelina,” she said with a guilty smile, “but I couldn’t resist lying in. I hope you don’t mind.” Carmelina almost collapsed with relief. Sebastiano had given her the impression that her mistress must be pacing the floor demanding her outfit and demanding it now, but the Australian woman looked relaxed, if a little pale. And now the Signorina was apologizing to her? “Of course I don’t mind,” she replied, crossing the room to draw the curtains, flooding the room with light that would give the Signorina the opportunity to see just how badly the suit was creased. “But it’s me who must apologize to you. I dropped your outfit on the way here and it’s ruined, but I’ll take it right back down to the laundry for pressing. I can do it while you take your bath. It won’t take me long.” The Signorina looked at the suit and then up at Carmelina, her teeth scraping over her bottom lip. “I owe you another apology in that case. I’d already decided to take your advice and choose something else. You were right, it would hardly do for me to show up on the prince’s arm wearing the same suit day after day, even if I feel awkward using anything from that huge wardrobe.” She smiled again, this time looking truly contrite. “I’m really sorry I put you out by asking for it in the first place.”
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Another apology. Carmelina nodded and pressed her lips together tightly, swallowing back on a lump in her throat as she turned toward the dressing-room door. She’d been the one who was late, the one who’d practically flung the promised outfit onto the floor. She was nothing and yet this woman, Montvelatte’s soon-to-be princess, was apologizing to her? After the morning she’d had, after the stress of dealing with her nonna’s spell, followed by running first into Roberto and then into Sebastiano—after thinking she’d lost her job—the unexpected kindness was almost too much. Tears squeezed from her eyes, just a few bittersweet ones she allowed herself while the Signorina bathed and Carmelina selected a new outfit and matching accessories from the extensive wardrobe. She was fortunate to have this job working with the Signorina. She appreciated it now more than ever, a fact that kept her smiling all through the day. Right up to the time she waved to the palace guard at the staff entrance and turned to locate her scooter. Only to find Roberto waiting there instead.
Chapter Six Roberto was leaning against a car, a sleek black Alfa Romeo coupe parked right in front of where her scooter was parked, his arms crossed over his chest, one foot resting on one impossibly shiny wheel. Sometime during the day he’d discarded his jacket and tie, unbuttoned the white shirt at his neck and rolled up the sleeves. He was wearing dark glasses. But he was looking at her. She swallowed. The black car looked like sin. Roberto looked even more dangerous. Temptation in fine cotton. Fine, unbuttoned cotton. Carmelina swallowed again, wishing she’d had a drink before she’d left. Facing 45 minutes on her scooter in the warm air with her throat already dry—what had she been thinking? It took a mental vise to force her eyes away and concentrate on walking around his car, offering no more than an oblique nod, trying to pretend she hadn’t recognized him. As if. She fumbled in her bag for her keys, her fingers connecting with everything else but. “Can I offer you a lift?” Roberto said, not moving. “Grazie,” she tossed as casually as she could, not looking up at him despite the sudden spike in her heart rate. Afraid to look up, in case he was still watching her behind those sun glasses and that spike might become something more fatal. Why was he here? Or did he fancy himself a quick affair while he was slumming it back on the island of his birth? The island he couldn’t wait to get away from and had had nothing to do with since? Did he think she somehow owed him because he’d spoken up for her with Sebastiano? Not a chance!
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Carmelina’s fingers finally latched onto her keys and she offered up silent thanks. She waved them breezily in his direction as she passed. “But I have my own transport.” “Mine is more comfortable,” he suggested, peeling himself away from the car to follow her, with more elegance of movement than any man his size had a right to. For the first time she allowed herself to smile back at him. “Mine doesn’t come with conditions.” She found her ancient scooter and sat down, righting it and sticking the key into the ignition, grasping the handles like a lifeline as she prepared to back out. He reached over and snatched the key out of the ignition. “Who said anything about conditions?” Exasperated, she looked up at him. “Why did you do that?” And the smile he sent back down to her told her exactly why. Because he could. Her heart thumped so loudly she could barely hear the next words she spoke, just prayed they sounded more certain than she felt. “What do you want?” And immediately she wished she hadn’t asked, because he leaned over then, his arms resting on her handlebars, his face too close to her own, his masculine scent weaving its way into her senses. “You’ve changed, Carmelina. You never used to be quite this snippy.”
Chapter Seven She gasped, her eyes snapping up to meet his and catching the smile his lips curved into en route. She’d been so sure he hadn’t recognized her. Would have laid bets on him not remembering her from fifteen years ago. She’d been little more than a child back then. “It was a long time ago.” His smile widened, his perfect teeth white against his olive skin, even darker now with the evening stubble. “You think I’d forget my silent shadow? I always thought you’d make the perfect detective.” Her small exclamation of shock was met by yet another smile. “Massimo told me you had a dream to work one day with the polizia. So how is it you ended up working here, at the Castello, instead?” Embarrassment at memories long buried warred with resentment at the mention of her brother's name and her once-held dreams, but it was the heat fuelled by this man's proximity that turned it all into one fiery union, where memories and needs and emotions simmered together in the same fiery cauldron. Combining everything until she felt nothing but his very presence under her skin, as invasive as it was unwanted. Escape was the only option. “I have to go.” Her cheeks burning, she tried to push the scooter backward, the seat’s worn springs squeaking beneath her, but Roberto wasn’t about to let her go that easily. He held up the keys in front of her. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
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Frustration turned incendiary. She didn’t need this. Not today. Right now she needed to get home and relieve Anna and Maria. Her neighbors were generous to a fault but they both had their own families to care for without having to worry about Carmelina’s nonna, too. And everything was harder for everyone on days like this, when Nonna forgot… “What do you want, Signore Peroni?” “Please, call me Roberto.” She pressed her lips together. “What do you want—Roberto?” “I’ve been away a long time. I’ve missed out on a lot of Montvelattian news. I was hoping we might be able to get together tonight to catch up.” “You never bothered catching up before.” “In case it had escaped your notice, I haven’t exactly been standing still these last few years.” “No. You’ve been busy setting the financial world alight and amassing a personal fortune at the same time. How many billion euros were you worth at last count? Five? Ten? Or have you lost count?” “You make it sound like there’s something wrong with being successful.” “No. You always told everyone you were going to escape Montvelatte and make something of yourself. And you did it. You must feel very proud of yourself. Now, if you’d just hand over my keys, I’ll get going.” “Have dinner with me.” “I can’t.” “Can’t—or won’t?” “Does it matter? It’s not going to happen.” “Not even for old times’ sake?” “Is that why you said what you did to Sebastiano? Told him it was you who ran into me and not the other way around? For old times’ sake?” “I did hope it might swing the pendulum in my favor.” “You didn’t have to lie!” “You don’t sound very grateful. It seemed to me like you were about to lose your job.” “And now you think I owe you?” “Do you still have your job?”
