by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
Lindy—
Don’t give me any hassle. You need to look the part. If it makes you feel better, you can give half of them to the homeless women’s shelter on Market Street when we get back.
— O.
It had made her feel better. She’d already made her selections, and the shelter would be her first stop once they got back to town. How he knew her so well after only a few meetings and subsequent phone calls, she couldn’t fathom, but it was a little unsettling. Now that her initial fears had been truly squelched by a list of references and the dossier he’d provided, she had to face her attraction to him head on. No longer diluted by paranoia, it was a pretty heady thing, and she wondered if she’d find him as devastatingly distracting today as she had the other times they’d met. She sure hoped not, or it was going to be a long three weeks.
A staccato knock interrupted her thoughts and sent the puppies into a frenzy. “Coming,” she called, snatching her coat from the chair as she passed. Her stomach twisted and she laid her hand on the knob. He hadn’t seen her makeover. Would she pass muster in the harsh light of day?
She swung the door open and froze. Owen crowded the doorway, his broad body filling the space. His dark, freshly cut hair was still damp from the shower. He wore his coat open over an athletic fit camel-colored sports jacket. The ensemble emphasized the breadth of his shoulders and his lean waist.
He’s your employer and temporary no-sex husband and you are on a job, she reminded herself firmly. “Good to see you again. Come on in,” she said, bending low to shoo the puppies back and make a path for him.
“Thanks.” He stepped in fast, closing the door before any of them could make a break for it. “Quick little buggers, aren’t they?”
“Yeah. Mal is going to take them to his house for the next few weeks. He should be here any minute.”
Owen glanced around the room. “What about your friend? Mrs. MacElroy?”
“Melba is staying with Nate. Neither wanted to deal with the puppies, so they drew straws. If you ask me, Nate got the tougher end of the deal.”
“Is she difficult to get along with?”
She contemplated that for a moment and then shook her head. “Get along with? Nope, she’s a dream in that sense. Funny, loyal, caring. It’s just things tend to…happen when she’s around. It’s amazing how such a tiny woman can cause such chaos. I’ll miss her when she moves out, though. It’s like having a really destructive mom around the house.”
Owen’s gaze collided with hers. “And your own mother is?”
“My parents are both dead. Car crash when I was ten.” Better to say it plainly, no frills, but give enough info to stay avoid further questions. She had a lot of practice.
“I’m so sorry to hear that.”
Oftentimes, especially with virtual strangers, it was a platitude. The things people said when they didn’t know what else to say. But something in Owen’s eyes made her believe that he understood and truly was sorry to hear it. “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
He opened his mouth as if to say more, then closed it with a snap, opting instead to pick up two of the three suitcases in the foyer. “I’ll start loading the car while you wait for your brother.” He headed for the door but paused, turning to face her. Taking her in from head to toe with a lingering look, he gave a curt nod. “You look great, by the way.”
He had set her up with a stylist at the chic Cirque salon the day before, and she’d gotten the full treatment. The girls over there were truly a coven of fairy godmothers, and when she’d walked out, she felt like a movie star. Now, his offhand compliment sent a warm thrill through her that she refused to examine. He walked out just as Mal jogged lightly up the steps onto the porch.
“Hey, there, sis.” His greeting was aimed at her, but his hard gaze was locked on her employer. “You must be Phipps.”
“I am.”
“I’m Mal, Lindy’s very protective younger brother.”
A shark-like grin split Owen’s face. He had a good couple inches and thirty pounds of solid muscle on her rangy brother and clearly felt he knew how to use it. Still, his response was polite, considering Mal was the second Knight in a week to all but accuse him of malicious intent.
He stuck out a hand and Mal shook it warily. “You don’t need to worry. I’ve no intention of mistreating your sister. My mother would come back from the dead and kick my arse if I ever hurt a lady. Especially one that looks like a pixie.” He treated Mal to a rakish wink, scooped up the bags, and headed toward the car.
“Okay, well she gave me your information, so if there’s a problem, all I need to do is make a call, and…” he trailed off, realizing that Owen had no intention of turning around to complete the conversation. Her brother faced her, concern marring his usually puckish face. “Lin, are you sure you want to do this? The new job is going well, I’m hitting all my sales goals. You could sell the house and stay with me until you find something else.”
