by Helen Conrad
She looked at Reid, the man she loved, and despite the tears that were flooding her eyes, she went on with the tender joking.
“I don’t know, Reid,” she said with mock doubt. “You know what you’re risking here?”
He grinned, wiping away her tears with a gentle finger. “Yeah, I think I know,” he replied, his voice husky with emotion.
She shook her head, blinking away the last of the moisture.
“But have you considered the full ramifications? I mean, violin lessons? PTA meetings?” She pretended to shudder. “Little League?” She whispered the last as though it were a four-letter word.
He nodded solemnly. “Listen, I’m ready to risk it ... if you’re ready for Brownie meetings and Lamaze classes.”
She sighed heavily. “It’s a big decision.”
“There’s more.”
She looked at him questioningly.
“You’ve got to stop jumping out of airplanes.”
She frowned, pretending she cared. “Okay ... If you stop smoking.”
He put out a hand, and they shook solemnly.
“That’s the proposition,” he said at last. “Those are the options. What do you think? Can we make a go of it?”
They were both silent for a long moment. Finally, they locked gazes once again.
“Lady, you’ve got yourself a deal.”
“For real?”
“For real. Jennifer Thornton, will you marry me?”
“Yes, Reid Carrington. I’ve been waiting for you to ask for ten years.”
“Great. Let’s get back to the consummation.”
“Is that what we’re doing here?”
“Couldn’t you tell? Consummation takes a lot of practice. We want to be sure to get it right.”
“Hhhhmmm,” she breathed as his arms came around her and his hard, warm body covered hers. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”
His warmth spread like sun-ripened honey through her veins, then it ignited into the heat that only their love could conjure.
Jennifer knew she would never be cold again.
Wife For A Night
Wife for a Night
Destiny Bay Book 2
By Helen Conrad
Forced to pretend to be his wife, she plans to blow his cover –just as soon as she gets her cat back.
Haunted by lies that have hurt her in the past, Janet can’t stand slick operators. When Matt coerces her into pretending to be his wife in order to fool a nice old lady, she hates every minute of it. He’s nothing but a despicable conman—so why does his touch make her quiver with anticipation?
Destiny Bay-Forever Yours
Book 1-My Little Runaway
Book 2-Wife For a Night
Book 3-Too Scared to Breathe
Book 4-Make Believe Wife
Book 5-Promoted to Wife
Book 6-Not the Marrying Kind
Cast of Characters in the series Destiny Bay~Forever Yours
WIFE FOR A NIGHT
The three sons of Richard Carrington, wealthy attorney,
and Martha Grover Carrington.
Reid Carrington~ambitious attorney determined to restore the reputation of his family after his father’s scandal almost ruined them. Newly coaxed out of being a bit uptight and annoyingly judgmental, he’s now engaged to:
Jennifer Thornton, the wild child who grew up next door to the Carringtons, but left in order to save her parents from heartbreak. Reid brings her back to face a reality she’s not sure she can live with, but she knows Reid’s love is something she can’t live without.
Matt Carrington~has been gone for years after a rift with his father sent him into undercover work in Los Angeles. He now owns hotels in Hawaii, but has come back to revisit his old profession to help a struggling friend.
Janet Cardona~a lonely young woman who almost ruins Matt’s operation but ends up in the middle of it all, and in love with the conman to boot. And all she ever wanted was to get her cat back.
Grant Carrington~always a rebel, Grant went against his father’s plans for him and became a race car driver whose championship career is now in jeopardy over serious injuries suffered in a crash.
A Few Others
Tag Carrington~their cousin, younger and more adrift, he lives mostly on his boat and avoids all risk of becoming a responsible adult.
Mickey Adams~owner and proprietor of Mickey’s on the Bay, a local café where the Carringtons tend to hang out. She’s in love with Tag but can’t admit it, even to herself.
Meggie Adams~Mickey’s adorable three year old
Robert Harding~wealthy financier who wants to make Mickey his own.
Mavis Jessup Cadbury~ “wheelchair bound” elderly lady Matt is trying to scam—or is she scamming him?
Gregory Jessup~her suspicious son
Alexander~Janet’s cat, kit-napped by Matt and the cause of all the trouble.
CHAPTER ONE:
Cat Burglar
Janet Cardona had never broken into a house before, so she took it slowly, feeling her way through every step.
She was casing the place first, of course, watching from the stand of sugar pines across the road from the huge, modern redwood and black glass house. She’d seen the deliveries arrive at the back entrance, seen maids come and go, seen the man who drove the candy-apple red Corvette roar off down the driveway, taking the winding mountain road down to town.
She thought someone else lived in the house too, but the sports car driving man was the only one she saw. It had to be Matt Jessup, the jerk who’d refused to take her phone calls. She’d trained her binoculars on him to get a closer look.
Tall, his shoulders impossibly wide in the nicely tailored sports coat, he walked with a jaunty, athletic stride that made him look outdoorsy, masculine—unconquerable.
