by Cherry Adair
KISS AND TELL
By
Cherry Adair
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
"A SEXY, SNAPPY ROLLER-COASTER RIDE!"
—SUSAN ANDERSEN,
AUTHOR OF BABY, DON'T GO
Kiss and Tell
Cherry Adair
A sassy, shameless romantic adventure about a man betrayed and the woman
who rocks his untamed world…
Marnie Wright has seen more than her fair share of testosterone, having grown up with four over-protective brothers. But now a longhaired mountain man named Jake Dolan has invaded a peaceful day of soul-searching at her grandmother's old cabin. Sure, she was trespassing on his private property, but did he have to pull a gun on her? After being stashed in his secret underground lair—complete with security monitors and a huge arsenal—Marnie realizes the guy is military, top secret military. Yet he also has the most beautiful mouth she has ever seen.
The last thing Jake wants in his dangerous life is a woman. Doesn't like them. Doesn't need them. But a man would have to be dead not to fall for the sexy-as-sin Marnie Wright. But how could he have feelings for someone who may be killed just for being close to him? His days, after all, are numbered…
Kiss and Tell
Visit our Web site at www.ballantinebooks.com
ISBN 0-449-00683-2
KISS AND TELL
Cherry Adair
IVY BOOKS • NEW YORK
An Ivy Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 2000 by Cherry Adair
Ivy Books and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.randomhouse.com
ISBN 0-449-00683-2
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition: September 2000
For the Ladies on board the BICC train—
if friends were flowers, I'd pick you.
For Rose Lerma, Susan Plunkett,
Pamela Britton, and Jennifer Skullestad.
For great memories, and lifelong friendships.
You are the best.
And always for my flyboy, David, with all my love.
Chapter One
^ »
The perimeter alarms were set to go off when anything heavier than a hundred pounds crossed the almost invisible breakers. At first all Jake saw on the monitor was the fawn-colored Great Dane. The damn thing was a mean-looking bastard and as big as a house.
"Where the hell did you come from?"
The dog's large, square head and pointy ears swiveled, as if it could smell him down here, twenty feet below ground level. Jake stuck his size fourteens up on the counter and took another swig of soda. His eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the flat-screen monitor before him.
A second later his feet dropped to the floor at the same time his fist crushed the empty can. "Shit."
The dog had been hiding her.
For a split second…
Jake absently touched the scar on his throat and ignored the from zero-to-eighty acceleration of his blood pressure. He leaned forward to adjust the focus and shifted closer to get a better look.
A slender blonde, drowning in a green down jacket, sat not thirty feet from the front door of his cabin on the tree uprooted by last year's storm. Fair hair, all the colors of the sun and fingered by the breeze, danced in joyous spiral curls around her face and hunched shoulders as she concentrated on something in her lap.
Her skin was fair instead of dusky, her hair silky, not coarse, the angle of her head unfamiliar. She was no ghost from the past. Thank God.
Nevertheless, he didn't want her here.
Jake didn't know who she was or what she was doing in the high, remote Sierras at the nose of winter. Her mere presence was suspect. Not that she appeared to be anything other than a cute blonde on a solitary mountain hike. But then looks could be deceiving.
Neither the girl nor the dog was welcome.
He didn't like dogs. In his line of work they tended to be unpredictable. As for the fluffy blonde… Jake slam-dunked the squashed can into the trash, then leaned forward for a better look. He definitely didn't like that breed, either.
Closer inspection didn't improve her one bit. Unfortunately he hadn't had a woman in nearly a year, and this cupcake made his mouth water. Too bad. Like a mouse to an elephant, like David to Goliath. She was exactly the type of woman he avoided like the plague—petite, blonde, and delicate.
He was bone exhausted from an assignment in a small, forgotten Middle Eastern country where all hell had broken loose. All he'd wanted to do was take a break. Instead he'd come home to find the shit hitting the fan, his sixteen-year career in the toilet, and the vacation he'd wanted being enforced.
He had no time for the blonde outside.
Most likely a strong "boo" would send girl and hound running for town. After they left he'd get back to figuring out who was screwing with his life.
Marnie Wright wished she'd brought along a warm cap. Cold air nipped at her ears, making them sting. Dismissing the discomfort, she focused on the sketch pad in her lap.
It had been a bonus finding this old cottage tucked into the hillside. She'd hate to waste the light walking the mile back to her grandmother's cottage just because she was cold. She flipped up her collar and hunched her shoulders.
Only the front walls and the peak of the shingled roof showed through the surrounding trees, shrubs, and piles of deadfall. It was in better shape than Grammy's. While rustic, the wood siding and front porch had recently been repaired. The roof appeared solid, the windows intact.
Marnie flexed her fingers, narrowing her eyes at the log cabin before she continued drawing. The little house was perfect for the creepy Halloween story she was working on. All it needed was a little atmosphere. She shaded a curved whisper of smoke above the chimney, elongating dark shadows to make the small house unwelcoming and sinister. The fluid black lines of her charcoal pencil skimmed the page. Beside her, Duchess's head swiveled.