“No way. I appreciate the offer, bro, but I love my little house and I love my independence even more. It’s going to be great, you’ll see. This is the first vacation I’ve had in years and I’ll come back rested, flush with enough cash to buy me a few months to find a job I really love.” She tugged a lock of his auburn hair until he met her gaze. “Trust me, okay?”
He nodded half-heartedly. “Okay. But call me every couple of days, all right? I won’t sleep if you don’t.”
“Deal.” She gave him her key and grabbed the remaining suitcase. “Love you,” she said, bussing him lightly on the cheek. “And remind Nate to make sure Melba takes her pills every morning.”
“Will do.”
She plastered a reassuring smile on her face and gave him a jaunty wave before starting down the walkway. Owen hefted her bags one by one into the trunk, his coat pulling tight across the breadth of his shoulders, black hair gleaming in the winter sun. A sizzle went through her as she imagined trailing her hands over those muscles, and the smile slid from her face. He might not be a sociopath, but one thing was for sure.
She was still very much in danger of getting hurt.
…
“Breathe through your nose. There’s a girl,” he murmured with a wince. The private jet had left the ground and Lindy’s fingers dug deeper into his palm with every foot they ascended. They were like little talons. Good thing her nails weren’t overly long or his hands would have been mincemeat.
“Everything’s fine, everything’s fine,” Lindy whispered under her breath. From the time they’d boarded ten minutes earlier, the mantra had been almost continuous. Her eyes were scrunched closed, her face had been drained of all color, and her body was curled into itself like a badger that had seen a fox.
Now was probably not the time to ask why she hadn’t told him about her fear of flying. Nonetheless, the question burned on his tongue. He might’ve suggested she see the physician for something to calm her nerves. Instead, he was playing nursemaid.
The plane smoothly gained altitude and, after a few minutes, Lindy opened one eye. “Are we out of the woods yet, you think?” she squeaked.
“I would say so, yes, but I’m not an expert.”
Wrong thing to say. Her eye snapped closed and she hunkered further into her seat.
“I have flown hundreds of times, though,” he said, “and I’ve never even come close to crashing.”
“So you think you’re probably due, then?”
His annoyance faded and he smothered a chuckle. “Ah, no. My pilot is the best, and even if he wasn’t, I don’t think that’s how it works. But you’re an intelligent woman. You already know this is the safest way to travel, and have probably told yourself that repeatedly. No matter what I say, it’s not going to make you feel better because your fear isn’t rational. Instead of talking about it, let’s try to distract you. If you release my hand I’ll have Elspeth get us a drink. Maybe a brandy would calm your nerves some.”
She opened the other eye and slowly relinquished the death grip on his
fingers. “Maybe.”
They reached cruising altitude, and the plane leveled off. He motioned to his flight attendant. “A brandy for the lady and a scotch, neat, for me.”
“Certainly, sir.”
As she left to get their drinks, Lindy struggled into a more normal sitting position.
“Why don’t I fill you in on some things about the job? When we get there, we’ll be asked to complete some questionnaires so we want to have our story straight. Have you had a chance to look over the file?”
She nodded. “Several times. Want to quiz me about our life together?”
He shrugged. “Sure.” If making it into a game would keep her mind off the whole twenty-thousand feet off the ground thing, he was willing. “All right, then. What’s your name?”
“Belinda O’Neil, but I go by Lindy. I’m twenty-eight and live in Great Neck, Long Island.”
“And your husband?”
“Management consultant Owen O’Neil. Age thirty-five. He enjoys racquetball and sailing. Favorite meal is steak au poivre, blanched asparagus, and parsnip puree,” she recited neatly.
He nodded, pleased she’d done her homework. “All true, by the way, aside from the last name and the job title. I left the interests section of your dossier blank so we could fill it in together. The best lies are close to the truth. No reason for you not to add your hobbies, so long as we can tweak them to match our jet-setting lifestyle.”
“What do you really do for a living, anyway?”
“I’m a venture capitalist.”
She eyed the luxurious aircraft, her sharp gaze flicking from the buttery leather seats to the cabin-sized flat-screen TV. “Must be a pretty sweet gig.”
