Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever GirlMoonlight in ParisWife by Design

by Liz Talley

  Especially the only person in the world who could have created her?

  If his plan didn’t work, he had nothing to lose, whereas Tara and Jacques Martin had everything to gain if it did.

  “I think it would be only natural to want to know what your father or daughter looked like, especially if you were aware of a strong family resemblance.”

  Jacques Martin pursed his lips.

  “Like that.” Garrett pointed to the man’s mouth and smiled. “She looks just like you when you do that,” he lied.

  Martin’s mouth flattened into a near-smile.

  Garrett took that as progress and pressed ahead. “I understand why you don’t want your wife to know about Tara,” he lied again. “But that shouldn’t stop you from meeting her.”

  “Non.” Martin shook his head. “That will only open a door that should remain closed. I cannot chance that she might begin making the demands to see me.”

  Garrett pushed on, fully aware he was treading on dangerous ground. “What if it’s done in such a way that she doesn’t suspect who you are?”

  He’d reached the point-of-no-return, and suddenly it felt as if the air in Garrett’s lungs wasn’t enough to sustain speech. He dropped his arms and shifted to give his chest room to expand, astounded to see Martin follow his lead. The man was invested in the conversation! A jolt shot through him. Was it possible this might actually work?

  Martin’s head tilted in question. “And how would you suggest that should be accomplished, Monsieur Hughes?”

  Garrett held the breath steady as it left his lungs. “Perhaps we could arrange for a chance meeting. Somewhere you might easily go alone without raising your wife’s suspicion.”

  Martin’s eyes narrowed. “Go on. I am listening.”

  “Saturday morning, we could be at Place des Vosges at...let’s say eleven o’clock?” Paris’s oldest square was close to home and one of Garrett’s favorite places. “You could be there and engage us in conversation. Perhaps share a bench with us.”

  “And you believe this Tara O’Malley will charm me, win my affection, and I will choose to inform her of my identity.” There was no question in the tone.

  If he looked very closely, Garrett could see a hardness that he didn’t want to notice tightening the edges of Martin’s mouth. He shifted his gaze to look directly in his host’s eyes. “Yes, sir. I believe exactly that.”

  “And if I am not won over, what then?”

  The twist in Garrett’s stomach caught his heart as it sank, far too aware he was offering up Tara, the woman he loved, as a dispensable pawn in this risky game.

  “I promise not to tell her who you are.” Garrett jerked a business card from his pocket. He jotted Tara’s number on the back and threw it on the desk in front of the man. “That’s her number. I’ll leave it up to you to contact her when you feel it’s appropriate.” That probably wouldn’t be until Mrs. Jacques Martin number three was out of the picture, but Garrett felt reasonably sure it would happen someday. Maybe sooner than later.

  A wall of silence fell between them and remained for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, Martin picked up the card. He turned it over to Garrett’s information. “Soulard? Ah, the new beer I have been hearing about, yes?”

  Garrett’s ears perked up at the friendliness in the tone. Maybe they were getting somewhere. “Yes, that’s right. We’re a fledgling company, but we’re doing very well.”

  The tips of Martin’s fingers turned white as he gripped the corner of the card, and he shot Garrett a menacing look. “I have many friends in positions of power, Garrett Hughes. If this woman...this Tara...attempts to make any contact with me, it could be very, very bad for your ‘fledgling company.’”

  The ice in his voice sent a chill up Garrett’s spine, but he kept his gaze locked with Jacques Martin’s. Soulard. Everything he’d worked so hard for. And Henri...damn! Damn! Damn! He held out a hand that he willed not to tremble. “And I give you my word that will not happen.”

  Martin studied him for a moment longer then grasped his hand with a firm shake, turning them so that his was on top, in the position of control. “I trust you are as honest and intelligent as you seem. I will be at Place des Vosges Saturday morning.”

  Garrett turned and made his way out the door on legs that were stiff and wooden, breathing deeply to battle the nausea churning up his insides.

