Reese: The Untamed
Susan Connell
Sons and Lovers "Groundbreaking! The Sons and Lovers series will enthrall you." - bestselling author Suzanne ForsterAN ELIGIBLE BACHELOR…Reese Marchand always knew when a woman wanted him. And Beth Langdon did - or at least he sensed she wanted something from him. When it came to women, Reese thought he could handle it all, but beautiful Beth went to his head like the finest champagne - the wine of weddings.STARTS TO HEAR WEDDING BELLS…Beth delighted him - both in and out of the bedroom - and Reese found he wanted to make provocative Ms. Langdon "Mrs. Marchand." But beneath her satin skin and warm eyes lurked a secret, one he was determined to uncover - as long as his own secrets stayed firmly hidden. Sons and Lovers: Three brothers denied a father's name, but granted the gift of love from three special women.
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#u9fd9d3a1-7844-5c41-ba1d-4fe8e0774abf)
Excerpt (#udf165863-16d5-5014-aa2e-ed5aff084484)
Dear Reader (#u04ecdaaa-a9c0-5294-9400-fe5f028d52ca)
Title Page (#u669f1feb-63b2-501a-ad44-3624a162e024)
About the Author (#u3556f6eb-9099-5492-8caf-56b405f67caf)
Dedicated (#u9495af22-a73a-5bd3-a743-504c90d1ec49)
Prologue (#u22177195-a311-5a39-b235-b39793accadc)
One (#ub57f31c0-8b28-569d-b7f9-b764650a7fc1)
Two (#ub5000b20-e1d0-5fb6-ab3a-186462cb4297)
Three (#u5384ab9b-58fb-5ab2-9a6b-4df8524de8fe)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Biting Off A Tiny Portion Of The Strawberry, Beth Held Up What Remained, Playfully Jiggling It In Front Of Him.
“Would you like a taste?” she asked.
Reese looked past the fruit to her eyes. “I would.”
All her best intentions of keeping herself emotionally distanced from him disappeared in a white-hot wave of desire. Placing her fingertips against his chest, she brought the half-eaten strawberry to his lips.
“Take it,” she whispered, and he closed his lips over the fruit.
The air was scented with strawberries, his rain-wet hair and pure male essence. When he pulled her hips against his firm length, she took a deep breath.
“I want more than a taste,” he said.
“I don’t want this to be a game anymore.”
“It’s not,” he said, before he drew her into his arms.
Dear Reader,
We all know that Valentine’s Day is the most romantic holiday of the year. It’s the day you show that special someone in your life—husband, fiancé…even your mom!—just how much you care by giving them special gifts of love.
And our special Valentine’s gift to you is a book from a writer many of you have said is one of your favorites, Annette Broadrick. Megan’s Marriage isn’t just February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, it’s also the first book of Annette’s brand-new DAUGHTERS OF TEXAS series. This passionate love story is just right for Valentine’s Day.
February also marks the continuation of SONS AND LOVERS, a bold miniseries about three men who discover that love and family are the most important things in life. In Reese: The Untamed by Susan Connell, a dashing bachelor meets his match and begins to think that being married might be more pleasurable than he’d ever dreamed. The series continues in March with Ridge: The Avenger by Leanne Banks.
This month is completed with four more scintillating love stories: Assignment: Marriage by Jackie Merritt, Daddy’s Choice by Doreen Owens Malek, This Is My Child by Lucy Gordon and Husband Material by Rita Rainville. Don’t miss any of them!
So Happy Valentine’s Day and Happy Reading!
Lucia Macro
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Reese: The Untamed
Susan Connell
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
SUSAN CONNELL
has a love of traveling that has taken her all over the world—Greece, Spain, Portugal and Central and South America, to name a few places. While working for the foreign service she met a U.S. Navy pilot, and eight days later they were engaged. Twenty-one years and several moves later, Susan, her husband, Jim, and daughter, Catherine, call the New Jersey shore home. When she’s not writing, her part-time job at a local bookstore, Mediterranean cooking and traveling with her family are some of her favorite activities. Susan has been honored by New Jersey Romance Writers with their coveted Golden Leaf Award. She loves hearing from her readers.
This book is dedicated to CINDY GERARD &
LEANNE BANKS, my very own Thelma & Louise.
You took the leap and sprouted wings!
And an extra special bow to
Jim, Cathy, Linda and Candy
Prologue (#ulink_9fd4aceb-7470-5204-be02-6302f4e8f7ab)
“You have to do it, Beth.”
“No, I don’t have to do it. The idea is ridiculous, desperate and sleazy…even for you, Eugene.”
“I can see where you find the task questionable. But we have to look at what’s at stake here. You’re being called upon to do something for your country.”
“Eugene, volunteering at this homeless shelter is doing something for my country.” Reaching across the cot, she stripped the sheet from it in one deft move. After tossing the rumpled material toward the growing heap in the aisle, she pointed to the next cot. “Want to help me here?”
Ignoring her request, the neatly dressed man clutched his portfolio to his chest, leaned closer to the smiling blonde and whispered, “For the president, Beth. Come on, think about what this could mean if you succeed. You want him reelected, don’t you?”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she loosened the corner of a torn sheet. “You know I want that. But I thought this issue of Harrison Montgomery’s having an illegitimate child was put to rest when Kelsey Gates couldn’t find proof that that cowboy, Lucas Caldwell, was Harrison’s son.” Lifting the worn material from the cot, she held it up to the light to see if the sheet was worth mending. Her gaze darted to the man next to her. “Eugene, don’t look at me that way. I’ve known Kelsey since our days at Northwestern, and if there was anything of substance to sink her teeth into, she wouldn’t have let go until she had her story on the front page of the Los Angeles Times.”
Pursing his lips and shaking his head, Eugene Sprague stared alternately at the sheet and the woman holding it. Bundling up the sheet, Beth tossed it in the discard pile before turning her full attention to the man dogging her. “And don’t try intimidating me with your patronizing expression. I do care about getting President Pierson reelected and you know it.”
“I’m not questioning your dedication. But if you think sorting sheets in a shelter is the best you can do to help your country…well, you’re not living up to your potential. Besides, how can you stand working so many hours in this place?” He leaned forward again, this time pushing aside her shoulder-length curtain of curly hair. “It stinks in here.”
Taking a quick look down the rows of cots, she concluded that none of the people who occupied them had heard him. “Don’t you think I know that?” she asked, grabbing him by the lapel. “Don’t you think they know that?”
“All right, all right,” he said, avoiding her boiling gaze. “You shouldn’t take things so personally, Beth.”
“Somebody has to take this personally,” she said as the sense of injustice burned in her stomach. “And before you trip over that glib tongue of yours again, I think you should know that I spent a part of my childhood in places like this. They didn’t smell any better then, either.”
“I know all about your childhood,” he said, peeling her fingers from his suit. “I also know about your life now. And you can spare the time for what needs to be done.”