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Carmelina prayed her eyes conveyed the degree of contempt she felt when she bit out the words, “I don’t owe you a thing!”
Chapter Eight “Now,” Carmelina repeated, “may I please have my keys.” It made no difference to her that she had to pluck them from his hand then, rather than having been given them. The fact was, she had the keys and in a minute she would be away from here. Away from Roberto, who continued to stand in front of the scooter glowering, as if she was somehow to blame for his bad mood. She could hardly wait to make her escape. The key turned in the slot. The engine kicked over. Once, with a modicum of enthusiasm. A second time with a hint of reluctance. The third time it spluttered and died. She refused to meet his eyes as she tried again, the engine this time not getting past the first impotent turn. A yawning pit opened inside her as she tried again. And again. A yawning pit she wished she could hurl herself into and disappear. Massimo’s old scooter had never been the most reliable of vehicles, but of all the times for the scooter to fail, it had to choose now? “You seem to have a problem.” Roberto’s scowl had turned into a much more self-satisfied expression. “Is there anything I can do?” “Do you know anything about scooters?” She turned the key again and was rewarded with nothing. “Come on,” he said, when her continuing efforts were in vain. “I’ll give you a lift home.” “No, I’ll—” “So is there anyone I should call for you instead? A boyfriend? A husband?” He had his cell phone in his hand already open, his eyes challenging. She scowled up at him, her teeth making tracks on her bottom lip as she thought. “No, but—” “You said you needed to go home. You’re clearly going nowhere on that relic.” “It’s a long way—” “Don’t you think I remember where you live? You do still live in Calitano?” She put a hand to her forehead, brushing back the curls that had come loose from their restraint, trying to think. But there was no other choice. A taxi would have to come all the way
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from Velatte City before they even started for her small village in the south of the island. She couldn’t afford the time even if she could afford the fare. “Thank you,” she said with a stiff nod, avoiding his gaze as she resettled the bike and stepped off on the side farthest away from him. “A lift home would be appreciated.” The sun was setting as the car pulled away from the Castello and headed into the valley below, the setting sun bathing orchards and olive groves in red light. The scent of wild thyme carried through her open window, combining with the smell of the rich leather upholstery and turning it into something earthy and natural and tantalizing. Or was that the man sitting alongside her? She was sure there was more than a trace of Roberto’s heady signature scent in the mix. “I’d forgotten how beautiful Montvelatte is,” he said over the throaty purr of the engine and glanced her way, “in so many ways.” And her heart rate kicked up as their eyes connected and held for just one infinitesimal moment longer than necessary, eyes that told her beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was including her in that statement. And when he finally turned back to the road, it was all she could do to remember how to breathe.
Chapter Nine She was beautiful. She’d always had the makings of a beauty with her dark-as-night eyes and creamy olive skin, but the promise of the child had well and truly been surpassed. And for all her beauty, she was nothing like the usual women who caught his eye these days, the women who took compliments along with gifts as their due, sophisticates with cynical eyes and willing bodies that had long forgotten how to blush. Unlike Carmelina. One mention of beauty and her satin skin had colored as if she’d never been delivered a compliment in her life. Which didn’t seem possible. She had to be at least midtwenties by now. Surely someone as beautiful as her would have had her share of suitors, if not already snapped up? But it sounded as if there was no boyfriend and no husband, a fact that cheered him inordinately, even if he wasn’t entirely sure why, as he expertly steered the sports car around the steep twisting roads. Massimo would love this car, Carmelina thought. He’d always dreamed of one day owning a sports car and eating up the island roads just as Roberto was doing. With the new boat their catches would be bigger, he’d argued. In no time the boat would be paid off and there would be cash for all the extra things they had always wanted—a new kitchen for Mamma, a new suit for Papa and a brand-new car to take them all to church on Sundays. It had been a good plan, they had thought. A plan that had seen enough money to send Carmelina to the police academy in Rome. A foolproof plan. Except for one fatal flaw… “Still the same house?” She looked over at him blankly. Neither of them had spoken since his earlier comment; she’d been too nervous to talk and he’d seemed content, until now, to let her watch the view flash
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past her window at a speed that had to be at least double her top speed on the scooter. She was surprised now to see how close they were to her village already. “The same house,” he repeated, “in Calitano.” “Oh, sì.” She shuddered to think of it. The same shabby house she’d lived in since birth, only shabbier now if it were possible, with its broken tiles and cracked walls. The thin coat of paint she treated the house to every Easter could only hide so much. And suddenly she didn’t want Roberto to see it. He didn’t belong in her world anymore. He’d moved on, just as he’d always said he would. He’d made something of himself. “Anywhere here will be fine,” she said brightly, even though they’d only just entered the outskirts of the town and her house was nearer the shore. “But we’re nowhere near your house,” he argued, not even looking like slowing down. “It’s fine,” she insisted. “I’ve put you out enough as it is.” “I’ll drop you home if it’s all the same to you. Besides, now that I’ve come this far, I was really hoping to catch up with Massimo if he’s around.” He looked over at her. “Do you know where I might find him?” A chill descended her spine as her eyes sought out a lonely and rugged headland overlooking the sea outside of town. Her voice, when it came, was just as stiff and lifeless as the marble tombstones that could be seen glinting in what was left of the setting sun. “You mean you really don’t know?”