  “Au revoir, madame.” He nodded to Jacques Martin’s third wife as he passed.

  “Au revoir, monsieur,” she answered, her cheeks blazing with color.

  How much had she heard...or suspected?

  No doubt, Jacques Martin was already rehearsing the lie he would use to calm her down. It would be interesting to see what happened when the Frenchman’s icy manner clashed with his wife’s heated one, but Garrett had no desire to stick around for that collision.

  It was the Fourth of July.

  Paris might have a fireworks display after all.

  Garrett prayed that Henri and Soulard didn’t get burned by the fallout of the explosion.

  * * *

  “YOU CAN’T GET ’EM like this in Paducah, and certainly not in Taylor’s Grove.” Tara studied the meaty olive before popping it into her mouth. She rolled it around, like Garrett had taught her, appreciating the silky texture and allowing the subtle flavor of the oil to prepare her tongue for the burst of flavor. When she bit into it, the briny tang brought her taste buds to full attention. She held the plate out to Garrett, who declined the offer.

  “You seem preoccupied.” She pointed to the Scotch he’d chosen tonight over his usual wine. “Is everything okay?”

  “Sorry. Hard day at work.” He smiled and tilted Tara’s face up with a finger under her chin. “Let me get my mind back where it belongs.”

  The kiss with a Scotch chaser brought a yummy warmth to her lips and a smile to accompany it. “That makes my two Jacques Martin strikeouts today bearable.”

  Garrett’s smile wavered. “No luck, huh?” She shook her head as he pulled a pen and his copy of her list from his pocket. He drew a line through the top name. “This one isn’t him, either.”

  “Thanks for checking, though.” She got comfortable again with her head against his shoulder. It was too hot to sit so close on the terrace, but she couldn’t resist the opportunity to relax in his arms and pretend that their time together wasn’t waning.

  Garrett didn’t seem to mind. He’d chosen the bench over the separate chairs and pulled her close when they sat down.

  He cleared his throat, and the way his body stiffened against her side told her he was about to say something that made him uncomfortable.

  “I know we’ve talked about it a little, but what will you do, really, if you locate your birth father and he won’t meet you? I mean, he could refuse to even see you.”

  Bless his heart. Garrett was so concerned about how this ordeal would affect her. “I won’t take no for an answer. I’ve come too far for that.” She kept her head on his shoulder, but laid her hand against his chest. “You’ve still got a lot to learn about me, and my stubbornness is one of those faults you’re going to run into.”

  His heartbeat quickened under her palm. “What if he threatens you? Or—” He stopped abruptly, and the concern in his voice pulled her around to face him. The worry she’d heard was etched in his face.

  “If he throws me out?” She shrugged. “I’ll still have accomplished what I came for. I’ll have seen him.”

  Garrett took a deep swallow of his Scotch and a grimace followed. “But if I find him, he could threaten me. Or Dylan. Or Soulard.”

  Anger flashed through her at the thought. “He wouldn’t dare. I’d get the law involved. I assume there are laws here to protect the innocent? And why would he threaten you or Dylan? Or Soulard...?”

  Garrett didn’t a
nswer. Just stared mutely at her flat across the way. His silence jolted a question from her mind.

  “What’s with the worry all of a sudden?” She leaned in front of him to capture his attention. “Did something happen today?”

  He glanced at her, then away, and shook his head. “No, of course not. I was just imagining scenarios.”

  She hadn’t realized how seriously he was taking all this. Coming off the huge media blitz, his head was obviously wrapped around the future of the company. And he was always superprotective of Dylan.

  Taking him up on his offer to help her search for her father had been a mistake. He didn’t need another responsibility or anything else to worry about.

  “Tell you what.” She interlaced her fingers with his. “Forget about looking for Jacques Martin. If it’s meant for me to find him, I’ll do it on my own. And if I don’t find him, so be it.” The worry lines on his forehead relaxed a bit, but they didn’t disappear completely.