Eugene Sprague’s practiced smile and relentless attitude got him in and out of problem situations with the majority of women on President Tyler Pierson’s reelection staff. But not with Beth. She gave him a look that would have leveled most men.
Smoothing his lapel, Eugene shrugged. “You knew when you came to work for us that your life would be under scrutiny. The security of the president comes first.”
Planting her fists on her hips, she stared at the president’s campaign manager. “I understand the need for the initial checks into my background, but what’s snooping into my private life now got to do with President Pierson’s security?”
“Calm down. We tried checking into your private life,” he said evenly as he looked around the cavernous room. “But you don’t have one.”
She shoved a hand into the soft tangle of curls touching.her shoulder and shifted her stare up to the rafters. Just when she thought she’d come to terms with her past, she felt the shame creeping back in. Why couldn’t she manage to put the memories of her childhood behind her and make a life for herself? Dammit, she’d been in her Bethesda apartment for six months and she was still living out of boxes. Here she was, a college-educated, twenty-seven-year-old, reasonably attractive woman making a respectable salary in a much-sought-after position on Pierson’s reelection staff. Yet her goal of stability still eluded her. What was wrong? Why couldn’t she bring herself to take a step toward greater permanency in her life?
“Beth? Are you with me?”
Working a stiff smile onto her face, she lowered her hand as she turned to the man in the three-piece Armani suit.
“Get real, Eugene,” she said, tucking her T-shirt into her jeans. “What’s flying me off to the French Riviera to chase after some playboy going to accomplish?”
“I don’t believe he’s just some playboy. Ever since your reporter friend got us excited over her cowboy, my people have been working day and night on the old rumor about Montgomery and his French mistress. Beth, if this rumor is true and you can prove Reese Marchand is Montgomery’s bastard…”
Beth winced. “And just how would I do that?”
“You’re an intelligent woman. You figure it out,” he said, sliding a glance over her body. “Montgomery was crazy for blondes.” He shrugged. “Maybe…like father, like son?”
“I’d do just about anything to keep the president in office, but what you’re suggesting amounts to—”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Beth. All I’m saying is go to the Riviera and check this guy out.”
“Check this guy out?” She slapped a hand over the political slogan on her T-shirt. “And who do I look like? Jessica Fletcher? Forget it. I have work to do right here in Washington.” She made a move to pass him, but he sidestepped with her.
“Let’s not be hasty.”
“Send someone else,” she said, pushing him aside and moving down the aisle to the next cot. “Like I said, my schedule is full with my responsibilities at campaign headquarters and the hands-on work I do at this shelter. And need I remind you that that’s exactly what President Pierson’s been asking for,” she said, pulling off the sheet and shaking it in his face. “A little hand-son work.”
They both waited until a man in a tattered shirt and shabby pants walked by on his way out of the shelter. Beth glared when Eugene pressed his precisely folded handkerchief to his nostrils.
“Consider what you’re being asked to do as a different kind of hands-on work,” he said, his thinning patience evident in his tilted head and tightened voice. Raising his handkerchief to silence her retort, he continued, his lips barely moving as he scanned the immediate area. “Look, Beth, I know you’re not going to like hearing this, but President Pierson doesn’t have time to press for passage of that housing bill you’re so fond of quoting from.”
“But he’ll make time,” she said, tugging at the mattress until she’d turned it over. “Just this morning his press secretary announced—”
“Pierson’s got to get himself elected to another four years in the Oval Office first. And we’ve got to do our part to ensure that that happens. If we fail, then you can spend all the time you like volunteering in places like this.”
Laughing softly, she tsked and shook her head. “You’re putting too much stock in last night’s CNN poll,” she said with a confidence she was finding harder to hold on to by the minute. “Remember what you told me when Harrison Montgomery got the nomination? You said, ‘This campaign is no longer a sailing cruise. We’ll be riding a roller coaster. But never fear. We’ll arrive at the end the way we started out, in the first car. All you have to do is hold on and—’”
Eugene Sprague dropped his pricey leather case to the cot and took hold of her elbows. “Listen, do I have to spell it out for you? The campaign’s in trouble. Big trouble. And if we don’t turn up something substantial on golden boy Montgomery soon, you can kiss that housing bill goodbye, because he sure as hell isn’t going to come through for it.”
The weight of his words had her weak at the knees. Fluctuating opinion polls were one thing, but when the head of the reelection campaign smelled imminent defeat, it made her head spin. Her entire life had led to this job. Every indignity she’d ever suffered, every embarrassment she’d ever endured, every leftover doubt she had about herself would be exorcised once she saw that housing bill signed into law. She lifted her gaze to meet Eugene’s. He let go of her, and reached to smooth his hair, then straighten his tie.
“What the president’s asking you to do isn’t so different from what you’re dealing with here,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the pile of sheets. “Instead of some nameless nobody’s dirty linen, it’ll be Harrison Montgomery’s.”
Taking a step backward, she bumped into a cot. Shock coupled with momentum sent her downward to the bare mattress. The only words that registered were Eugene’s first seven. “Are you saying President Pierson chose me? I met him once and all he did was shake my hand.” She squinted at Eugene. “You’re making that part up,” she said, flashing him what she hoped was at least a suspicious look, and at best a challenging one.
“I don’t have time to make this up,” he said, unzipping his portfolio and withdrawing a bank statement with her name on it. “I know you don’t believe in vacations or long weekends or even something as frivolous as a good address, but I think the budget for this assignment will prove how important this is.”
“I don’t know what you or the president want me to do,” she protested as he pressed the paper into her upturned palm.
“You’ll get a full briefing on that tomorrow morning in my office.”
“The only thing I know about the Riviera is what I’ve seen in the movies. I don’t speak French, Eugene,” she said, hoping if she hurried through the reasons, she would convince him along with herself that she couldn’t consider his suggestion. “I don’t have the wardrobe. And I’m in the middle of setting up the northwest trip for July.”
“Everyone speaks English. Your wardrobe is already being assembled. Dress size eight. Shoe size six and a half medium. Buy whatever else you need when you get there. Someone’s already been chosen to replace you at headquarters. You’re booked on a flight out of Dulles tomorrow evening.”
Half hearing him, she looked up from the paper he’d handed her. “This is crazy. There’s enough money here to buy one of these people a house. Two houses.”
“What’s that slogan on your T-shirt read? You Can Make A Difference? Well, Beth, you can make a difference. But not by nickel and diming away your time in a place like this.” Sitting down beside her, he placed a reassuring hand over hers and spoke in a voice suspiciously reminiscent of President Pierson’s own Southern drawl. “If not you, Beth, who?”
One (#ulink_a9cf835a-8e75-54f6-b3c9-046d97a359b2)
“‘Never gamble what you can’t afford to lose.’ Isn’t that what you always tell me when I come to Monte Carlo?”
Reese Marchand’s searching glance around the glittering casino came to an abrupt halt on his friend. “Always,” he said, absently tapping the stack of chips in his hand. “What’s the matter, Duncan? Baccarat’s not your game tonight?” Even as Reese spoke, his gaze began straying from his friend’s frown to the entrance of the private gambling salon.
