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

by Liz Talley

  Wildfire had wiped the area of his heart clean, destroying the leftover debris from times past. It had burned away the rubble of that which was dead.

  It had cleared a space for new growth.

  * * *

  AT 9:07 A.M. MONDAY, FAITH MADE the call to Kay Yancy, whose only recollection of Faith was that she’d slept with Jacques Martin graduation night.

  A reluctance in Kay’s tone had Faith doubting whether securing Jacques’s number was going to be possible—even with the plausible lie about the intended trip to Paris.

  “Jacques’s very different than he was at Murray.” Kay’s voice held a hint of warning. “He’s very private. And very wealthy. A bit of a snob, actually.”

  “Oh, what a shame. He was such a neat person back then.” Faith’s heart quivered at the thought of what she might be putting Tara through, but she pressed on with her made-up story. “I’ll give him a call and feel him out before we make the trip. If he doesn’t seem interested in getting together, I won’t push it.”

  “Well.” There was a long pause on the other end. “Here’s his address and phone number.” Kay quickly relayed the information. “But this is his place of business. We’ve never been invited to his home.”

  “Oh, this will be just fi-fine.” Faith’s throat went dry as the nonchalant attitude dissolved. The numbers and letters she’d written down were scrawled across the page as if the hand that wrote them belonged to someone recovering from a stroke.

  She didn’t press Kay to chat. They had little in common. So she thanked her acquaintance, said her goodbyes and hung up.

  Then she punched in Tara’s number before she lost her nerve.

  * * *

  “SO, IF I GET HOME ON THE second, I can sleep all day on the third, make the meeting the morning of the fourth and spend the rest of that day getting things ready for the kids on the fifth. What do you think, Ethel?” Tara made some quick notes in the back of her journal. When she finished this call, she’d contact the airlines and change her returning flight, so she wanted to make sure she had her dates correct.

  Ethel, the school’s ancient secretary, gave one of her trademark cackles. “You can do that at your age, doll. I’d have to sleep for a week to recover from the jet lag.”

  “I’m actually gaining time coming back,” Tara explained. The phone beeped and she glanced down before she spoke again. “Hey, Ethel, my mom’s calling, so I’m going to let you go now. I’ll see you August fourth.”

  “See you, doll. Have fun.”

  Tara was all smiles as she retrieved the other call. Three more weeks with Garrett and Dylan! “Hi, Mama.”

  “Hi, sweetpea.”

  Her mom’s voice sounded off, and Tara gripped the phone a little tighter. “You okay? You sound upset.”

  “I have...I have Jacques Martin’s business address and phone number...if you still want it.”

  A violent shudder echoed in Tara’s speech. “You—you have it? H-how?”

  She heard the deep intake of breath on the other end of the line. “One of my sorority sisters from Murray knew someone who’s been in touch with him fairly recently.”

  “That’s unbelievable.” Tara was thankful for the chair beneath her as she felt her legs go weak. But she wished she hadn’t just drunk that double espresso. Her heart was galloping at a scary pace. “Yeah. Yeah, I still want it.”

  “Kay says that he’s really wealthy, and quite a snob.” The warning in her mom’s tone was clear. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

  The pounding in Tara’s temples said she wasn’t sure of anything at that moment, but her mouth ran ahead of her brain. “I’m sure.”

  “Do you have something to write on?”

  Tara glanced down, a little surprised to find a pen already in her hand and her journal opened in front of her. Oh yeah, she’d been talking to Ethel and jotting down dates.

  Was that only a minute ago?

  “Gah.” She swallowed, trying to wet her parched throat. “Got it.”

  Her mom spoke slowly, spelling out the name of the street. “Do you know where that is?”

  “No.” Tara pulled out her map. “I can find it, though.”

  “First make sure it’s not in a bad part of town, and don’t go by yourself. Take Garrett with you.” It was unclear if she meant for safety or moral support. “Kay said he’s very private.”

  Tara flinched. “So, you’re saying he might not welcome a long-lost daughter from Podunk, Kentucky.”

  “I’m saying just be careful, precious. Guard your heart.” Tears were evident in her mom’s voice.

  “I will, Mama.” Her own eyes blurred, and she wasn’t sure if the tears were joy, fear or something else entirely.

  “And call me afterward. Okay?”

  “Okay.” Tara glanced at her watch. It was after four. She couldn’t let this wait until tomorrow. “I need to go now.”

  I need to go now!

  “Okay, baby. I love you, and I’m praying for you.”

  Tara found comfort in those words. “You always are. Thanks, Mama. I love you, too. Bye.”

  Tara ran a shaky hand over her face. She needed grounding. Without a second thought, she called Garrett. It went to voice mail, which meant he was in a meeting. She knew the protocol. If it was an emergency, call the business line and the secretary would get him out of the meeting.

  She hung up.

  This wasn’t an emergency. If the secretary interrupted the meeting, he would panic and think something had happened to Dylan.

  She opened up the map and found the street. It wasn’t too far away from the café where she sat. Too far to walk maybe, but a cab would get her there in ten minutes. Fifteen tops.