  She pressed on. “Come straight home after work from now on. That will give you more time with Dylan.” She shrugged her eyebrows playfully. “And if you play more catch with him, he might tire out faster and go to bed earlier, which will give you more time with me...” She moved to straddle his lap. “To explore my very...naughty...stubborn side.”

  His eyes met hers and the worry wrinkles deepened again. His glance shifted to her eyebrow ring and seemed to fixate there. “I wish we had more time.” He touched the piercing with a fingertip. “I need to know...want to know...everything about you.”

  She captured his attention by placing his palm against her breast. “You want to know how I’m going to react when I’m placed in, shall we say...different positions?”

  She rocked forward and pressed her mouth to his for the most erotic kiss she knew how to give. When she pulled away, she met his dark gaze and lowered her voice. “Take me inside and you can find out.”

  Without so much as a grunt, he stood up.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him carry her to his bedroom, and, once there, she took control of the situation, making good on her promise.

  But, try as she might to get him to relax, intuition told her at least one of his brains was focused somewhere else.

  * * *

  FAITH WAS WORRIED TO the point of being almost frantic. Sawyer usually didn’t stay out fishing this late.

  It was nearly dark, and most of Taylor’s Grove’s population had vacated the town to watch the fireworks display at Kentucky Dam.

  The day with the kids at the cabin had been pleasant although it wasn’t the same with Tara and Sawyer absent. But Thea, Trenton and Emma, who claimed to be “the nearest thing to a daughter without all the pain involved,” had kept her laughing for a good chunk of the time.

  Any mention of Tara had usually involved something funny. But Sawyer’s name had come up with a forced infrequency that dampened her spirit as much as the fake rain they’d lied to Tara about.

  Just before nine o’clock, after a wait that had seemed a lifetime but was actually only a little over three hours, Faith heard the truck in the driveway and said a word of thanks that her husband hadn’t fallen overboard and hit his head on the boat and drowned.

  He probably wouldn’t make the effort to see her, so she went outside.

  “Hey.” She spoke quietly as she approached and watched him flinch at the sound of her voice.

  “Hey, Faith.” He glanced up as he cranked the boat trailer loose from the hitch. “Trent called. He said y’all went to the cabin. Did you have a good day?”

  The gentleness in his tone made her breath quiver in her chest. “It was nice.” She hesitated. “Not like when we’re all together, though.”

  He nodded and it felt like agreement whether he meant it as such or not. He picked up the tongue of the trailer and guided it back a few feet to its regular spot under the carport. The muscles in his arms and back bulged under the exertion, and the sight caused a flutter in her belly.

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to need him, not needing to want him, so desperately. When she opened them, he was rubbing some grease off his palms onto his jeans, which was a little better, but still reminded her he was all man. She moved even closer to where he stood.

  She glanced around nervously for a conversation starter. The boat was already covered, and she didn’t see a cooler anywhere. “Did you catch any?”

  “A few. Couple of pretty nice ones, but I let them go. Didn’t really feel like messing with cleaning them.” He pulled a rag from his back pocket, and lovingly rubbed away the dab of grease he’d gotten on the hull. Satisfied, he rammed the rag back where he got it. He leaned his back against the boat and hooked his thumbs in his front pocket. “Could we, uh...talk for a little while?”

  “Sure!” She cleared her throat to subdue the eagerness in her tone. “Do...do you want to come in? I have some strawberry lemonade made. And rhubarb pie.”

  Rhubarb was his favorite, so passing it up would send her a distinct message. Her breath stopped as she waited for his answer.

  Darkness had fallen while he put the boat to bed, but she saw his eyes flash in the moonlight. “Sounds good.” He nodded, and her heart answered by picking up the quick rhythm.

  She waited for him to fall into step beside her. “I’ve been going through your mom’s stuff, making piles to keep, throw away and give away.”

  When he opened the door for her, his hand touched the small of her back. It was probably a reflexive move, but she pretended it was on purpose and relished the burst of warmth it sent through her.