Duncan Vanos patted his empty pockets as he reached the roulette table. “Baccarat’s never my game. It’s your game. Remember that time in Las Vegas?” Duncan shook his head, his words dissolving into a chuckle. “She’ll be along any minute now.”
Reese never took his gaze from the entrance. “Who are you talking about?” he asked, bluffing badly for his friend’s entertainment. He knew exactly who Duncan was talking about. The exquisite creature who’d been ducking behind columns out in the atrium tonight. The same one who’d been trailing him through Monaco for the past three days. Thank heavens she’d left off the sunglasses and head scarf tonight so he could finally get a good look at her face. He pictured her checking herself in the tiny mirror inside her purse when she thought he wasn’t looking.
He couldn’t stop looking; that she wasn’t a perfectly poised clone of every other woman in a two-mile radius had intrigued him to the point of fixation. How many stalkers, he wondered, stopped every five minutes to check their lipstick and fluff their hair? No doubt about it, the lady was on a manhunt…for him. His body shook with silent laughter when he tried imagining what terrible things this fine-boned beauty with the brandy-colored eyes could do to him once she had him in her clutches.
Duncan leaned closer, his voice reeling with melodrama. “The way she presses her hand flat against her tummy, then takes that calming breath just before she walks by you…” He gave an appreciative shiver.
Reese narrowed his eyes in sincere curiosity toward his old college friend. “You’ve noticed that, too, have you?”
“Along with every other red-blooded man here,” he said, as he moved to Reese’s side and looked toward the entrance with him. “They say she’s staying at Billy Waleska’s place over in Cap Ferrat while he’s away.”
“Is she American?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
No, he didn’t. If there was one thing he could always recognize it was anything or anyone American. And he would happily bet his substantial night’s winnings to prove it by locating the Made In America stamp on her derriere. A twist of a smile was fighting for control of his mouth when he pictured himself uncovering the evidence.
“Here she comes,” Duncan said behind his fingers as he ran one down his nose. “Listen, if you decide to join forces with your mystery lady, we can have our talk tomorrow.”
As the croupier raked in the house win, Reese frowned at his friend. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Come on. The thought of leaving the casino with that angel hasn’t crossed your mind?” Duncan asked as they watched her slip into the crowd on the other side of the roulette table to buy her chips.
Reese watched as the other men there took a look, some less discreetly than others. He couldn’t blame them. Her décolleté dress was showing off the creamy curves of her breasts to perfection, but the choker of large white pearls at her throat added that odd touch of sexuality that was grabbing at his gut. He repositioned his body against the hard edge of the table as he continued to watch her. Knowing she’d dressed with him in mind had him musing about the parts of her he couldn’t see.
Duncan lowered his voice to a comical level. “I don’t think she’s following you around for a contribution to the Red Cross.”
Neither did Reese, but that was beside the point. With each of her subtle movements, she set his blood humming. Reese tore his gaze from the beauty in the curve-caressing white silk. “I was referring to your marketing strategy for my champagne. It’s not going to happen, Duncan. The timing is all wrong to start exporting it Stateside,” he said as he turned back to where he’d seen her last. A sense of alarm shot through him when he couldn’t find her in the crowd.
“The timing’s perfect, Reese,” Duncan insisted. “Have you forgotten? It’s an election year. Anything’s possible.”
Duncan kept talking, stirring up private demons Reese didn’t want to face. Not now, not ever. He plowed his fingers through the tousle of brown curly hair threatening to spill lower on his forehead. Straining, he squinted into the crowd, then rolled his eyes in protest over the state he was getting himself into. What was happening to his evening? Where had she gone? And why was it suddenly so important that he find her? He groaned inwardly. Why wouldn’t Duncan shut up? Clamping a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, he mugged for his friend. “I’ve got my mind on more immediate concerns here. Where in hell did she disappear to now?”
Duncan sighed with resignation, then quietly scanned the area. “I think your angel flew away, which is probably a good thing. Maybe now we can talk some business.”
“My angel?” Laughing out loud at the thought, he shook his head. “If she were my angel,” he said, stepping aside to allow someone to sidle next to him, “she wouldn’t have abandoned me to you.”
A slow smile spread across Duncan’s face. “She hasn’t,” he said, subtly gesturing with his chin toward the person on the other side of Reese.
Reese turned his head for a quick confirmation, but once he locked onto her profile he couldn’t bring himself to turn away. Close up, she was breathtaking, living up in every way to Duncan’s designation. The mass of white blond curls tumbling loosely around her face befitted an angel, not the aloof, sophisticated woman she was trying to be. Her lovely, long-fingered, soft hands fidgeted mercilessly with the clasp on her evening bag until she’d snapped it open. He knew his blatant staring wasn’t helping her nerves, but if she pulled out her lipstick and starting doing those sexy things with her mouth, he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.
As the croupier called for bets, he continued drinking in the details of her face. Her clear, luminous complexion, thick, curved lashes, perfectly sculpted nose…and her mouth. He swallowed. Her incredible mouth with its unspoken promises of pleasures to share.
Breathing softly through his lips, he stood his ground when several players tried slipping in to place their bets. He wasn’t giving an inch. After three days of trailing him, she’d mustered her courage to rub elbows and hips with him and he didn’t want her bolting. Besides, he’d made a bet with himself that he would get close enough tonight to enjoy her fragrance. The blended scents of spring flowers and her feminine warmth were keeping him content.
But not for long.
The moment she started stroking one of her ribbony curls and biting softly on her lip, the sensations of her actions began replicating themselves along the length of his body. Her simple gestures were bringing to mind every erotic fantasy he’d had since puberty. As a mercy to both of them, he turned his eyes toward the roulette table. The empty square marked with a black two caught his eye, and without pausing, he set his stack of chips there. Discreet murmurs of approval buzzed around him.
Duncan leaned in. “Everything?” he whispered. “I hope your luck is better than mine.”
From the corner of his eye, Reese could see her lifting her gaze from inside her bag to steal a glance at the numbered squares. The moment she located his wager she blinked, then widened her eyes in surprise.
“Well, Duncan,” he said, loudly enough for all three of them to hear, “someone’s bound to get lucky tonight. I wonder who it will be?”
Duncan smiled as the croupier spun the wheel, then tossed in the little ball. “Just find out if she has a sister,” he said quietly before slipping into the crowd behind them.
She took out her chips, gave them a quick visual count, then bit down on her lip again. This time the guileless gesture tugged at a different organ. His heart. As the crowd around the table pulled closer to the action, she started to return the chips to her bag.
Don’t be afraid, he wanted to tell her. Take a chance.
Hesitating, she looked up at him as if she’d heard his thoughts. Smiling and shaking his head, he focused on the wheel. “You’ll never know the thrill until you’ve risked it all.” If he’d known her name he would have said that, too, but in the end it didn’t matter. She’d heard him.