Chapter Ten “Don’t know what, Carmelina? What are you talking about?” They’d pulled up outside the small, crumbling house and Carmelina was already fumbling with the unfamiliar door latch, desperate to get out. “No,” he said, reaching across and holding the door handle so that even when she finally found the release, it still wouldn’t budge. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.” “Oh, I’m sorry, but I forgot,” she said, fury mounting at the way his arm pinned her into her seat. “You haven’t been standing still these past few years, have you? You’ve been moving so fast, so desperate to leave your past in Montvelatte behind that you didn’t care less what was happening back here.” She’d barely finished her tirade when he was out of the car and pulling her door open from the outside, yanking her out behind it. “And what did happen?” he demanded. “What have I missed?” Her knees were too weak to hold her up, not that it mattered as his fingers were anchored into her arms and she wasn’t even sure her feet were touching the ground. White spots danced
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before her eyes and blood pulsed in her temples, but the initial rush of blood and anger was gone and she felt weak. Spent. She looked up into his crazed eyes, wishing to God she didn’t have to say the words, wishing even more they weren’t true. “My brother…your friend… Massimo is dead.” She’d been prepared for all manner of disbelief. She’d been prepared for rejection as he tried to take it in. She hadn’t been prepared for him to pull her into his arms and squeeze her so tight she thought he might crush her. “Cristo,” she heard him mutter against her hair. “I wish it could be different.” No pointless, I’m sorry. No empty platitudes. Just a heartfelt, I wish it could be different. And she wanted to thank him, because that’s exactly how she felt. Except right now, she didn’t want to utter a word, not with his arms wound tightly around her, her cheek hard against his firm chest and with the regular and solid thump of his heartbeat feeling like it was feeding into her very being. Why did it feel so good, being held like this? “Carmelina, is that you?” The voice reminded her of where she was and she looked up to see her neighbor, Anna, emerging from the house. The plump woman stopped when she saw Carmelina in a man’s embrace, her eyes wide at the unexpected sight. “Scusi, Carmelina. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” “Anna,” she said, extricating herself from the knot of his arms. “Signore Peroni is an old friend of my brother. It’s…difficult for him, coming back.” Anna studied the visitor, her eyes narrowing, before finally nodding and slapping her hands together. She wiped them on her large white apron and pulled him into a rough embrace. “Ah, sì, I remember your mamma and her sister before they left. How is your family? Are they well?” There was talk, some sadness and some laughter, and Roberto promised to pass on Anna’s best wishes while Carmelina felt more and more uneasy with the talk of family. “How’s Nonna been?” she asked when she had a chance. Anna smiled and put one hand on hers. “She’s resting now. Much more relaxed than this morning.” Carmelina hugged her in relief, thanking her for all she’d done. “I don’t know what I would do without you.” “There’s some leftover gnocchi in the oven,” Anna replied. And then added, with just a hint of a smile in Roberto’s direction as she left, “More than enough for two.”
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Chapter Eleven Nonna was watching her favorite game show on the ancient black-and-white TV, cheering along with the audience. She acknowledged Carmelina’s kiss on the cheek with a nod and held up a hand to shush her as she turned back to the television. Until she caught sight of Roberto close behind. “Massimo,” she cried, struggling to her feet, “you’re finally home. I’ve been waiting for you.” Carmelina took her thin arm and shoulder and gave her the leverage the frail woman needed to stand. “Not Massimo, Nonna, this is Roberto, Massimo’s friend.” Confusion clouded the older woman’s eyes for just a moment, and then cleared as she smiled. “Roberto. Of course, I remember Roberto! My, how you’ve grown!” She held her arms open and Carmelina gritted her teeth and prayed. But she needn’t have worried, because Roberto smiled and allowed himself to be pulled into her clawlike embrace, even hugging her back. “It’s good to see you again,” he said, so sincerely that Carmelina wanted to hug him again herself. *** “Thank you for doing that,” Carmelina said, after her nonna had retired for the night. The pair sat outside under the vine-covered trellis, sharing the gnocchi and salad and a bottle of local wine that Carmelina had found in a cupboard and that was probably vintage by now. “Thank you for making Nonna’s day.” Roberto toyed with the last of his gnocchi. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry. He could have eaten all of his serving and then some. It was just that it was clear there was more to Carmelina’s history than she was volunteering. And it wasn’t just whatever had happened to Massimo. In any other circumstances he’d have asked outright what had happened. But there was more happening here. Why was she looking after her nonna alone? Where were her parents? But how to ask for information when she was so reluctant to volunteer? She sat across from him, her lips lush and stained with the wine they were drinking. It didn’t make it any easier that all he could think about was the feel of her held tight in his arms, her arms folded tightly as if protecting herself, her curvy body fitting into his, as if it belonged there. It had felt good to hold her. Better than good. Even now, he could recall the press of her breasts, the curve of her hip… He shifted in his chair. Cristo, how could he even think of that? His childhood friend was dead. Some kind of tragedy had happened here. He stilled his fork and looked up at her. “Are you going to tell me what happened?” She looked across at him, her eyes wide, her expression startled. Then she bustled into action, stacking plates, collecting glasses. “It’s a long time ago now.” She held her collection in
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front of her like it was some kind of shield. “Besides, it’s getting late and I shouldn’t keep you any longer. Thank you for the lift home.” He stood and reached a hand to her arm, preventing her from turning and fleeing into the sanctuary of the house. “Carmelina, Massimo was your brother, but he was also my friend. Tell me.”