  While she cut the pie and poured the lemonade, they made small talk about the family treasures she’d discovered in the back of closets. They moved to the table on the back porch and the conversation moved with them to the kids. Even the talk about Tara stayed amiable.

  “She thinks she’s in love?” Sawyer chewed a bite of pie slowly. “That’s a little impetuous, even for Tara. Don’t you think?”

  “I agree. But she’s just like—” you was on her tongue, but she bit it back “—an old mule about things. She’ll have to figure it out on her own.” The first sip of tart lemonade made Faith’s mouth pucker, and the flutter started again when Sawyer grinned. “A little heavy on the lemon,” she warned, and shifted her focus back to Tara. “She’ll be home in a couple of weeks. Once she’s away from him, he’ll lose his appeal.”

  Sawyer laid his fork down. “Unless it’s really love. Then being away from each other’s going to make them miserable.”

  The question in his eyes was unmistakable. And, if he’d only asked, she’d have gladly told him how utterly miserable she was without him. But he didn’t ask. And he didn’t say he forgave her. And he didn’t ask her to come back home. She waited, but the words didn’t come.

  Instead, he went back to his pie, and she pretended the drift in conversation hadn’t happened. “Trent was surprised you didn’t ask him to go fishing with you today.” Actually, Trenton had been peeved when he found out he’d been left behind. Fishing with Dad had always been part of his Fourth of July.

  “I had things I needed to think about. It was best for me to be alone.” Sawyer wiped his mouth with his napkin and laid it beside his plate. “The pie was delicious. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He began to rub his lip with the tip of his finger and her senses went on alert. “I need to tell you something, Faith. I want you to hear it from me first. Not out in town.”

  Her fork rattled against the plate, and she let it slide from her grip. “What is it?”

  “Arlo came to see me yesterday.”

  The president of the Board of Fellowship’s name made the air rush from her lungs. “Already?” Her voice was a hushed whisper with no force behind it. She and Sawyer had just separated Saturday, and this was only Tuesday. Surel
y no one would be pushing them yet.

  “He said the board’s meeting next week.” Sawyer’s eyes dropped to his hands folded in front of him on the table.

  Faith’s breathing came faster, and her head swam from the excess of oxygen.

  “He’s got some obvious concerns.” Sawyer’s eyes rose to lock with hers. The support was what she needed, and her breathing slowed as he continued. “And Sue’s raising a big stink about our separation—just like we knew she would. Her argument’s that we’re being so secretive, it has to be something earth-shattering.”

  Faith’s mind flipped back and forth as she considered Ollie’s advice yesterday. “I told you I didn’t care who knew, Sawyer, and I don’t, but I’ve been thinking...” Scrunching her fingers to make quotation marks in the air she said “‘The secret’ is more Tara’s than ours to share. I was going to leave it up to her.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I want, too. I’m glad we’re in agreement about it.”

  Faith voiced her thoughts. “Sue’s going to keep worrying the snot out of everybody until she gets some answers.”

  “She may get them. She may not.” Sawyer leaned back to rest his elbows on the arm of the chair and spread his hands. “We’ll just wait and see.”

  Faith picked up his plate and stuck it under hers, which still contained half a piece of pie. “Tara won’t be home until after the meeting. So, if the board meets next week, what does Arlo think will happen?”

  “Oh, he was pretty adamant about that—” Sawyer swallowed hard. “Sue’s already got the votes lined up. They’re going to call for my resignation.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “AND I THINK HE’LL DO IT, Henri.” Garrett pushed his flammkuchen aside. “Tara’s father may be the most despicable son of a bitch I’ve ever met.”

  He’d barely touched his lunch, and, since he’d begun his tale to Henri about yesterday’s ordeal with Jacques Martin, his friend hadn’t touched his, either, seemingly determined to drink his meal instead. A special section of hell was probably designated for those people who wasted a meal from a Paris brasserie. To have wasted two servings seemed especially heinous.