  Her breathing became erratic.

  In fifteen minutes, she could be meeting her birth father!

  He might not want to see her.

  If she called, he might turn down a request to meet. But if she went to his place of business, she had a good chance of at least seeing him.

  She looked at her blue sundress. It was classy and went well with her coloring. Her hair was fairly tame today since the humidity was low.

  She dug in her purse and found a tin of strong mints, popping a couple in her mouth.

  Coffee breath taken care of.

  She took a few bills out of her wallet to cover her check and laid them carefully on the table.

  She was ready. She could do this.

  Her knees felt weak, but she willed them to hold her up long enough to hail a taxi.

  The driver nodded that he understood the address, and then she was whizzing through the Parisian traffic...on a magic carpet ride to meet her father.

  She punched Garrett’s number into the phone again, and once again listened as it went to voice mail.

  “Garrett, it’s Tara. Mama called and she’s managed to get Jacques Martin’s address and phone number from somebody she knew in college.” She was giddy with excitement now, and the words rushed out. “I’m...I’m going to see him! Right now! I decided not to call first. It’s his business address, so I figure I’ll at least get a glimpse of him if...if nothing else.” She knew she was rambling. “I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. Wish me luck. I love you.”

  She put the phone away. Then, on second thought, she got it back out. She needed to think about what she was going to say, and she didn’t want anything interrupting her thoughts the rest of the way there.

  Not even Garrett.

  She turned off her phone.

  * * *

  GARRETT CHECKED HIS phone as he headed back to his office.

  Two calls from Tara. Odd. But the meeting hadn’t been interrupted, so there was no emergency.

  He dropped the legal pad on his desk.


  The last call came in four minutes ago, and she’d left a voice mail that time.

  “Garrett, it’s Tara. Mama called and she’s managed to get Jacques Martin’s address and phone number from somebody she knew in college. I’m...I’m going to see him! Right now!”

  Oh, God. No.

  “...his business address, so I figure I’ll at least get a glimpse of him if...if nothing else. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. Wish me luck. I love you.”

  Garrett’s head spun, and he leaned on the desk with both hands.

  Tara was on her way to Jacques Martin.

  Bloody hell!

  He had to talk her out of this.

  Her phone went to voice mail.

  Damn it.

  Think!

  He pressed a hand to his forehead, vaguely noticing that both were covered in sweat.

  Call Martin and warn him she’s on the way.

  But he didn’t have the number. He’d given Henri the original back and destroyed his copy, like he’d promised.

  The sound of panting echoed in his ears, and he realized it was his own.

  Where was Tara? Was she out in the city somewhere or had she gone from home?

  Either way, she had a head start. He couldn’t ask Henri for the number again. Too great a risk. And there was no time, besides.

  Garrett rushed from his office, stopping just long enough to let the secretary know he was leaving. Then he was hailing a taxi and spewing Jacques Martin’s address from memory.

  His only hope—Soulard’s only hope—was to make it there before Tara did.

  He called her number repeatedly during the ride, giving up, finally, and leaving a voice mail.

  “Tara, if you get this message before you get to Jacques Martin’s address, please don’t go in. I’ll explain everything. Just wait for me outside. I love you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  TARA STOOD IN FRONT OF the imposing building, trying to bring her breathing down to something that resembled normal rate.

  The taxi ride had taken longer than she’d anticipated with a couple of fast sprints through harrowing tunnels that had her clutching her seat and thinking of Princess Di.

  Amazingly, several times the fact that she was headed to meet Jacques Martin slipped from her mind as she feared for her life. Then, the purpose of the taxi ride would pop back into her mind and she would clench her teeth and hope that meeting her father would still remain an option in this lifetime.

  She should probably spend some time in contemplation of the fabulous architecture of the building, but later seemed like a better time for that activity. Right then, she needed to get on with the task at hand before she lost her nerve...or her chance.

  And she had no guarantee Jacques Martin would even be in, or that he would welcome her unannounced visit.

  She opened the massive door and stepped into a huge corridor whose pink granite floors cast a rosy hue to the ivory walls—an effect she found both charming and soothing. What appeared to be suites of offices lined the sides of the wide hallway. A large lobby opened up the center of the first floor, and beyond it was another corridor, identical to the one she was standing in.

  She felt as if she’d just fallen down the hole with Alice and needed one of those mushrooms that made her larger—and more significant.

  At least one breath came easier when she located the directory on the wall, but when she came to the name, it went erratic again. Jacques Martin, le concessionnaire, 137. She touched her finger to the glass, leaving a smudge after she removed it.

  She began walking, checking the numbers on the doors. All lower one hundreds. When she reached the lobby, dismay brought her to a halt. Seven more identical corridors. Three continued toward the back of the building. Two came into the lobby on her left, and two on her right.

  She stood there for a minute, not sure which way to go next, wishing she’d waited till Garrett could have come with her and divided up the territory. Then her eyes fell on the ornate golden numbers above each corner of the hallways.