Chapter Twelve She sank back down in her chair, barely noticing when Roberto relieved her of the stack of dishes and took her hand in his, a chasm opening up again in her chest with a pain that was now all too familiar. “The new boat was Massimo’s dream. Bigger catches would mean bigger rewards. And bigger rewards would get me into the police academy that I’d always dreamed of. But there was a storm and the fleet were caught at sea. One by one the boats fought the waves to make it through the narrow heads and back to shore while Papa and Massimo waited to take their turn—their boat was newer and bigger and should’ve been stronger—the storm worsening all the time. “And when it was finally their turn, a freak wave caught the boat and lifted it like a toy, smashing it onto the rocks. My mother threw herself into the sea to try to save them before anyone could stop her. There was no hope…” “Carmelina.” He was at her side and hauling her onto his lap and then simply holding her and rocking, his arms wrapped tightly around her, her despair thick and heavy on the air. “I was at the academy when I heard the news,” she continued in little more than a whisper. “I came straight home.” She shuddered in his arms and he tightened them around her, pressing his lips to hair that smelled of thyme and rosemary and the very essence of the island itself. “And you’ve been looking after your nonna by yourself ever since.” “The village has been good to me. Anna and Maria, they help. Nonna…sometimes forgets. But the loan for the boat has to be paid and it’s been hard to get work. That’s changing since Prince Raphael was crowned.” “But the boat must have been insured?” “It was supposed to be,” she started. “Except things weren’t going as well as Massimo planned. There were other expenses—new nets—and then the price of fuel went through the roof. He didn’t tell anyone, he didn’t want anyone to know, least of all me, but he stopped paying the insurance premiums, in order to pay for my college fees.” This time when she shuddered it was with sobs and he let her cry, telling her over and over it wasn’t her fault. So much now made sense, why she’d never pursued the police career she’d dreamed of and was now working in the Castello as little more than a maid, and why she was so desperate to hang on to even that menial job.
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“I didn’t know,” he murmured against her hair, for the first time damning the success that had seen his family abandon scraping an existence in Montvelatte for greener pastures in Australia. Three entire families uprooted to join an uncle who had moved to Melbourne in the fifties and was doing well in the new country. Roberto’s success had made the long-held dream possible, but they’d lost a link with the island. “If my family had still been here, they would have heard…” He looked down at her, apology in his eyes. “I might have known…” She looked up at him then, looking so vulnerable and yet so beautiful in the moonlight, all midnight eyes and full sensual mouth, the dampness of her tears clinging to her lashes. “It doesn’t matter.” But he knew it did. It mattered to him that he’d not known. It mattered to him that she was forced to live like this, eking out an existence in a house crumbling around her. And it mattered to him that she was tucked in his arms with an upturned face—the face of a goddess. “Carmelina,” he heard himself growl as he dipped his head toward hers.
Chapter Thirteen Her lips were soft and full, tender and lush, and oh, so sweet. She tasted of the meal they’d shared, of red wine. But most of all she tasted of woman—warm, feminine and utterly sensual. Her lips moved under his, danced with his, feeding his hunger, building his need. He wanted her. The knowledge slammed into him like a body blow. Not just for one kiss. Not just for one night. He wanted her. All of her. And if he didn’t stop now… On the second attempt he managed to pull away, close enough that they still shared the same air, far enough for him to look into her startled eyes. “Why did you do that?” And in his muddled state he didn’t know what she was asking him, whether she was asking why he had kissed her or why he had stopped. He was still trying to work it out when she swung herself out of his arms and away, wheeling around to face him, her hands fisted at her sides, her dark eyes wild. “I think it’s time you were leaving.” Her sudden change of mood caught him by surprise. “Carmelina…” He stood then, slowly because events seemed to be moving too fast to grasp hold of and way too fast to understand. “I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” “I don’t want your pity,” she said breathlessly, clearly infuriated with herself for spilling so much so easily to a man who was a virtual stranger. “I don’t need it and I don’t want it. I don’t need anyone to feel sorry for me.” He shook his head. “That kiss had nothing to do with pity!”
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“I don’t want it!” she cried. “And I don’t want you here. You don’t belong here.” “I grew up here!” “And you left, the very first chance you got. You couldn’t wait to get away. Now it’s time you were leaving again.” “I’d like to see you again.” “What for? So you can slum it for a while and make yourself feel better about what you escaped from when you get back to your other life with your fancy women?” “You know that’s not true.” “I don’t know anything of the sort. All I know is that you don’t belong in this village in your fine suits and your shiny car. You’re only back on Montvelatte until you get the central bank through this latest crisis. I’ll bet you have no intention of staying permanently, do you? As soon as you’ve done your work, you’ll cut and run again.” It was all he could do not to growl. His was a contract position, something he’d specifically requested for exactly that reason. But Montvelatte had surprised him on his return. He’d forgotten about its raw natural beauty and its breathtaking views and the room to move. He’d forgotten about the scent of wild herbs that infused the air while he’d been busy growing used to the fumes of traffic and heavy industry and too-crowded cities. Not that he’d changed his mind about leaving… “Have it your way,” he said. “I’ll go. Thank you for dinner. I’ll make sure there’s a car sent to pick you up in the morning.” “There’s no need—” “There’s every need,” he said, cutting across her. “I made you leave your bike at the Castello. I’ll make sure you have a ride to work.”