"What're you listening to? A chipmunk?"
Her dog made a low sound in her throat and wagged her tail.
Marnie laughed, her breath misting in the frigid air. "Don't go far." She put her hand behind her pet's massive head and looked her sternly in the eye. "And don't play with it, you hear me?"
Duchess bounded to the closed door of the empty cottage. She settled her backside on the front step, ears perked. Marnie smiled. Duchess loved her creature comforts. Rather than frolic about in the cold, she wanted inside.
"That's not home, goofus. Give me a few more minutes and we'll pack up and go, okay?"
She had lugged her sleeping bag and supplies to her grandmother's cottage before she and Duchess had taken a stroll, ending up at this isolated place. The exercise, and the cold, had made her hungry, too. She smelled rain and wanted to be back before it started pouring.
With a frown she considered for half a second going home to Sunnyvale. The river had a tendency to flood, making the bridge impassable. Leaving would be the prudent, safe thing to do.
But she didn't want to be prudent and sensible anymore. The decisions and choices she made in the next couple of days were going to change her future. After a lifetime of playing it safe, she n
eeded to learn to take the chances life presented her.
Some of her happiest memories had been made up here at Grammy's cottage. And here was where she was going to decide the course of the rest of her life. A little rain wasn't going to deter her.
She'd almost forgotten what a pain in the butt it was to get up here. She'd left her car at the end of the narrow mountain road, then crossed the skinny footbridge fording the river, passed over another bridge spanning the ravine, and then had a three-mile hike up the mountainside. As kids, she and her brothers hadn't noticed such minor inconveniences. It had always been a grand adventure to come here with Grammy. They'd explored every inch of the mountain, played in the river, and climbed the trees like monkeys.
A little rain and cold wouldn't hurt. This was probably the last time she'd—…
A twig snapped behind her. The pencil jerked in her hand, leaving a jagged smear across the paper. Marnie froze. She looked at Duchess. The animal shifted impatiently on the front porch of the little cottage, brow furrowed, ears rotating like radar. Marnie's shoulders relaxed.
For half a second.
"This is private property."
Her head shot up, and she looked over her shoulder.
He stood slightly to the left and behind her, as big as a mountain and impossible to miss. Why hadn't Duchess raced up to protect her, as she usually did? And how had he walked up this close without her hearing him? And he was close. He stood with booted feet spread, a shotgun cradled casually in the crook of his arm.
Dark hair hung to his massive shoulders. A heavy, five o'clock shadow blurred his features. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was dressed in jeans and covered to midthigh by a thick down jacket similar to her own. He looked like something out of Soldier of Fortune magazine, only a great deal less friendly.
"Where'd you come from?" Marnie asked brightly, flipping the cardboard cover over the sketch pad in her lap. She gathered her wits and braced her feet in preparation for quick action if it became necessary.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"Marnie Wright. I'm visiting—I'm—I'm just here," she finished in exasperation. I'm here to rethink my life. I'm here to contemplate my future. I wasn't expecting the Incredible Hulk!
"There isn't anyone else up here. Who are you supposed to be visiting?"
"I'm visiting my grandmother's old cottage. It's down there." Marnie pointed down the hill. "She—"
"Are you alone?"
She wasn't stupid. "I'm expecting company later. Soon."
"Meet your company across the bridge."
Instead of his rudeness putting her off, Marnie was intrigued. "Who are you?" she asked curiously. "And what are you doing here at this time of year?"
"Lady, this isn't a goddamn cocktail party. Forget the chitchat and get lost." His lips thinned to a hard line. "Take the dog and move out."
"Move out?" Marnie cocked her head and pulled the canvas bag into her lap. Military, for sure. She definitely knew the type. Her brother Michael was a navy SEAL.
Unfortunately for this guy, she was sick and tired of being told what to do, and when to do it, by bossy men. She was pretty sure he wouldn't shoot her. In the meantime she was perfectly happy where she was, thank you very much. She gave him a limpid look.
He repeated his words in French, then in German, just in case she didn't get the message. His deep baritone stroked across her imagination, shimmied through her bones. The quiet tone, deep and compelling, rough with impatience, made her shiver.
This was a man used to giving commands and receiving immediate obedience. His gaze slid downward over her open jacket, purple sweatshirt, well-worn jeans, and heavy hiking boots, then slowly back up again.
Marnie trembled as if he'd physically touched her. He had remarkable eyes—a mesmerizing, unfriendly dark blue. He scrutinized her with an intensity usually reserved for particularly dangerous reptiles. He held her gaze as he strode around the exposed roots of the tree until he stood before her.
Considerably more intimidating head on, he had a straight nose and heavy eyebrows, one of which was bisected by a thin white scar—a scar more recent than childhood. The man was a fighter. Beneath the blur of dark facial hair she detected a square, stubborn chin.