She set her stack of chips on red three, the square next to his, a second before the croupier waved his hand to end the betting. Tapping her fingertips against her pearl choker, she raised her chin toward the wheel and held her breath. As her lashes began fluttering like little fans, a tiny line of concentration formed between her brows. For the moment the mystery surrounding her vanished, replaced by the kind of excitement that made her eyes shine and his heart pound. He understood this moment, this feeling, this fusion of fear and freedom, of letting go of the world that ruled you to wrap yourself in the thrill of danger. There was nothing quite like it, he thought, watching her.
As the ball tumbled down she braced her hands on the table edge and leaned toward the wheel, offering him a clue as to what she was like when a sense of urgency overtook her. And the game she didn’t know he was playing with her became more meaningful to him than he’d ever expected.
As temptation poked and prodded him, he shifted his weight, first to one foot and then to the other. The impulse to touch her had him cupping his chin, then rubbing his hand against his cheek. If he leaned forward he could bury his nose in those blond curls to breathe in more of her scent. And make a fool of himself in the process.
She pushed up from the table edge, but the croupier’s call didn’t register with Reese until he saw her eyes light with surprise.
“I won?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
Squeezing her hands into fists, she jerked them toward her shoulders and whispered an impassioned “Yyyeesss!” Without looking at him, she wrapped her hands around Reese’s arm and shook him. “I won! I—I—”
“Congratulations.”
Her head snapped in his direction. For one rich, rare moment, Reese focused on the only two things moving: her drop pearl earrings, his thudding heart. He smiled. He was one giant step closer to finding out who she was and what she wanted. And she couldn’t do a thing about it. Then her unquenchable brandy-colored gaze turned from merely startled to purely panicked.
This is happening too fast, she seemed to say as she released his arm. Please don’t make me do this. I’m not ready.
Before he could react, someone bumped into her, sending her against his chest. The next few seconds blurred into a heavenly tangle of blond hair and bilingual apologies. With her breasts pressed against his chest and her lips temptingly close to his, it was all he could do not to sink his fingers into her hair and pull her even closer for a kiss. The only thing stopping him was a whisper in the back of his brain telling him that he’d read her thoughts correctly. Now wasn’t the time. But as she struggled to free herself from the forced intimacy, he could feel himself becoming more and more aroused.
“Careful there,” he warned, curving his hands around her waist. He wanted to settle her hips away from his until he’d regained control, but she arched against him when his fingers touched the bare skin near the base of her spine. With commendable restraint, he forced himself not to massage the satiny depression. Because if he did, the situation threatened to become a lot worse. Or better. Clearing his throat he gently removed his hands and slipped into the crowd.
His exit was less than seamless, but more important, it was what she’d wanted—an end to their embarrassing situation. From the corner of his eye he saw her reaching for her necklace as her lips parted in alarm. He hesitated. Had she wanted him to stay or go? Her fingers were wrapping around her pearl choker as she strained to keep him in view. The next moment pearls were slipping through her splayed fingers and spilling down her breasts, bouncing off the table edge and arcing left and right. Half a dozen men made a mad, inelegant scramble with her to retrieve the pearls. He was several yards away when he turned for a better look. Already on her hands and knees, she didn’t see him looking. Didn’t see him smiling. And didn’t see him stoop to pick up a pearl and slip it into his pocket.
Beth Langdon paced back and forth on the private beach below the Cap Ferrat villa. Hugging the cellular phone to her ear, she responded to Eugene Sprague’s greeting with a rush of emotion. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”
“Beth, you give me this same spiel every time you call. Why don’t you fast-forward to the good stuff. What have you been doing?”
“Skulking around Monaco in a scarf and dark glasses.”
“The trick is to get Marchand to notice you. You’ve been there almost a week now. Aren’t you any closer to making contact with him?”
Contact? Stopping dead in her sandy tracks, she glanced down at her bikini-clad body as she recalled her contact with Reese Marchand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been embraced…like that. As awkward as the moment was, she remembered thinking how solid he’d felt, how alive she’d felt and how perfect they’d felt together. Then his fingers had settled on the small of her back and she’d lurched forward. The instant she made the move, she’d become achingly aware of his masculinity. Every inch of it.
From her breasts to her knees, every cell sizzled with the memory of her body moving against his. Animals in heat displayed more finesse! Swallowing hard, she forced her attention to the speed boat racing by on the open water.
“Hello, Beth? Are you there? Did you hear me? I said the trick is—”
“He noticed me…when I made a complete and utter fool of myself last night.” Turning away from the sparkling water, she quickly continued. “And don’t ask how. All you need to know is that the next time he sees me he’s going to turn around and run the other way.”
“I doubt it.”
Why couldn’t she get it through Eugene Sprague’s thick skull that she wasn’t suited for this job? Out of sheer frustration, she grabbed a handful of her filmy cover-up and rubbed at the intricate gold needlework decorating the edge. “You can doubt all you want, but that doesn’t alter the fact that this overblown project of yours is a complete waste of money.”
“Money’s not a problem. Besides, I thought I’d told you that the funding came from a private source. No one’s going to miss it at headquarters.”
“Please!” Letting go of the material, she curved her hand over her sun hat and hunched her shoulders closer to the phone. “I told you, I don’t want to know where the money came from. I wish you’d never bring that up again.”
While Eugene attempted to reassure her that her trip would never be connected to Tyler Pierson’s reelection campaign, she looked out to sea again. One sleek, white boat had broken away from the flotilla and was cruising outside the villa’s private cove. She smiled longingly at the lazy figure-eight pattern the boat was making. That’s where she’d like to be. Out on the water with the wind blowing in her hair and a bronzed hunk blowing in her ear. Away from this tawdry mess, with no place to go and all day to get there. She frowned and looked away. That delicious scenario wouldn’t be happening anytime soon. She’d given her word to see this project through. If there was a chance that her participation could make the difference in getting the president reelected, she had no choice but to continue. With a sigh of resignation she interrupted the president’s campaign manager.
“Are you holding back any information from me?”
“No. Why are you asking that?”
“Because your file on Reese Marchand says he spent four years in the United States, but I heard him speak last night. He doesn’t have a trace of a French accent. He sounds like an anchorman on the six o’clock news back home. Are there any more surprises you’ve forgotten to tell me about?” Glancing out at the boat and the man steering it, she absently smoothed her thumb along the hip string of her bikini. “He doesn’t have a wife stashed around here, does he?”
“What do you care? We’re not asking you to marry him.”
“It wouldn’t surprise me if you did,” she said, brushing aside her cover-up to plant a hand on her hip.
Eugene laughed. “In this case the end would justify the means, Beth, because when you consider the alternative…” His voice drifted off for a second. “Can you imagine where we’d all be if Harrison Montgomery made it to the White House? We’re waging war here. Be a good soldier and tell me what you have planned for today.”
The speedboat made a sudden hard turn and was heading straight for her shore. Who in the world…?
“Just a second, Eugene.”