Janet swallowed hard, watching him, a tiny shiver tickling the length of her spine. He looked to be in his early-to-mid thirties. His face was hard, strong, his chocolate-colored hair thick and neatly cut. All in all a very attractive man—at least to some, maybe. But Janet didn’t give a darn about that. Mooning over cuties was not her style.
All she cared about was how tough he was. Unfortunately, he looked like he could handle himself with no trouble in the least. Darn it all.
This was the enemy, her counterpart in a dangerous chess game. She hated to think what might happen if she came up against him in a dark hallway that night. She only prayed he was a heavy sleeper.
It was still an hour or so before it would get really dark, but gloom was descending. He’d been gone a long time. What if he wasn’t coming back tonight? Maybe she ought to take this opportunity to make a test foray into the house. Her heart began to pound as she weighed her chances. Why not? The house might be completely empty. She really ought to give it a try.
Carefully, she looked up and down the road. No one in sight. She stepped out from the comfort of the trees. An owl—who had to be right behind her—hooted. She shrieked and dashed back into safety, her nerves practically shooting out of her body.
A few deep breaths and she was calm again. Calm, but angry.
“I can’t believe I’m such a scaredy cat,” she muttered to herself. “Come on. Let’s do this thing.”
Slowly, she stepped out again and started across the road. The sound of an engine whining sent her back like a shot, and then, there he was, turning that red sports car into the driveway across the street, while she clung to a tree and tried to pull herself together.
Darn it all. She grabbed the binoculars, more in anger than in hopes of seeing anything interesting.
He turned suddenly, just before closing the door of his car, and stared directly at her hiding place. Jerking back, she hid the reflective lenses of the binoculars and then cursed herself for reacting. She held her breath. Had he seen anything move?
Apparently not. He continued to close up the car, locking it with a beep, while her heart beat wildly in her chest and she slumped against the rough trunk of the tree, tryi
ng to regain her equilibrium, wondering if she could really do this thing.
Not yet, obviously. Not until he’d gone to bed. She sighed, watching lights go on and off as he traveled through the house. This was going to be a long wait. But it had to be. She had to do this right. Everything depended on it.
Finally, the time came. Evening had melted into midnight and as far as she could tell, all the lights were off in the house. Everyone should be asleep. It was time to go.
She’d pulled her dark hair back and wove it tightly into a long braid to make sure it wouldn’t get in the way. She was wearing a black wool sweater and dark blue jeans. Now she pulled on black leather gloves and nodded approvingly. Her uniform was complete.
“Cat burglar,” she murmured to herself, then laughed nervously. How very appropriate the term was! “But can I count on nine lives?”
Probably not. If she got caught . . . But she wouldn’t get caught. She couldn’t. She didn’t allow herself to think about the consequences. She’d always been one to abide by rules and play it safe. What she was doing here was going out on a long and very shaky limb. If she thought about it too much, she knew she would never be able to go through with it.
The lower doors were bolted, she was certain. But she’d seen the man come out on one of the upstairs balconies twice, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t locked the sliding glass door when he’d left. Hopefully, that would be her entry point.
Getting up there didn’t concern her. There was a very sturdy-looking drainpipe conveniently located right next to the balcony. She was used to roaming the hills with other botanists, sometimes climbing nearly vertical cliffs in search of one special fern plant. Compared to that, this little climb to the second story would be a snap.
Picking up a cardboard box studded with airholes, she moved easily over the low fence, sighing with relief when no alarm was activated. She hadn’t seen any sign of one, but you never knew . . . She stepped carefully through the tulip bed and stopped at the foot of the drainpipe, listening intently. Nothing—not even a television or a radio. They were all in bed.
The drainpipe wasn’t any more of a problem than she’d expected, and she shimmied up it quickly. Then she was on the balcony, looking at the slider, and suddenly her heart was beating so fast she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. She stopped, pressing her hands to her chest, and tried to calm herself, but her panic wouldn’t subside.
Was she crazy? Was she totally, completely out of her mind? What she was about to do, what she was already doing, was a felony. She swayed against the redwood railing, feeling slightly faint. She’d never committed a felony before. And if she didn’t get hold of herself, she might not commit this one either.
Drawing a full breath deep into her lungs, she calmed herself. The drapes were partially pulled back and she squinted, trying to see into the room. It looked empty. She touched the door handle. It wasn’t locked. Finally, a piece of luck.
“This is for you, Alexander,” she whispered, then reached again, hand shaking a bit, for the sliding glass door. It opened easily, noiselessly, and she stepped in through the flowing drapes.
It was dark, but her eyes were already accustomed to the nearly moonless night and she could make out the ultra-modern furnishings of the room—chrome and glass, linen and hemp. The room seemed to be an elaborate bedroom with a king-sized bed that was empty and a couch and chairs—and something else, something strange built into the floor right in front of the sliding glass door, something square and glittering. And the slightly chemical smell that filled the room was familiar, but she couldn’t quite identify it. . .
Her head snapped up. There was a sound coming from the hall, then the door began to open. For a long, long second, Janet was paralyzed, pinned like a butterfly to a collecting board, but somehow, from somewhere deep inside, she managed to summon up the will to move, and in two quick steps, she slid behind the drapes, her back to the cold glass, just as the lights came on.