And the sexiest mouth…
His nearness unsettled her to the core. But that had nothing to do with his attitude. She had four brothers who could appear just as intimidating. She'd been raised around men, but she'd never had this sort of immediate reaction. Her knee-jerk response to him unnerved her.
He glared, then said, as well as signed, "Are you deaf, woman?"
Marnie's gaze flickered from the movement of his large, expressive hands back to his scowling face. She felt a leap of interest, a spark of excitement, a frisson of searing attraction as he stood there glaring down at her.
Lust at first sight.
She sighed.
Lust was a wholly inappropriate reaction considering the circumstances. She held his gaze, one eyebrow raised in query at his threatening stance. He was a huge man, taller than her five-six by almost a foot. A warning glittered from narrowed eyes; his hostility was meant to scare away even the most intrepid. The shotgun was overkill.
"I'd be able to hear you even if you weren't yelling."
"Then what part of 'get lost' don't you understand?"
"It's a big mountain. I'm not taking up much room, am I?"
Not taking her eyes off him, she rested her hand lightly on her day pack. Besides her art supplies, she carried a can of Mace and a roll of quarters knotted in an old knee-high stocking. A girl could never be too prepared. Unfortunately, she had a feeling neither her makeshift weapon nor her yellow belt in Aikido would make a dent in this guy. Part of her wondered at her temerity baiting this angry stranger. The part that was fascinated made her stay put.
In her peripheral vision, she saw Duchess directly behind him. The dog stood four square, staring at his back, a sappy, slobbery grin on her canine face.
"This might be a big mountain, but this is my little chunk, and I like it just fine without you on it. Move, lady."
"Sorry, I'm not ready to move yet."
She tried the fluttering-eyelash thing that worked with her brothers, knowing she was playing with fire, and enjoying it immensely.
"Honest, I'm harmless. All I'm doing is drawing the cottage for a book I'm illus—"
"Lady, I don't give a damn if you're Picasso. The cabin belongs to me. The tree you're sitting on belongs to me, and the damn land you're on belongs to me. Haul your butt and your dog off my property."
"Well, since you put it so nicely…"
More amused by his annoyance than afraid, she smiled up at him. There wasn't a trace of indulgent humor in those dark, glacial eyes. He obviously didn't find her as cute and adorable as her brothers did.
He scowled. "Are you as stupid as you look?"
"That's kind of like asking the man if he's stopped beating his wife, isn't it?" Marnie stood, dusting moss and bits of bark off her behind. Her butt was damp. "Are you always this rude to strangers?"
Duchess walked daintily around him, coming to her side and leaning her enormous head against Marnie's arm.
"Lady." Obviously exasperated, he clicked the safety off the gun. Her shoulders stiffened. "What the hell do I have to do to get you off this mountain? Shoot you?"
"Jeez, keep your shirt on. I'm going already!" She picked up the pencils that had rolled to the ground when she'd stood, then slipped icy fingers beneath Duchess's collar.
"Come on, sweetheart." She managed to take two steps before she realized that Duchess wasn't moving. "Come on, girl."
Duchess shook off her restraint. For a moment Marnie hoped her dog wasn't going for Mountain Man's throat. She had to choke back a laugh as Duchess wagged her tail, stuffed her head under his free hand, and gazed up at him adoringly. By his expression she could tell he was not a happy camper. She bit her lip; this was no time to smile. Duchess gave her mistress a soulful look
, Marnie made a subtle "stay" hand gesture. And her dog leaned against a very large masculine thigh, and heaved an enormous sigh.
"What the hell is this animal doing?"
Marnie's feet scuffed up damp leaves as she strolled away without looking back. "She likes you." She had to raise her voice to be heard as she put some distance between them.
"Damn it, I told you to—stop that, dog!—take your dog."
"Oh, Duchess goes exactly where she wants. Never have been able to make her come when she wants to stay." She glanced over her shoulder. Duchess was looking up at him as if he were God's gift. Marnie started to laugh.
"Come back here, woman. What the hell's so funny?"
"She's crazy about you." She stuffed her hands into the warmth of her pockets and hunched her shoulders to keep her ears warm.
"Damn it," he yelled again. "Call her off."
"Don't worry, she'll come home when she's ready." As she strolled down the hillside through the trees, she heard the man cursing a blue streak. Mingled with his deep baritone was Duchess's attempt at loverlike conversation. Marnie almost tripped over her own feet. It was hard to walk when she was laughing so hard.
The timpani of rain on the shake roof woke her. Marnie snuggled deeper into the warmth of the sleeping bag. Despite sleeping fully clothed, sharp, icy air filtered inside, giving her goose bumps. She felt as though she'd only slept a moment. Resigned, she opened gritty eyes.
Four feet away, her dog snored, dead to the world. Duchess had curled up as close to the fireplace as she could get. Marnie chuckled; the dog had loped home after a couple of hours visiting her new friend.
She wished Duchess spoke a more easily translatable language. Then she could have grilled her pet about their taciturn neighbor.
Strange man.
But interesting, very interesting.