She walked ankle-deep into the water. Squinting hard, she yanked off her sunglasses as she silently mouthed, “Omigod, it’s him.” There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that she was right. She’d been trailing Reese Marchand for several days and could pick him out at fifty yards. “He’s…I mean, someone’s coming. I have to go.”
“I’m not done with you. Have the maid send whoever it is away.”
“I can’t do that,” she said, hurrying back to her chair. “I gave her the day off.”
“She’s supposed to be there twenty-four hours a day.”
Beth raised her voice. “The woman has a life, Eugene.” Over his protests, she continued. “I’m hanging up now.” Clicking off the phone, she dropped it into the canvas bag attached to her beach chair.
Her face and hands began tingling with alarm when Reese Marchand cut his motor and dropped anchor. When he dived over the side, she stepped behind the canvas sling chair. What was he doing here? Glancing behind her, she calculated the time it would take to make a run for the hill stairs. She dragged a nervous hand across her bare midriff. She’d never make it, and worse, she would end up looking like a frightened child running away from the school yard. Again. Lord, why had that old nightmare chosen to reassert itself at this moment? She pushed the memory out of her mind as Reese Marchand broke the surface and continued swimming toward her. With his every stroke her pulse tripled. And surprisingly, her daring did, too. Moving out from behind the chair, she walked a few steps away from it and waited.
When he stood up in thigh-deep water and casually shoved his fingers through his hair, she swallowed in awe. Water dripped down his broad-shouldered and beautifully muscled body, rearranging his dark mat of chest hair into a series of arrows. A part of her wanted to linger over his well-toned chest and abdomen, but those arrows kept pointing lower to his aubergine swim trunks. The wet material hung low on his hips, exposing his navel…but not his tan line. She briefly wondered if he had a tan line.
“Good morning. Mind if I join you?”
His baritone voice vibrated through her like a second heartbeat. The bizarre sensation made her forget to breathe for a second. He took a few steps toward her, then stopped and looked her over with sincere curiosity.
“You look startled. Have I come at a bad time?”
She shook her head until she located her tongue. “No,” she finally managed when he walked out of the water. As his gaze wandered over her, she slipped off her broad-brimmed hat and held it first in front of her and then behind her. Why, why, why hadn’t she burned this thong bikini and replaced it with a less revealing swimsuit?
“Reese Marchand,” he said, reaching out a wet, well-tanned hand. “We shared an awkward moment together last night at the casino. Do you remember?”
“Vividly,” she said, as he closed his hand gently but firmly over hers. His physicality was as powerful this morning as it had been last night, but she promised herself she wouldn’t lose her ability to speak this time. From this moment forward she was going to be clever and witty and sophisticated. Really, she was. Just as soon as she thought of something to say. She looked down at his hand, still holding hers. His cool grip was strangely reassuring in the Mediterranean sunshine. As she looked up at him again, her gaze skimmed over the confident curve of his lips and the hint of dimples creasing his cheeks to lock into his relentless gaze. Far from intimidating her, the warmth in his smoky topaz eyes offered her humor, patience and an unnamed challenge. She started to return the smile, but calmly eased her hand from his when something else struck her about Reese Marchand’s eyes. Whether it was their shape, their color or their intensity, they bore an uncanny resemblance to Harrison Montgomery’s. She fought for a deep, calming breath as a prickling sensation zipped through her stomach.
“My name is Beth Langdon. How did you know where I was staying?” she asked, trying not to look at the stray water droplets still dribbling down his body. His muscular, masculine and perfectly sculpted body.
“Monte Carlo is a small town. Word gets around,” he said, glancing toward the flower-edged steps leading up to the villa. “Have you known Billy for long?”
“Billy?”
“Billy Waleska, the owner.”
“Oh, Billy.” She smiled. “Yes, for quite a while.”
“Then you’re lovers?”
“Lovers?” She wouldn’t know Billy Waleska if he’d popped up on her doorstep with a rose between his teeth and a bottle of champagne in his hands. But that was beside the point. Now wasn’t the time to melt into an embarrassed mound of middle-class mush. This was Europe. More than Europe. This was southern France. “Mr. Marchand—”
“Reese,” he said, his quiet response blending with the soft shushing of the sea.
“Reese.” Tilting her head, she nodded in a way that she prayed made her appear unruffled. Fat chance of that. Smiling, she slid on her glasses. “If it pleases you to think we’re lovers, go right ahead.”
“I’d rather not,” he said, in a way that made her smile disappear and her gaze narrow.
Moving away from him, she headed for the security of her beach chair. Dear Lord, where had she come up with such glib drivel? Damn you, Eugene. What else did you conveniently forget to tell me? Dropping her hat in the sand, she sank down in the striped canvas seat and sighed.
Following her a few seconds later, Reese took something from the tiny waistband pocket of his swim trunks. Squatting in front of her, he placed a small object in her hand.
“You dropped this last night.”
She looked down and saw a pearl resting in the center of her palm. The humiliating moment when she’d lost the pearls and whatever dignity she had left came back to her in one cheek-stinging rush of recognition. “But I thought you’d left. How did you know…?”
“I don’t miss much, Beth,” he said, taking a leisurely inventory of her face and then her body as he stood. “Will you be staying for the season?”
Crossing her legs, she casually rearranged her royal blue, knee-length cover-up across her thighs and shrugged. “If nothing else interests me more, I will,” she said, as she noticed him realize the filmy material was see-through and covered up nothing.
His gaze lingered over her, making her feel as closed in as that moment she’d been thrust against him last night. Only this time, they were inches away and all alone on a private beach in the middle of a sun-drenched morning. She squirmed in the chair. The scent of roses and the sea were mixing in the steamy atmosphere surrounding them. What happened to that lovely breeze just minutes ago? She was positively melting.
He smiled.
She melted a little more.
He leaned close and a drop of water fell from his chest and plopped on her knee. For a crazy moment she thought he was going to kiss her. For a crazier moment, she wanted him to.
“Mind if I use your phone?” he asked, reaching into the canvas bag beside her.
“Not at all,” she said, but he’d already clicked it on and was punching out the numbers.
While he stood next to her, waiting for his party to answer, she stared at her toes, half buried in the sand. Men like Reese and moments like these only existed in James Bond movies. Didn’t they? She pressed her lips together to suppress a giggle. She wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this. Shoving her toes deeper into the sand, she tried putting his surprise visit into perspective, but making sense of the last few minutes wasn’t easy. She had serious business to attend to, yet here she was dressed in a scandalously small thong bikini, listening to a drop-dead handsome man having a conversation in French on her cellular phone, and she was on the verge of having a full-blown fit of nervous laughter. This was unreal. What would her sister think of her lazing on this beach below her very own villa next to…him? Sliding her sunglasses down her nose, she glanced up at Reese, then shook her head. Teddy would definitely eat this with a silver spoon.
Leaning back in the chair, Beth laced her fingers across her middle and pretended to relax, while Reese continued his conversation. By the time he dropped the phone in the bag, she was certain she had herself under control again.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes. They’re expecting us for dinner at ten tonight.”
