The Paternity Proposition

by Merline Lovelace

  Thirteen

  The wedding of Julie Marie Bartlett and Alexander Dalton made the evening news on every local station. As the reporter for Channel 9 News informed her viewers, Delilah Dalton crowned her many social and philanthropical triumphs with a glittering affair attended by five hundred of her friends, business associates and any Dalton International employee with a yen to wish the bride and groom well.

  Cameras panned the scene outside St. Stephen’s, showing limos lined up for a full block, and zoomed in on the bride and groom as they emerged from the church. The bride wore a gown by a hot new designer sold exclusively by Oklahoma City boutique owner Helen Jasper, the reporter informed her audience. The square-cut neckline had supposedly been fashioned to showcase the bride’s unusual engagement gift—an intricately worked gold medallion representing an Incan god. She carried a bouquet of white gardenias accented with gold lace and was given in marriage by her friend and business partner, Josiah “Dusty” Jones. Ms. Grace Templeton was the bride’s maid of honor. Blake Dalton served as his brother’s best man.

  The scene then cut to the front facade of the Dalton mansion in Nichols Hills, where it was rumored the reception flowed through the first floor and spilled out onto the terraced gardens.

  It was no rumor. Blake could verify that. More than four hours after the ceremony several hundred guests still thronged the house and gardens. The dozens of champagne fountains Delilah had ordered set up no doubt contributed to their staying power, as did the constant stream of servers who emerged from the kitchen with loaded silver trays.

  Blake leaned against a pillar, taking a short breather while the indefatigable general moved among her troops. Delilah had held Molly all through the ceremony, slipping upstairs just moments before the guests began arriving to put the baby down for a nap. Now the baby was riding her hip again, decked out in a lacy dress the exact melon shade as her grandmother’s.

  Blake’s chest twisted at the sight. He knew it would hit his mother hard when Alex and Julie got back from their honeymoon and set up housekeeping. It would hit him even harder. Although the odds pointed overwhelmingly to Alex as Molly’s father, there’d been that niggling doubt, that small chance…

  “One down,” his brother’s amused voice drawled from just behind his shoulder, “one to go.”

  Shaking off the ache at knowing he would be relegated to the role of uncle, Blake faced his twin.

  “She’s going to double the pressure on you now,” Alex said with something less than sympathy.

  “Tell me about it. Sure you didn’t propose to Julie just to get Mother off your back?”

  His brother’s gaze went to a group one terrace below, where his bride made a family tableau with Grace, Delilah and Molly.

  “I’m sure.”

  Another pang hit Blake. This one was too close to envy for comfort. Ashamed, he countered it by stating the obvious.

  “Julie’s the best thing that ever happened to you, you know.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said softly, “I know.”

  “Then get your butt down there and…” He broke off, his glance caught by the figure standing half in, half out of the patio doors. “Did you invite Jamison?”

  “Our private investigator?” Alex’s brow creased. “No. Hell, do you think Delilah invited him?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

  Although…

  The PI’s rumpled brown suit and apparent reluctance to mingle with the other guests suggested he wasn’t there to socialize, an impression he reinforced when he caught sight of Alex and Blake.

  He tipped up his chin in an unmistakable signal and faded back inside the house. The brothers stood where they were, prey to sudden disquieting thoughts, before starting for the house. Their mother’s imperious voice stopped them.

  “Alex! You and Julie only have an hour until your flight. You’d better change out of that monkey suit and get to the airport.”

  The two brothers looked at each other, sharing the silent communication that had never yet failed them.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Blake said quietly.

  Alex trusted his twin implicitly. He knew without being told Blake would advise him if the PI had critical information to impart.

  Apparently he didn’t. Alex and Julie came back downstairs to a raucous chorus of shouts and well wishes. While Julie tossed her bouquet, Alex searched for his brother. Blake caught his eye over the heads of the crowd and gave a small shake of his head.

  Alex nodded and turned to the woman who’d turned his world upside down. Hooking a hand under his bride’s elbow, he escorted her to a limo and proceeded to put brother, mother and daughter out of his head.

  Julie of the dark red hair and laughing eyes filled every corner of his heart.

  * * * * *

  The Sheik's Virgin

  Susan Mallery

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  One

  The island of Lucia-Serrat glittered like an emerald in a bed of sapphires. Phoebe Carson pressed her forehead against the window of the small commuter plane and stared at the lush landscape below. As they circled in preparation for landing, she saw a snow-white beach, a rain forest, a crescent of blue, blue ocean, then a small city perched on a cliff. Her heart pounded in her chest and her ears popped.

  The flight attendant announced that it was time to return seat backs and tray tables to their upright positions. What had seemed so strange when her journey had begun was second nature to her now. Phoebe tightened her seat belt and checked her tray table. She’d been too busy staring out the window to bother putting her seat back. She’d wanted to see everything as they approached Lucia-Serrat.

  “Just as you promised, Ayanna,” she whispered to herself. “So beautiful. Thank you for allowing me to spend this time here.”