Chapter Fourteen He should never have kissed her. He slammed the palm of one hand hard against the steering wheel. Cristo! He’d had her in his arms, right where he’d wanted her, and he’d blown everything by kissing her. But she was wrong. He hadn’t kissed her out of pity. He’d kissed her because he’d wanted to. Because he hadn’t been able to stop himself. And she’d kissed him back. The lights of Velatte City winked at him as he descended the mountainous road toward the harbor. The night sky was like velvet—moonlight danced on the inky sea and the city looked
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like some kind of fairy-tale land. He’d never put much stock into fairy tales. You made your own happy endings, he’d always believed, your own luck. He’d always been so sure of it. But what about Carmelina? What say had she had in her lot? He didn’t know the answer, but he wasn’t just going to stand back and watch her suffer. *** Signorina Sienna looked magnificent in the sea-green dress that hugged her curves and fell to the floor in a swath of silk. Carmelina could only imagine how Prince Raphael would feel when he saw her in the backless dress. It was clear he was besotted with her. How wonderful it must be to be so in love! “Bella,” Carmelina said with a wide smile as she handed the Signorina her bag and a gossamer-thin wrap. Then, with the Signorina gone, as soon as Carmelina had laid out Sienna’s nightdress, she was free to go. She hurried to the car park to find her scooter. A mechanic would visit during the day, this morning’s driver had informed her. Her bike would be ready by the time she left work. It needled her that Roberto had taken it upon himself to organize the repairs without her input, but she knew the bike had needed some work. Her own mechanic was based in her village and she could hardly expect him to travel all the way to the Castello to repair it. She just hoped whoever did the repairs would be patient in collecting their fee. She scanned the car park and cursed. There was only one scooter in the park and it looked brand-spanking-new. There was no sign of her battered bike anywhere. “Signorina Milazzo?” The guard at the door called. “Sì.” “A gentleman left this for you.” He handed her an envelope that bore her name. She opened it on a sigh, expecting it to be the bill, her eyes still searching behind vehicles for a glimpse of her bike. Something clattered to the ground. A key. She frowned and picked it up, and finally focused on the note, written on a piece of stiff hotel letterhead. There was too much to fix, the message read. I hope you like red. It was simply signed, Roberto. She looked down at the key in her hand then over at the scooter. It was shiny and red with chrome mirrors and wheels. It was utterly beautiful and everything she could ever have wanted in a new bike. But it wasn’t Massimo’s. And it definitely wasn’t hers. She checked the letter again, made a note of the address of the hotel and rammed on her helmet. And she’d make damn well sure Roberto knew it.
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Chapter Fifteen “I’m returning your keys.” She was breathless and hot and it wasn’t from the ride. She was fuming mad by the time she’d arrived at the hotel and her anger hadn’t subsided any in the time it took to page Roberto. He’d taken one look at her eyes and ushered her from reception into a lift that opened directly into his penthouse apartment. In normal circumstances she might have been dazzled by the full-length windows that brought the harbor practically into the room, but these weren’t normal circumstances. She was furious. He’d poured them both a drink and cocked an eyebrow at her out-thrust hand, the key dangling at the end of her fingers. “You don’t like the color?” “I want my bike.” “It is your bike.” “No, my old bike. I want it back. Where is it?” “Probably at the rubbish tip by now.” He held out a glass and she slashed one hand through space and cried out in denial. “Then get it back! I was promised it would be repaired.” “Didn’t you get my note? There was simply too much to fix.” “It wasn’t that bad!” “No?” He lowered himself into a leather lounge, put his hands behind his head and stretched out his long legs. She hated the way her eyes drank in the perfection of his lean and powerful body. And then he smiled and she knew he was laughing at her. “You mean besides the worn brakes, the nonexistent clutch, the burned-out starter motor, the near-bald tires and the torn seat, it was fine?” She kicked one sandal against the rug, shoving a wayward curl out of her eyes. “It meant something, that bike. It just needed a bit of work.” “A bit? The mechanic took one look at it and said it would be cheaper buying a new one. And so I did.” “You had no right! I loved that bike. It had sentimental value.” “It was going to kill you!” She choked up. “But it was Massimo’s bike. And I can’t afford a new one.” Roberto blinked and blew out a breath. “Then consider it a gift.” Air whooshed into her lungs. “Oh, no. There’s no way I can accept a gift like that! It must have cost thousands of euros.”