“They? Us?” Grasping the arms of her beach chair, she planted her feet flat in the sand. “Dinner?” Twisting her head to look up at him, she hadn’t realized he was already moving away. “What are you talking about?”
“You didn’t think I came all the way over here just to deliver your pearl?” he asked over his shoulder.
“I assumed that was a random act of kindness.”
“Not when I was delivering it to someone as senselessly beautiful as you are.”
“You know, you are a little presumptuous.”
“Sooner or later one of us had to be, Beth. I’ll pick you up at your front door at nine,” he said, sloshing back into the water.
She was on her feet and running after him. “Hold on.”
“Can’t. I have a tennis match in half an hour.” He kept on walking away, his powerful legs stirring the water into a churning froth of bubbles.
“What makes you think I’m going out with you tonight?”
“Because we have so much to talk about,” he said, raising his voice for her to hear.
“Is that so? Like what?” she shouted as she waded in ankle-deep.
“Like why you’ve been following me around town for the past four days,” he said, before diving beneath the surface.
Two (#ulink_4a8bfe57-4299-5095-92c8-7824d52de2b9)
After several well-aimed spritzes, Beth thunked the crystal perfume atomizer onto the vanity, then leveled a warning look at the mirror. Under no circumstances was she allowing Reese Marchand to get under her skin again. The humiliating moment at the casino when she’d panicked at his touch should have been lesson enough. Obviously it wasn’t, or he wouldn’t have been able to catch her off-guard at the beach this morning and then make matters worse by leaving her standing there slack jawed and speechless a few minutes later.
“You’re not seven years old anymore,” she murmured as she reached for the gold watch beside the perfume. Her heart fluttered as she noted the time. Reese Marchand was due in five minutes, and she was going to be just fine. Snapping on the watch, she centered the mother-of-pearl face on her wrist, then fingered the bracelet-styled band. Expensive but understated, the watch, like the rest of the jewelry Eugene Sprague sent with her, was exquisite. When she caught the beginning of her smile in the mirror, she dropped her hands to her sides and glared at her reflection. “This is not your first visit to the county fair, Beth. This is work.”
Grabbing her evening bag from the vanity, she hesitated before starting toward the front hall of the villa. Her work clothes never looked like this. Staring into the mirror again, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. She owned evening clothes, too, but they were all bought off the sale racks, for crowded campaign banquets and stuffy receptions. None of those clothes made her look and feel this way. This sexy. This powerful.
Mesmerized by her new image, she slowly traced the swells of her breasts above the plunging neckline of the designer dress. Turning around, she looked over her shoulder at the way the dress flattered her slender curves. The simple white lace number with the saucy kick pleat sent out sixty different messages. Demure, devastating, capable, sweet, sophisticated, ready…the list went on. All Reese Marchand had to understand was one message—she’d dressed with him in mind.
Heading for the entry hall, she felt a surge of confidence that wiped away any niggling doubt about her ability to deal with Reese. Whatever that challenge that she’d seen in his eyes was, she would be ready for it. Thrill for thrill, she would match him, and when the opportunity arose, she would do her best to surprise him. Delight him. Entice him. And maybe seduce him. When she finally gained Reese’s confidence she would find a way to the truth about his relationship to Harrison Montgomery. And she would do it all, because as outrageous as it sounded, sometimes the ends justified the means. If it took the scandal of an illegitimate son to derail Montgomery’s campaign, then this was one of those times.
As she entered the intricately-styled entry hall the doorbell began ringing. She reached for the door, but stopped short when her stomach began doing flip-flops. Strange flip-flops. The kind tinged with misgiving…and maybe a little guilt. What was she up against, really? According to his file, a high-society, highly successful champagne executive with stellar connections and a penchant for high-risk sports. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, then opened them to look around the pink-and-yellow hall with the wedding-cake trim. If she was going to pull off this charade with Reese Marchand, she had to put everything else out of her mind and start playing the palace princess. Now.
The bell rang again as she was opening the door. Reese had casually leaned his six-foot-plus, tuxedo-clad body against the doorjamb, crossed his arms loosely over his waist and was giving her a killer wink. At first glance, the light from the portico’s lamp seemed to shine only on him. And why not? He looked as if he’d been ripped from the pages of GQ.
Courage.
Coaxing a tiny smile onto her lips, Beth let it linger as she gave him a slow once-over that started and ended on those smoky topaz eyes of his. His steadily growing smile told her he liked her bold stare. And then he took his turn. Slowly and with lingering intensity, he drank in every detail available to his eyes, and some, she guessed, that weren’t. The moment was both mellow and electrifying, sending tiny tremors of awareness through her. As he opened his mouth, every intimate part of her quivered with anticipation.
“So, Beth Langdon, why have you been following me for the past few days?”
Pressing her evening bag against her collarbone, she widened her eyes and gave him the answer she’d been rehearsing all day. “Me following you? I think you were the one following me.” She shook her finger at him. “It’s true. Walking in the old city…along the harbor…at the Café de Paris…well, everywhere I went, there you were. Imagine my surprise when we bumped into each other at the casino last night.” Smiling, she held her breath to see if he would buy it.
He didn’t.
Nodding once, he stood away from the door and studied her. “That was very good,” he said, pretending good-naturedly to be impressed with the way she’d fielded his question.
Off the hook for the moment, Beth let her gaze drift away from him. The confident smile she’d kept on her face suddenly disappeared when she saw the Jaguar convertible parked in the portico. “We’re going in that?” she asked in a whisper of unmistakable admiration.
“We could catch a bus,” he said teasingly, as she pulled the front door closed. He patted his pockets. “Oops, I don’t have my schedule with me.”
“I was joking,” she murmured, walking past him to the car. She ran her hand along the gleaming door, then reached over and gave the leather seat a testing push. “Mmmmm.” Soft as a marshmallow. Stretching, she drew her fingertips around the top of the wooden steering wheel and then along the dash. Richly grained walnut, she was sure of it. If there was ever an automobile she’d secretly coveted, this was the one. And Reese had even selected her favorite color combination: a highly polished, deep green body with a light, buttery tan leather interior. Braced and leaning over the Jaguar, she thought about her secondhand car back in Bethesda. Dented and badly in need of a paint job, the economy model took up far less space than this one, didn’t require gourmet gasoline and in six more payments she would own it.
“Careful,” he said, moving up behind her. “Stroking it like that may get it excited.”
Biting back a laugh, she removed her hand from inside the car and pushed herself away. It was just a car, she reminded herself. And she was after far more important information about Reese Marchand than his taste in automobiles. Still, if there was such a thing as a sexy automobile, Reese owned one. She turned to get a peek at the side mirror and tapped her fingernails on the polished exterior and sighed. There was no denying it, luxury felt awfully good. “You know, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to ri—” Withdrawing her hand as if she’d been caught with it in the cookie jar, Beth moved two steps back this time. “What I meant to say was, I’ve always wondered what it would be like to drive one of these.”