  Phoebe returned her attention to the view out the window. The ground seemed to rush up to meet them, then she felt the gentle bump of the airplane wheels on the runway. She could see lush trees and bushes, tropical flowers and brightly colored birds. Then the plane turned to taxi toward the terminal and her view of paradise was lost.

  Thirty minutes later Phoebe had collected her small suitcase and passed through customs and immigration. The official-looking young man had greeted her, stamped her passport and had asked if she had anything to declare. When she said she did not, he waved her through.

  As easy as that, Phoebe thought, tucking her crisp new passport into her handbag.

  All around her families greeted each other, while young couples, obviously on their honeymoon, strolled slowly arm in arm. Phoebe felt a little alone, but she refused to be lonely. Not at the beginning of her adventure. She found the courtesy phone and called her hotel. The hotel clerk promised that the driver would arrive to pick her up within fifteen minutes.

  Phoebe had started for the glass doors leading out of the airport when a small store window caught her eye. She didn’t usually shop very much, but the display drew her. Bottles of French perfume sat in nests of satin. Designer handbags and shoes hung on barely visible wires from the ceiling of the display case. Everything looked beautiful and very expensive, yet she knew there was no harm in looking while she waited for her ride to the hotel.

  Phoebe stepped into the coolness of the store and inhaled a cloud of perfume-scented air. Different fragrances blended together perfectly. Although she was intrigued by the bottles on display, the tall, chicly dressed woman behind the counter made her nervous, so she turned in the opposite direction, only to find herself in front of a case of jewelry.

  Rings, earrings, bracelets and necklaces appeared to have been casually tossed into the velvet-lined case. Yet Phoebe suspected it took a long time to make everything look so artless. She bent to get a closer look. One of the center diamonds in a cockta
il ring was larger than the nail on her little finger. Phoebe figured she could probably live well for a couple of years on what that one piece cost. If this was an example of shopping in Lucia-Serrat, she would restrict hers to looking in windows.

  “I think that is too large for you.”

  The unexpected comment caught her off guard. She straightened immediately, pressing her hand to her chest.

  “I was just looking,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t touch anything.”

  A man stood in front of her. While she was tall—nearly five-ten—he was several inches taller. Dark hair had been brushed back from his handsome face. There were tiny lines by the corners of his amazing brown-black eyes, and a hint of a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. She told herself to look away—that it was rude to stare—but something about his expression, or maybe it was the sculptured lines of his cheekbones and jaw, compelled her.

  He looked like a male model in an expensive liquor ad, only a little older. Phoebe instantly felt out of place and foolish. Her dress had cost less than twenty dollars at a discount outlet, and that had been last year, while the man’s suit looked really expensive. Not that she had a lot of experience with things like men’s suits.

  “The bracelet,” he said.

  She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

  “I thought you were looking at the sapphire bracelet. While it’s lovely and the color of the stones matches your eyes, it is too large for your delicate wrist. Several links would have to be removed.”

  She forced herself to tear her gaze from his face, and looked at the jewelry case. Right in the center was a sapphire bracelet. Oval blue stones surrounded by diamonds. It probably cost more than a beachfront hotel back home in Florida.

  “It’s very nice,” she said politely.

  “Ah, you do not like it.”

  “No. I mean yes, of course I like it. It’s beautiful.” But wishing after something like that was about as realistic as expecting to buy a 747.

  “Perhaps there was something else you were shopping for?”

  “No. Just looking.”

  She risked glancing at him again. There was something about his dark eyes, something almost…kind. Which made no sense. Handsome gentlemen didn’t notice women like her. Actually no one noticed women like her. She was too tall, too thin and much too plain. Nor had anyone ever made her stomach flutter as it was doing right now.

  “Is this your first visit to Lucia-Serrat?” he asked.

  Phoebe thought of the blank pages in her new passport. “It’s my first trip anywhere,” she confessed. “I’d never been on a plane until this morning.” She frowned as she thought about the time zones she’d crossed. “Or maybe it was yesterday. I flew from Miami to New York, then to Bahania, then to here.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “I see. Forgive me for saying this, but Lucia-Serrat seems an unusual place to begin one’s travels. Many people are not familiar with the island. Although it is very beautiful.”

  “Very,” she agreed. “I haven’t seen very much. I mean, I just arrived, but I saw it from the plane window. I thought it looked like an emerald. So green and glittering in the middle of the ocean.” She inhaled deeply. “It even smells different. Florida is sort of tropical, but nothing like this. Everyone seems so cosmopolitan and sure of themselves. I don’t even know what—”

  She pressed her lips together and ducked her head. “Sorry,” she murmured, wondering if she could have sounded more like a schoolgirl. “I didn’t mean to blurt all that out.”

  “Do not apologize. I am enjoying your enthusiasm.”

  There was something about the cadence of his speech, Phoebe thought dreamily. His English was perfect, but had a more formal quality. There was also a trace of an accent, not that she could place it.

  He lightly touched her chin, as if requesting she raise her head. The contact was fleeting at best, and yet she felt the impact all the way down to her toes.

  “What brings you to my island?” he asked gently.

  “You live here?”

  “All of my life.” He hesitated, then shrugged. “My family has been in residence for over five hundred years. We came for the spices and stayed for the oil.”