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He shrugged, as if the money meant nothing to him, and the divide between them had never been wider. She had to scrape by with nothing while he could drop a few thousand euros and not even blink. She turned away in case he saw the moisture sheening her eyes. So the old scooter had been a crock. But it had been Massimo’s bike before her. It had been something of his, even if it had been on its last legs and she needed something much more reliable if she was going to keep her job. She swiped a hand across her cheek, pretending to push back her hair when she was really checking for any telltale moisture, before she was ready to turn back. “No. No gift. I pay my own way. I’m not some charity case waiting for you to play benefactor. I’ll pay you back.” He stood then, in one fluid movement that almost took her breath away. “You’ll pay me back? And how do you intend to do that?” He was walking toward her and still coming and there was nothing for her to do but back away. And still he came, his eyes focused on her face, his smile downright dangerous. “I’ll find a way. I’ll get another job. But I promise you, I will pay you back. Every last euro.” Her back met the wall. His palms met it the very next instant, either side of her head, trapping her there, his eyes darker than she’d ever seen them. He was so close she could feel his heat. He was so close she could almost taste him. And if she reached out one hand to his broad chest… “You’re really insisting on paying me back?” She swallowed. “Of course.” He was leaning closer, his eyes on her mouth, his own drawing nearer. He was going to kiss her. She dragged in air and found it spiced with his scent and she wanted more. Her lips parted on a sigh. He was going to kiss her. And she was going to let him. His dark eyes gleamed with something like victory. “Then I’ve got a better way…”
Chapter Sixteen “A picnic?” Carmelina was sure she’d misheard. She was convinced Roberto’s high-powered vocabulary wouldn’t even stoop to words like picnic. Besides, it had been desire she’d seen swirling in the dark depths of his eyes, a desire he’d ignited and left to sizzle inside her. The way he’d backed her against the wall and hovered so close over her, she’d imagined he had a totally more nefarious demand in mind. “You want me to take you on a picnic?” The lips she’d imagined were about to kiss her turned into a smile as he pushed himself away. “I want to reacquaint myself with the island, and I imagine that ruthless employer of yours must give you a day off every now and then?” “I have a fabulous employer,” she said, knowing he was only joking and so glad of the wall behind her now, certain it was the only thing keeping her upright. And if she locked her knees
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they might keep her sliding right down it in disappointment. She felt strangely bereft. Cheated. And still he expected her to carry on a conversation like nothing had happened? “I have this Sunday off, but I have Nonna to think of. I can’t ask Anna or Maria to look after her on my day off.” “Then bring her, too.” And apparently it was settled. She looked up at him as he escorted her down the elevator. Something must be wrong. It was too easy. Too simple. “But one day out can’t be enough to settle a debt like this. What else are you expecting?” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. A chaste kiss, a friend’s, nothing more, and yet it left her feeling more confused than ever. And then he smiled. “Nothing you’re not prepared to give.” A tremor zipped through her and was gone just as quickly but her blood was left shimmying in its wake. Then the lift doors slid open and before she knew it Carmelina was powering her new red scooter through the mountain roads toward home. She loved the feel of the new bike and its power, despite how she still missed the familiarity and comfort of knowing she was on Massimo’s bike, even if it wasn’t entirely reliable. Nothing you’re not prepared to give. What was she prepared to give to a man who turned her world upside down and left her reeling, who turned her anger into desire and left her wanting more? And she was afraid that whatever the answer was, it was going to be too much. *** He picked them up right on time, Nonna more excited than she had been in years and Carmelina feeling guilty she hadn’t been able to afford anything that might brighten their meager existence. But then Roberto made her forget her guilt with his tales of life in other cities, where the people and the languages were different and where he’d made his share of blunders as a student. He was easy to talk to, Carmelina realized, as he steered the car along the coast road. Easy to listen to. And no hardship to watch. No wonder she’d been so fascinated as a child. They stopped for lunch on a headland overlooking the sea, where they enjoyed cold chicken and frittata and sun-ripened tomatoes while the wind whipped at their hair and the sun’s warmth licked their faces. And Nonna laughed out loud at Roberto’s outrageous stories, and the sound of that laughter brought tears to Carmelina’s eyes. Roberto caught her eye across the picnic rug, and for one moment he frowned, but when she mouthed a silent thank you, he nodded and smiled. An unfamiliar warmth unfurled and grew inside her until it filled every tiny space, until even the places she’d thought broken and shattered forever were overflowing with it. Nonna was asleep before they got home, even though it was still early. With Roberto’s help Carmelina maneuvered her onto her bed, slipping off her shoes and pulling over a light coverlet.
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“Thank you,” she said, pulling shut the door. Then she reached up on impulse to kiss one whiskery cheek. “It’s been a special day.” And Roberto angled his head, a question in his dark eyes. “It doesn’t have to end yet.”
Chapter Seventeen Nothing you’re not prepared to give. Roberto’s words crash-landed into her psyche, front and center. What was she prepared to give? Did she want him to stay? And if he stayed, what else would she be giving away? She had no knowledge, no experience of these matters, whereas Roberto was a playboy, practiced in the art of seduction. He knew how to make a woman feel special. Desired. Surely that knowledge should be enough to make her see sense? But it wasn’t. Because one fact drove all others clear from her mind. She didn’t want Roberto to go. The knowledge set her heart thudding so loud it was a wonder it didn’t wake Nonna in the next room. “Stay,” she whispered, afraid if she said it any louder that she might wake herself up. For she had to be dreaming to feel this way, reckless and foolish where she was usually so sensible and rational. And when he kissed her, with his lips moving over hers and with the taste of him in her mouth, she knew that however reckless and foolish she’d been, she’d made the right choice. His arms encircled her, one hand raking deep through her hair, her scalp alight with the touch of his fingers, while the other traveled down the length of her spine, curving into the small of her back and anchoring there. It should have been enough, what he was doing to her, how he was making her feel, but she wanted more. She set her hands free on their own voyage of discovery, marveling in the movement of muscle under skin, reveling in the feel of his firm muscled flesh under her fingers. And she couldn’t get enough of him—of his mouth, his lips, his skin, his taste. She was alive. For the first time in her life she knew it to be true. Wonderfully, gloriously alive, every part of her alert, awake, receptive. Every part of her feeling. And it scared her, this lack of control, this all-consuming need. But it was as addictive as it was frightening. Compulsive yet terrifying.