Slipping his hands into his pockets, Reese kept on watching her as he rested his backside against the car. As much as he enjoyed her overt flirting, her unstudied reactions charmed him on a whole different level. Removing his key ring from one pocket, he held it to his chest. “Beth, it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
Rattling his keys, he tossed the ring into the air. “To drive one. Catch.”
She caught the keys somewhere near her knees. Staring at them, she adjusted the strap of her evening bag before she stood up and looked up. “Are you serious?”
“Only if you’ll drive it with the top down,” he said, taking her evening bag and setting it in the back seat.
She pulled in a slow, deep breath as a smile grew on her face. “Now?”
“Now. I love that word. It has such an immediate feel to it,” he said, as he opened the car door and helped her into the driver’s seat. By the time he’d walked around the car and gotten in on the passenger side, she’d inserted the key, started the engine and was wrapping her fingers around the walnut gear-shift knob. “Are you always this eager for a new adventure?” he asked, as he connected his seat belt.
She pumped the gas once and the purring engine roared with promise. “I am since I met you.”
Adjusting the hem of her dress on her thigh, she shifted smoothly, then eased off the clutch. As the convertible rolled to the end of the lit driveway, her hair was already lifting in the breeze. Looking left, then right, she gunned the motor to a ripping roar this time. Her eyes brightened and a smile flashed across her face at the animal sound. “Ready?”
“Ready,” he said, giving her a thumb’s-up.
A shot of adrenaline buzzed through his veins as she pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the main road. Easing back in the passenger seat, he let out a hopeful sigh. With Beth Langdon beside him he could legitimately excuse himself from any more business talk with Duncan for tonight. Good friend or not, Duncan had to get the message soon. Reese was not going to the United States to sell his champagne. At least, not this year, when Harrison Montgomery was claiming half the sound bites on CNN. Reese rubbed his face in quiet frustration. The senator’s familiar image was everywhere these days, but there was one place he could happily escape it. Turning his attention to the woman beside him, he smiled.
With her hair whipping around her head in a wild halo of spun gold, she smiled back. Her fresh, unstudied reaction delighted him beyond reason. He didn’t know a thing about her, except that she appeared not to have a care in the world. And suddenly he was sharing that sentiment.
“How does it feel?” he asked, as enchanted with her as she was with the car.
“Like heaven on wheels,” she said, competently shifting down when a service van pulled out from a side road in front of them.
As she slowed the Jaguar, Reese angled his body toward her. He hadn’t seen anyone enjoy the simple act of driving a car as much as she was. She alternately stroked the wheel with her thumb and glided her palm along its curve. He imagined that same smile on her as a teenager with her first car. In typical American tradition, she’d probably named it.
When she began lightly tapping her fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, he nudged the side of her thigh. “Time to make a move, Beth.”
She gave him a quick questioning look, then returned her gaze to the road. “What do you mean?”
“It’s pretty much a straightaway for several miles.” He leaned closer, resting his hand on his knee near the gear shift. “Pass the van. I’ll watch you.”
Maneuvering the car a foot to the left, she checked up the road for oncoming traffic.
“Clear?”
“I can see all the way to Italy,” she said teasingly. Holding her hair away from her face, she added, “Now?”
Reese braced his hand on the dash close to the gearshift knob. “Now.” She steered the car smoothly into the opposite lane. “Excellent.” Glancing down the road, he could see a set of headlights cresting over a rise. “You’re fine, just give it more gas.”
Her chin rose a fraction of an inch, the only sign of her increased concentration. He could sense her excitement and rode with it like a tail wind. “A little faster.” At that moment the service van driving beside them began speeding up. Wrapping her hands more firmly around the knob, she stepped into the clutch, pulled back on the stick and missed the gear. The approaching car blinked its headlights in warning. His first instinct was to take over. “Get ready on the clutch,” he said, attempting to remove her hand from the knob.
“Trust me. I’ve got it,” she said, her voice steady, determined, her grip sure.
In that tense and vital moment, he found himself ignoring his first impulse. Something deep inside told him to let go. To trust her. He did, and a second later, she maneuvered the stick into gear, pressed down on the accelerator and slipped the car back into their lane ahead of the van. With only seconds to spare, the oncoming car whizzed passed them.
Several wordless moments passed, with only the purring motor and his thumping heart filling the silence. “Ange polisson, you give a wild ride,” he said, before bowing his head in slightly exaggerated relief. After a respectful moment, he made the sign of the cross, then looked at her with mischief in his eyes. “I feel as if we should be sharing a cigarette.” Before she could respond, he pointed to a restaurant sign partially hidden in shrubbery a short way up the road. “The answer to my prayers. We’re here.”
Pulling into the parking lot, she parked the car and removed the key. Tucking the key ring into his hand, she closed her warm fingers over his fist.
“Ange pollison? What exactly does that mean?”
“Naughty angel.”
“Well, this naughty angel thanks you for making one of her fantasies come true.” She smiled. “She owes you one.”
Over the past few days he’d been gathering a number of adjectives to describe his mystery lady, but they all fell in line behind his newest revelation. Spirited. Beth Langdon just might be the one to help him out of his bind with Duncan. He watched as she unhooked her seat belt, then turned to face him. Planting a hand on the edge of his seat, she leaned closer. Her lips shimmered in the parking-lot light.
“Didn’t scare you, did I?”
As much as he was tempted to lean over and kiss that smug little smile from her face, he wasn’t going to. Not until the plan forming in his mind was clear to him. Shaking his head, he touched one of her diamond ear clips, then traced the curve of her cheek to the corner of her mouth. “I don’t know a damned thing about you. Why you followed me, where you’re from, anything about your background—”
“Is background important to you?”
He held her gaze steady with his, but didn’t say anything for several seconds. “About that game you were playing with me last night at the casino—”
“The game I won?” she asked, cutting in again.
He shook his head once. “I’m not talking about roulette.”
“You’re not?”
“No, mon ange polisson,” he said, moving his fingertip over her lips. “When you play roulette, you play against the house. I want to know about the game you were playing with me.” Curving his hands around her rib cage, he urged her closer. “The one you’re still playing.”
“Why?” she asked, running her fingers through his curly hair, then spilling it over his forehead. “Because you don’t want to play with me?”
“I do. I just want to know the rules.”
Her hand suddenly stilled. “There aren’t any. But if you insist, we’ll make them up as we go along.”
“And then…?” He prompted her with a nod.
She didn’t respond.
Beneath his curved hands her heart began beating faster. He was definitely getting under her skin. “Then, Beth,” he said, “we’ll break them. Every one of them.” She opened her mouth, but before she could protest he added, “Starting now.” Pulling her close, he kissed her until she groaned. He was certain the sound had its origins in heaven. Shifting in his arms, she plowed her fingers into his hair and began to kiss him back.