  “Oh, my.” That sounded so romantic. “I, um, wanted to visit because of a family member. My great-aunt was born here. She always talked about the island and how she hated to leave. She passed away a few months ago.” Some of Phoebe’s happiness bled away as a pang of loneliness shot through her. “She wanted me to see the world, but it was her request that I begin here, where she was born.”

  “You and your great-aunt were close?”

  Phoebe leaned against the jewelry case. From the corner of her eye she saw two store clerks talking frantically in the corner. They gestured wildly, but didn’t approach either her or the stranger.

  “She raised me,” she said, returning her attention to the kind man in front of her. “I never knew my father, and my mother died when I was eight. Great-Aunt Ayanna took me in.” She smiled at the memory. “I’d been raised in Colorado, so moving to Florida was pretty exciting. Ayanna said it was the closest place to Lucia-Serrat she could find. I think she missed the island very much.”

  “So you honor her memory by visiting the island.”

  Phoebe hadn’t thought of it that way. She smiled. “That’s exactly right. I want to visit the places she liked to go. She even gave me a list.”

  The tall stranger held out his hand. Obviously he wanted to read the list. Phoebe reached into the outside pocket of her purse and handed it to him.

  He unfolded the single sheet of paper and read silently. She took the opportunity to study his thick hair and the length of his lashes, the powerful build of his body. They weren’t standing very close at all, yet she would swear she felt the heat of his body. A crazy thing to be thinking, she told herself. But true. A warmth seeped through her as she watched him.

  As he returned the list to her, he said, “All excel-lent choices. Are you familiar with the legend of Lucia’s Point?”

  Phoebe had long since memorized Ayanna’s list. Lucia’s Point was second from the bottom. “Not at all.”

  “They say that only lovers may visit. If they make love in the shade of the waterfall, they will be blessed all the days of their lives. So have you brought your lover with you?”

  Phoebe suspected he was teasing her, but she couldn’t stop herself from blushing. A lover? Couldn’t the man tell from looking at her that she’d never even had a boyfriend, let alone a lover?

  Before she could think of something to say—preferably something witty and charming and sophisticated—a uniformed man appeared at her side.

  “Ms. Phoebe Carson? I am here to take you to your hotel.” He bowed slightly and took her luggage. “At your convenience,” he said, and backed out of the store.

  Phoebe glanced out the window and saw a green van sitting at the curb. Gold lettering spelled out Parrot Bay Inn, where she would be staying for the next month.

  “My ride is here,” she told the stranger who had lingered to chat with her.

  “I can see. I hope you will enjoy your time in Lucia-Serrat.”

  His dark eyes seemed to see inside her. Could he read her mind? She hoped not—if he could, he would figure out that she was an inexperienced fool who was completely out of her element with him.

  “You’ve been very kind,” she murmured when nothing more charming occurred to her.

  “My pleasure.”

  Before she could turn away, he reached out and took her hand in his, then raised it to chest level. He bent his head and lightly kissed her fingers. The old-world gesture took her breath away, as did the tingling that instantly shot up her arm.

  “Perhaps we will be lucky enough to run into each other again,” he said.

  Phoebe was incapable of speech. Fortunately he left before she did something really embarrassing like stutter or babble. After a couple of seconds she was able to draw in a breath. Then she forced herself to
start walking. She left the store and stepped out into the warm afternoon. It was only when she was settled in the hotel van that she thought to look for the man she’d met in the store. She didn’t even know his name.

  But look as she might, she couldn’t spot him. The driver climbed in and started the engine. Five minutes later they had left the airport behind them and were on a two-lane road that hugged a cliff above the sea.

  The ocean stretched out to the horizon on her right, while on her left, lush foliage crept down to the side of the road. Flashes of color fluttered from branch to branch, proof of the wild parrots that made their home on the tropical island. Phoebe could smell that salty air and the rich, dark earth dampened by a recent shower. Excitement coursed through her—she was really here, she thought as the van arrived at the hotel.

  The Parrot Bay Inn had been built nearly two hundred years before. The white building soared up several stories, with red and pink bougainvilleas covering the bottom two floors. The foyer was an open atrium, the reception desk hand carved with an elegance from an older time. Phoebe registered and was shown to her room.

  Ayanna had made her niece promise to visit the island of Lucia-Serrat for a month, and to stay only at the Parrot Bay Inn. Phoebe refused to consider the expense as she was shown to a lovely corner mini-suite complete with a view of the ocean and a balcony worthy of Romeo and Juliet. She felt as if she were floating as she stepped out to watch the sun sink toward the west.

  A reddish-orange bath colored the sky. The water turned from blue to dark green. She breathed in the scents of the island as she leaned against her balcony railing and savored the moment.

  When it was dark, she moved back into her room to unpack and settle in for her stay. The four-poster bed looked comfortable and the bathroom, while old-fashioned, was large and contained every amenity. If the silence made her a little sad, she refused to dwell on her loneliness. She was used to making her own way. Here, on the island of her great-aunt’s birth, she would connect with all that Ayanna had spoken of. She would feel her aunt’s presence. She would begin to live her life.