She tried to hold her breath, but the need for fresh air tore at her lungs and she found herself panting instead. Luckily, the person who had entered was whistling a tuneless melody, setting things down and picking things up and generally making enough racket to cover the noises she made. And then a switch was thrown and a new sound filled the room—a sound of bubbling, rushing water.
She frowned, not able to place it. Her breathing steadied as she puzzled over it, trying to identify the noise. With it going, she had no sense at all of where the man was. She knew she would have to look out and see what was going on.
Moving slowly, oh so slowly, she found the end of one drape and positioned herself to peer through the slit into the room. What she saw stunned her.
The black, square object built into the floor was a hot tub, complete with water jets. That was where the sound was coming from as the hot water surged and bubbled in the tub.
But she hardly wasted a glance on that. What held her gaze was the man standing before it, staring at the open sliding glass door and probably wondering how it had gotten that way.
He was absolutely naked—and absolutely the most gorgeous thing she’d ever seen.
Those shoulders looked just as wide without the padding of the suit coat. Golden brown muscles moved in a symphony of cooperation, golden hair curled thickly on his wide chest, circling hard, dark masculine nipples and trailing down over the hard, corded planes of his flat belly to enclose the teasingly illusive indentation of his navel, and then . . .
She didn’t dare look any lower. Forcing her gaze back up to his shoulders, she felt hot shock flooding her face.
She was blushing! This must be a first, she thought scornfully. The burglar was blushing. She’d better toughen up. She had a pretty good idea the man who stood only yards away had never blushed in his life.
As she watched, admiring and apprehensive at the same time, he seemed to have given up on the puzzle of why his sliding glass door was open, because he shrugged and stepped forward to close it, this time firmly closing the latch. Then he reached out for the drapes.
Her heart lurched and she closed her eyes, holding her breath, waiting for sure disaster. But all he did was pull them back enough to give him a better view out the glass. The moving fabric tickled her nose, but didn’t unmask her. And when she opened her eyes again, she found that he had turned off the lights and slipped into the tub.
Obviously he was planning to enjoy a long soak in the surging water while he gazed at a midnight view of the lights of Destiny Bay, far below. And who could blame him? she thought resentfully. It must be wonderful.
But in the meantime she was stuck right where she was. Unless he fell asleep in the warm water and she could manage to sneak past him . . .
But no. He wasn’t going to fall asleep. The man had other plans. He was going to sing.
“I can’t believe this,” she complained silently, closing her eyes. While she stood ramrod straight and tried not to move a muscle, he started out with some simple humming and then ran through everything from “A Hard Day’s Night” to “La Donna e Mobile,” all in a rich baritone that was capable of rising to a fairly creditable tenor when required.
“What the heck?” she complained silently. “Who does things like this?”
She appreciated his talent, but she gritted her teeth over how long he was taking. At this rate, she would still be pressed against this chilly glass at dawn. She was so near to finding Alexander—so near, and yet so far.
And then, at the end of a rousing chorus of “When the Saints Go Marching In,” he suddenly paused. She waited, listening hard.
“Feel free to join in any time,” he suggested at last in a low voice.
An icy hand gripped her heart. Who was he talking to? Surely not . . . her?
No. He couldn’t possibly know she was there. She hadn’t moved, had hardly breathed. Someone else must have come in.
“We could sing it as a round, if you prefer,” he went on, his voice soft, suggestive. “I’ve always liked it that w
ay.”
The pause that followed seemed to last a lifetime, and when he spoke again, his tone was even lower. “Too bad you didn’t bring along an instrument. Horns add a lot to a classic like ‘Saints.’ “
She held her breath and prayed.
“In fact, why don’t you just come on in?” His voice was harder now, commanding. “The water’s fine.”
The room was suffocating her, and still she didn’t hear anyone answer his questions. She was beginning to lose hope that there was a third party anywhere nearby.
He was talking to her. He had to be.
And then she heard him coming out of the water and a witless scream began to claw its way up her throat.
She leaned back against the glass, her fingers clutching at the cold, slick surface, breath caught painfully in her throat. Suddenly the drapes were ripped from in front of her and she gasped, blinking at the tall man before her. Even though the room was still dark, a sliver of moon had risen and the silvery light it cast seemed to shimmer over the outline of the man’s naked body.
She was dead. She was caught. There was no getting around that. And this man—what would he do to her? She couldn’t breathe.
Not only had she failed to kitnap Alexander, she could be in big trouble.
She tried to think fast. What were her options? Screaming? No close neighbors. He wouldn’t care. Fainting? He didn’t look like the type to dash off for a first aid kit. Pretend she’d mistaken his house for a friend’s? Fat chance. It looked like begging for mercy might be her only gambit, but somehow, the very thought of it stuck in her craw. No.
And yet, there had to be some way to deflect the accusation she could see in the man’s face. Despite her terror at being caught, his nakedness was what she seized upon.