Three (#ulink_a7b9e493-d910-5357-8b97-420c80a8f2c2)
National security be damned; she wasn’t sharing this discovery with anyone. Reese Marchand was a brilliant kisser.
Catching her by surprise with a series of masterful tongue strokes, Reese had taken her from a gasp to a groan in seconds. Tingling sensations streamed straight from his mouth to every erogenous zone on her body. Without warning he gentled his advance to nibbling her lips, then just as quickly went back to lavishing his expert attention in the moist warmth beyond them. Shivering against the delicious intrusion, she fleetingly wondered how any woman could not respond to such thoroughness.
Of course, self-control was possible, but with the soft pressure of his hands around her rib cage, highly questionable. His light hold had somehow turned into a teasing challenge to come closer. But that wasn’t going to happen. For the sake of her goal, she had to find a way out of this deepening maze of desire…just as soon as Reese stopped that nibbling he’d started again. Lord, help her. He was turning her into little more than a traitorous mass of dewy flesh.
His thorough and relentless technique had her toes and fingers curling, and she realized the only way she could straighten them was to return the pleasure. Generously. That still didn’t account for her ending up on the other side of the console and in his lap when they finally broke for air.
His deadpan look toward the empty driver’s seat and then to her in his lap ended in a slow, shared smile. Her hands drifted out of his hair and down to his chest. Beneath the fine pleats of his shirtfront she felt the pleasant definition of muscle, the steady thump of his heartbeat and the heat she’d help to generate. Without a doubt, he was the most handsome, most masculine, most desirable man she’d ever laid eyes or hands on.
As their connected gazes intensified, she knew she couldn’t help herself; she had to touch his lips again. As she traced her own moisture on them, he captured her finger in a quick, soft bite. The moment lingered between them, rich and heavy with promise. Before releasing her finger, he flicked his tongue over the tip of it, and it seemed over other parts of her, as well. If he only knew what he was doing to her…she pressed her thighs together.
“I believe we broke two rules that time, Miss Langdon.”
“I believe we did, Mr. Marchand,” she said, as her body absorbed the vibration of his rumbling whisper. Was she supposed to fit so snugly, so comfortably against his solid flesh? Was the seduction of Reese Marchand supposed to feel this good?
Reaching up, he looped a lock of her hair around his finger, then stroked it across his cheek. “Shall we try for three?”
Was it necessary to indulge him this one more kiss? Was it wise to indulge herself? More questions were tumbling in, but she put them all out of her mind. As she brought her face close to his, the words rolled off her tongue. “I was just going to suggest that.”
Her brushing kisses melted into one long and sumptuous move that left her mind spinning. Lifting her lips from his, she began to pull back. She was becoming entirely too pleased with herself and that had to stop. Now. Because there was such a thing as too much—
“Four?” he whispered.
“Four,” she whispered, dipping her head again to swirl her tongue over his lips and into his mouth. Feeling the ridge of arousal pressing against her bottom, she twisted in his embrace and boldly deepened the kiss. As he began to squirm beneath her, any doubts about the wiseness of her act scattered in a hot haze of wanting and needing.
Without warning, a masculine voice sounded beside the car.
“If you two would quit making a spectacle of yourselves…”
Their eyes slowly opened to each other’s. In a mirrored move, their foreheads touched before they turned their gazes toward the speaker. Beth recognized the tall, good-looking man as Reese’s friend from the casino.
“This is Duncan Vanos, Beth,” Reese said. “A good friend with bad timing.”
“Hello, Duncan.” She tried for an inconspicuous tug at her hem, but only succeeded in bringing both men’s attention to her bare thigh. Playing the femme fatale in private was one thing, but cavorting like a human pretzel in a public parking lot was insane. Her spirits sank as she looked for an easy and modest way to return to the driver’s seat. Putting toothpaste back into a tube would be easier. She was stuck in Reese’s lap for the duration.
“No need to get up,” Duncan said, as a goodhumored smile spread across his face.
Without missing a beat, Reese continued. “And the lovely lady standing several discreet meters behind him is his business associate, Isabella Minelli.”
Beth managed a small wave that ended in a casual rearrangement of her hair. “Hello.” If she’d been caught sitting in anyone’s lap other than Reese’s, she would be speechless with embarrassment. Perhaps it was his humor or the relaxed way his hand rested on her hip, but his very nearness reassured her. Or did it? Perhaps she was slipping into her role more easily than she ever thought she could.
“Isabella. Duncan. This is Beth Langdon.”
“Ah, this must be your misery lady,” Isabella said, her face lighting as she came toward the car.
Duncan leaned into the car and in a stage whisper announced, “I think she means mystery.”
“Yes, of course that is what I meant,” she said. “So you must tell me, Reese. Have you solved her mystery?”
“I’m working on it, Isabella,” he said, arching his brow when Beth turned his way again. He shook his finger. “Be warned, mon ange polisson, Duncan doesn’t pay Isabella those exorbitant fees because she backs off.”
“I see,” Beth said, nodding. “Well, there’s really no mystery. I was having some fun with Reese and I think he was having some fun with me. Of course, once I realized that he’d seen my entire collection of scarves and sunglasses, I decided to step up to the roulette table and, uh…start the ball rolling on our introduction.”
Both men gave a friendly duet of loud groaning.
“So now there is no mystery? And I don’t know why this is funny. I am disappointed,” Isabella said, with a teasing pout.
“I’m not,” Reese said, giving Beth a hot, secret look before turning to his friends. “Well, have you two turned into voyeurs or are we late?”
“None of your business and you’re actually early. But we do have a problem,” Duncan said, pointing over his shoulder to the fish mosaic decorating the entrance to the restaurant. “Isabella’s just informed me she’s allergic to seafood.”
“Yes. Please forgive me for ruining this evening,” Isabella said. “But I do not wish to…” Grimacing, she made a circle with her outstretched arms. “How do you say it? Blow up like a balloon and die.”
“Isabella, what creative imagery! You must remember to tell your English teacher,” Duncan said. His dramatic delivery had the dark-haired woman frowning suspiciously, until all four of them were laughing.
Reese looked at the couple beside his car and then at Beth as he gave her hip a secret squeeze. “Let’s forget about trying to book another restaurant reservation and order in at my place. We’ll catch the fireworks from the balcony.”
“Sounds good to me,” Duncan said, holding up both hands, “but never mind about calling in an order. We’ll pick up something at Le Mah-Jong on the way. Meanwhile you and Beth can work on untangling yourselves. By the way, friend, Isabella and I expect a bottle of Château Beaumont’s finest with dinner tonight.”
As the two men staged a loud and good-tempered debate about what vintage would go best with beef and snow peas, Beth shared a smile with Isabella. The down-to-earth manner of Reese’s smart-set friends had been a pleasant surprise and she began imagining the rest of the evening with them. With her next thought, she looked away. Guilt began picking at her insides. How quickly their smiles would disappear if they knew what she was up to with their friend. She shifted in Reese’s lap. This cozy moment had to end. She had more important things to do than make memories that would one day plague her with shame.
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