  On her left, 190 and 180. On the right, 120 and 130. She walked with a purposeful gait down the right-hand 130 corridor until she stood before 137.

  Jacques Martin, le concessionnaire.

  She had no idea what that meant, and it made not one iota of difference to her.

  The coolness of the suite hit her, as did the coolness of the drop-dead gorgeous receptionist whose crisp welcome held the warmth of a freshly dug radish.

  “Bonjour, madame.”

  “Bonjour, madame,” Tara answered, hoping madame was okay to use even though she was pretty sure the woman was younger than she. “Um.” Tension closed her throat and her mouth went dry, causing her to pause. “Je m’appelle Tara O’Malley. Je...uh...crap!” She forgot the words. Closing her eyes, she “read” them from her frontal lobe. “Je cherche Jacques Martin. Est-il ici?” She opened her eyes and smiled in relief.

  The receptionist, who may have been younger but had a much older air about her, didn’t smile, but looked Tara up and down thoroughly, pausing at the missing fingers long enough to wrinkle her nose in distaste. Tara had seen it happen before, but coming from the embodiment of feminine perfection, the gesture made her flush. “And do you have an appointment, Ms. O’Malley?” The young woman’s English pushed through a thick accent.

  “No. I just decided to pop in.” Seriously? Pop in? “Monsieur Martin is an old friend of my family’s. I was in town, and I promised my mother I would stop in and say hello. They were friends in college.” Tara fought the urge to cover her mouth with her hand to stop her talking.

  “Jacques is very busy.” The use of the man’s first name, and the way she said it, made Tara think this was more than a boss-receptionist relationship. “I will see if he wants to take time for you.” Her tone said he wouldn’t.

  The young woman rose from her seat like Venus in a red peplum halter over a black-and-white polka-dotted pencil skirt. Tara gawked at her red patent leather five-inch stilettos as she walked away from the desk.

  Who dressed like that for work? Even in Paris.

  The sound of a door opening stopped the young woman’s forward movement, but Tara’s eyes continued to where François Martin appeared in an office doorway.

  “Yvette.” He took a couple of steps in the woman’s direction before his eyes landed on Tara.

  “François?” Tara felt her face break into a smile at this happy coincidence.

  For the second time since she’d entered the suite, her smile wasn’t returned. François’s face turned hard and cold, the look in his eyes even colder.

  Tara gave a little wave and took a couple of steps in his direction. “It’s me. Tara O’Malley. We met at the park Saturday. The Place des Vosges? We shared a bench and I played with Attila.”

  The receptionist swung around to glare at her. “You met Jacques at Place des Vosges Saturday? And why do you call him François?” Her icy stare jerked toward François and she said something Tara wouldn’t have understood even if her consciousness hadn’t stalled on the first part of what the woman had said.

  She’d called him Jacques.

  “Your name is Jacques?” Tara’s brain was slow to download the meaning behind this discrepancy, but her heart heard the message loud and clear and took off faster than the taxi she’d arrived in. She pointed a quivering finger. “You’re Jacques Martin?”

  “I want you to leave. Now.” He bit the words out.

  Tara’s mind whirred, trying to make sense of what was happening while protecting her psyche from the encroaching attack. Comprehension breached the barrier quickly. “Meeting you was no coincidence, was it? You knew who I was Saturday...knew I was your daughter.”

  The young woman’s face contorted into a mask of disgust. “Your daughter?”
She pointed to Tara’s hand and barked a mean laugh. “This...this freak?”

  Tara recoiled from the blow as the ice queen melted into a puddle of condemnation, French words spitting out like poison from a cobra.

  Temporarily forgotten by the woman and the man, whose placating words seemed to be falling on deaf ears, Tara took a moment to rise from the verbal punch that had knocked the wind out of her and take stock of what she knew.

  François Martin, the man she’d had such a lovely conversation with in the park...the man with the precious, well-behaved dog...was her father, Jacques Martin. He’d lied about his name because he didn’t want her to know who he was.

  But how did he know who she was? How did he find out she even existed? How did it happen that he found her when the number of people who knew of their relationship could be counted on her fingers—even with some of them gone?

  Someone had alerted him.

  Someone arranged the meeting in the park without her knowledge.

  Someone wanted to give him the opportunity, but not her.

  Her stomach drew into a hard knot, making her queasy. Please don’t let me throw up now.

  Who would do such a thing? Who would make such a cruel, heartless arrangement when she’d come so far and gone to such lengths?

  The door of the suite opened, and the place went quiet as her companions’ squabble was sidetracked by someone’s entrance.

  Tara swung around to face the door.

  “Garrett?”

  She hadn’t given him the address in her voice mail, had she?

  “Get out of my office.” The words spewed from Jacques Martin’s lips. “Both of you. Get out, and never let me see your faces again.”

  Tara heard the command, yet her feet stood firmly planted to the spot. Any movement was going to take her over an emotional abyss, and so she stood motionless, listening to the growl and the shrieks from the couple behind her, unable to tear her eyes from Garrett’s face.

  He didn’t have to say a word. The answers to her questions were all there in the grim set of his mouth.