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And at every touch of his hands, every brush of his fingers against her swollen breasts or straining nipples, the feelings intensified. “Roberto,” she gasped, more a question than anything else, his glorious face in her hands, the dark shadow of his stubble deliciously rough against her palms. “I know,” he said, dipping his mouth to her throat, laving her skin, suckling. “I feel it, too.” His breath was hot and heavy against her skin, his breathing more choppy than hers, and the wonder at what she was feeling turned magical in the knowledge that it was shared, that he felt it, too. But she wanted more. Sensed there must be more. Wondered what was holding him back when she needed more. He would leave Montvelatte one day. Just as he had before, he would leave and return to his world of high finance on the international stage and she would lose him again. But this was like a second chance. She would not waste it. She pressed herself even closer, until he had to know how much she wanted him. He was fighting for control with every shred of his being, with every ragged intake of air. He prayed for it. The woman in his arms was special. Not his usual sophisticated seductress. She was honest and real and lush and responsive—oh, so responsive—and if he wasn’t careful he could go too fast, too far. But she was hot in his arms, turning his veins to liquid fire that pooled and swelled until he ached with wanting her. She crushed her breasts closer against his chest, pushed herself closer to that rock-hard part of him and squirmed. He gritted his teeth. Cristo, how much could a man bear? And then she tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head back so he had no choice but to drag his focus to her eyes. Dreamy, sensual, desire-filled eyes. Hungry eyes. “I want you, Roberto,” she said through kiss-swollen lips he immediately wanted to ravage all over again. “Make love with me.”
Chapter Eighteen He growled. A low roar that started somewhere near possession and ended closer to victory as he swung her effortlessly into his arms. She smiled up at him and his heart turned over— oh, yes, she was special—and then he set off in the vague direction she’d pointed before she’d pulled his head down for another kiss. There was a near-closed door his feet soon took care of, and then all he registered was a blur—a woven tapestry on the wall, a window overlooking the sea, a rustic wooden chair and finally, thankfully, a bed in the center of it all. Wide and soft and accommodating. He set her down in the center of the thick coverlet and knelt down alongside, brushing the hair he’d mussed back from her face with his fingers while her eyes looked at him, wide and full of wonder. He took her chin in his hand and kissed her gently on the lips. “Bella,” he said softly, and her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes skittered away and he pulled her chin back. “You are beautiful,” he told her. “Believe it.”
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And then he undressed her, item by item, slowly and deliciously revealing another patch of skin, another perfect curve of flesh or angle of bone. And through it all he worshipped her, with his hands and with his mouth, until she lay naked and trembling with need on the coverlet. “Perfezione,” he murmured and her entire body blushed. He’d never seen that before. Never imagined… He reefed off his shirt, shucked his shoes and pants and only managed to take a deep breath when he was at his silk hipsters. He felt like a teenager again. Much too ready. Much too willing. He looked at her lying naked on the bed and forced himself to slow down as he released himself. The least she deserved was able. Her eyes widened as he donned protection and he felt himself buck with pride as he drew alongside, tenderly kissing her swollen lips and mentally cursing his five-o’clock shadow. And meanwhile his fingers traced her forehead, the line of her cheek and jaw and down her throat. They swept the curve of her throat and shoulders and lingered at the curve and nub of breast and nipple before smoothing down over her belly and down her leg while she mewed like a cat into his mouth, sometimes with delight, and at other times, like now, with a whimper. He relented and cupped her mound and she pushed into his hand, his fingers stroking, parting her. And then she suddenly opened her eyes and looked up at him in fear. “I don’t… I haven’t…” And just as suddenly she looked contrite and embarrassed again. “But I want to, with you.” And his heart swelled one thousand–fold as he kissed her eyes and wondered whatever he had done to bring him back to this place, back to her. Because whatever it was, he owed it thanks. She was ready for him, slick with need and want and desire, and he knew it was time. So he probed gently, cautiously, and it was her hips that ushered him in, her muscles that welcomed him home and kept him prisoner there while he waited for her next breath. And when it came and she moved he sighed with relief, but not for long, because she felt so good and there was no relief, not yet. He felt it on just the third stroke, felt the tension build inside her as he suckled one perfect nipple. Felt her muscles clench as she hovered on the precipice, and then dissolve and clench again, wave upon wave of intense pleasure that drew him on, until he had no choice but to follow her into that perfect, seamless place where nothing else existed and nothing else mattered but that he was here with her….
Chapter Nineteen I love him. It was her last thought before falling asleep that night. It was her first thought on waking the next morning. I love him. Morning light streamed through ragged curtains, throwing into stark relief her battered furniture and faded walls. Carmelina merely smiled and pulled open the curtains and stood at
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the window, breathing in the scent of lemons and thyme and the salty sea on the fresh morning air. I love him. It was madness, it was crazy, it was pointless. They were from different ends of the spectrum. He belonged to a world of money and high finance, she was so deep in debt, she would never resurface, and one day he’d leave Montvelatte and return to his world of big business and glamorous women. Yet even that certain knowledge couldn’t dampen her joy, because she had him for now. He wanted to see her again. It was enough. Liar. She clamped down on the renegade thought. It would have to be enough. A butterfly flitted past the open window and landed on the seat of the shiny new scooter and her mouth turned ashen. Her shiny new scooter, under Roberto’s terms, a notion that gnawed away at her euphoric mood as she remembered her protest when he’d suggested the picnic. But one day out can’t be enough to settle a debt like this. What else are you expecting? And he’d smiled and simply responded, Nothing you’re not prepared to give. She’d given herself. Practically begged him to make love to her. Exchanged sex for a scooter? She spun away from the window. She had Nonna’s breakfast to prepare and there was no time to stand here daydreaming. Roberto could not have meant to buy her. He might be ruthless in business, but he wouldn’t stoop so low as to pay her for sex, surely? Although he had admitted to lying for her in order to get her to see him again. She shook her head, refusing to believe it. Instead she tried to recapture the euphoria of the morning in the knowledge she would be seeing a lot more of Roberto, and almost succeeded. Almost. It was Roberto who took away her doubts. He saw her every chance he had. He waited for her to finish her duties in the evening and took her to dinner or dancing, sometimes both, at times with Nonna in tow, wearing her old black dancing shoes she’d found in the back of a cupboard. Carmelina loved how he made her feel. Sexy and desirable. He made her forget that her clothes were simple, often homemade and nothing like the glamorous gowns he was used to seeing on his women. Made her forget that she didn’t have jewels sparkling at her ears and throat, because he made her feel special whenever he was around. And when he made love to her, it was as if she were the only woman in the world. Given her circumstances, how could she ask for more? Sì, it was enough.
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The sky was growing dark and threatening, the wind rising, as Carmelina walked back from the small post office in the town. Prince Raphael had unexpectedly decided to take the day off with the Signorina to go boating, so Carmelina had been sent home early, and she’d walked into town and collected her mail. Bills, no doubt. And one from the bank. She was in no hurry to open that one. Out to sea the summer storm was still building. She just hoped Prince Raphael and the Signorina came in before it hit. Nonna was collecting vegetables when she got back. Carmelina glanced at the time. Roberto would be here soon. She was cooking dinner tonight, small payback for the way he was always treating her, but there was still time to tackle the letters. Bills, as expected. Something to keep her feet firmly on the ground, she mused, while her heart was in the clouds. Then she opened the letter from the bank and her heart crashed down to earth. Discharged, the letter seemed to be saying. Her loan had been discharged. But that was impossible. There was no way! She heard the throaty growl of Roberto’s car as he pulled up outside, and a moment of clarity sent her blood pressure through the roof. Or maybe not so impossible. But what did he think he was buying this time?
Chapter Twenty Roberto took one look at Carmelina’s face and knew something was wrong, knew it wasn’t the right time to reveal his surprise. Her chest was heaving, her eyes were wild and the way she held her chin… He tested a smile. It sank without trace in the turbulent sea between them. “Carmelina?” He eased a cautious step closer. “Is something the matter?” A shutter banged shut in the wind outside. She barely flinched. Then she lifted up one hand, waved a paper at him and finally spoke. “What the hell is this?” A muscle popped in his jaw as he took the paper, recognized the Central Bank of Montvelatte letterhead and scanned the contents. “Dio,” he cursed, spinning away. “The letter was not supposed to be sent out.” “You do know about it, then.” Her voice sounded almost defeated, broken against the howling wind, and he wheeled back. “It was supposed to be a surprise!” “And that’s supposed to make it all right?” And something in her tone alerted him.
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“That loan was killing you. You were barely meeting the interest. You would never have paid it off. I thought you’d be happy…” “That you were paying me for sex? How do you think that makes me feel? I paid for the bike on my back and now this—” She waved her hand in the direction of the paper he still held. “Now you treat me like some kind of prostitute.” Her voice broke on the last word and she covered her mouth with one hand, in case words turned to sobs. “No!” he shouted, pulling her around and capturing her slim shoulders in his hands so that she had no choice but to face him. “That is not why! Never think that.” “Then why?” she demanded, her voice quavery. “Why all that money? Why else?” And he looked down at her and found that sunken smile. “Because I didn’t think you were the kind of woman who would appreciate one token piece of jewelry. I thought you’d prefer something more practical, a gift that meant something to you.” “I don’t want your jewelry either—” “Listen to me! I wanted to surprise you with something I knew mattered to you rather than just sparkle on one finger. I wanted our engagement to be marked with a gift that mattered.” She blinked up at him, not believing what she’d heard. “Our engagement?” He cursed again, but softer this time as he squeezed her shoulders and let her go. “I didn’t expect things to go quite this way, but now that they have…” He knelt down before her and took her hands in his. “I love you, Carmelina. Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” She swallowed, her heart taking flight in her chest. “You want me to marry you? You… You love me?” “With all my heart. Please say you’ll marry me.” “But you’ll leave Montvelatte. You’ll go back—” “How can I leave, when my heart is here, with you? I could never leave you.” “Oh, Roberto, of course I will marry you! I love you, so, so much.” And he spun her in his arms, his mouth on hers, until even her blood was dizzy. “Roberto,” her Nonna snapped, clearly unfazed to see the couple spinning around the kitchen. “What is Massimo’s bike doing outside?” And he saw Carmelina’s frown and smiled again, tugging her by the hand and collecting Nonna on the way. “Come.” There was a trailer fitted to the back of his car, and there it was, sitting proudly atop, its paintwork and chrome now gleaming, the seat like new. “It is Massimo’s bike,” Carmelina said in wonder, a tear in her eye. “I had it fixed,” he said, “when I found out how much it meant to you.”
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“But why?” “Because I love you and I was sorry for the way I acted before, without even asking you. And, just in case you still don’t believe me…” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small box, opening it to reveal an exquisite gold-and-diamond ring, simple in its design but dazzling in what it meant to her. Nonna clapped her hands together and whooped. “You’re getting married!” Roberto kissed her crinkled cheek and nodded. “That is, if you’ll allow me to marry your granddaughter.” And Nonna whooped again. And Carmelina laughed, her blood still fizzing as he slipped the ring on her finger and kissed her, Roberto’s bride.
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