He gave a curt nod. “Not too shabby. I’m rather good at it.”
“I do have one question, though. Aren’t you nervous Nico will figure out who you are? Can your cover withstand some poking around if he gets suspicious? Or what if he sees the resemblance between you and Cara? There are people I’ve seen in the grocery store and have said ‘Oh, that must be Bill Macullough’s daughter’ because they look so much alike. Plus the accent…”
“Not an issue. I hired a friend who owns a security firm to build our covers. He doesn’t know the details, just that we’re here and I needed some aliases, which he was happy to supply. I don’t think Nico has the time or the means to get through all the layers, and frankly, why would he bother trying? With regard to Cara, she’s my half-sister. My father left my mother for hers.”
Lindy’s eyes clouded with sympathy and he looked away. Why had he even said that? It wasn’t at all pertinent to the conversation. He pressed on briskly. “At any rate, we grew up on separate continents, so she talks like a Yank. He won’t know me.”
“Can I ask how you got so close if you lived so far away?”
“We weren’t close at all until about ten years ago. She’s the only family I have left and vice versa. Part of the reason I relocated to New York was to expand my business to the States, but I won’t lie. The thought of living closer to Cara was certainly a consideration. Especially now when she needs me. I’ve been here for three months and, frankly, I can’t imagine moving back to Belfast now. It’s been really nice having her so close.”
“I feel the same about my brothers,” she said softly. They hit a patch of turbulence and she cringed. “Ugh.”
“Focus on me, all right? We’ve got work to do and I’m paying you a lot of money to do it, so focus.” He held her gaze while he spoke, and took a pen and small notepad from his sports jacket.
“Y-you’re right. Go ahead.”
“When is your birthday?”
“May eighth.”
“Hobbies?”
“I love to bake for people. I try to go to the nursing home near my house twice a month and bring goodies. Cookies, cupcakes, and they love my rice pudding.”
Of course they did. He pursed his lips. “Let’s say we put down ‘Enjoys gourmet cooking.’”
She chuckled and a little of the color seemed to return to her face. “That’s a stretch, but I’ll take it. I can’t cook a lick. Baking is a whole other ballgame.”
“What else?”
“Let’s see…” Her expressive eyes lit up. “Oh, I also volunteer for Big Brothers Big Sisters! I mentor a little girl named Abby. She’s a hoot.”
He put pen to paper again. “So we’ll say ‘board member for several non-profit organizations’.” He paused, and turned to face her. “This is probably out of line, but I have a question for you, Lindy. Do you ever take time to do anything for yourself?”
She stared at him, nonplussed. “What do you mean? All that stuff I named is for me. I like Abby. And I like baking, too. Some of the people at the home have no one, Owen. I might be their only visitor all month.”
God, this woman was a sweet soul, always giving. Reminded him of his sister. “But is there anything you do for yourself? Something self-indulgent, silly even, that you do for the sheer joy of doing it?”
She cocked her head and seemed to mull that over. For a long while, she didn’t speak. “I guess I enjoy singing. Yoga. And dancing.”
“There you go. What do you like to sing?”
“Oldies, mostly. I love cheesy fifties music. Melba and I did a mean duet of ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ the other night when we were making dinner.”
“And dancing? Have you had lessons?”
She nodded once then looked away. “My, uh, mom used to teach ballroom dance. When I was little she’d take me to the studio with her. We’d go early and she’d twirl me around and around until I got dizzy, and—” She cleared her throat. “Well, anyway, that was a long time ago. Now I shake my booty when I get the chance, but that’s about it.” Her voice sounded so small, almost hollow, and it made his gut ache. He could’ve kicked himself for bringing it up. Elspeth returned with their drinks, saving him from having to respond, for which he was grateful.
After she’d gone, he held up his scotch. “Sláinte.”
She clinked her snifter to his glass and mimicked the traditional Irish toast, nailing the pronunciation. Then, she pinched her nose between thumb and forefinger and knocked it back in one swallow.
“Oh, that’s a sipper I think,” he said too late.
She choked and coughed, tears pooling in her eyes. The watchful attendant scurried over with a bottle of water, which Lindy took with a thumbs-up of thanks. She gulped a quarter of it down before wiping her mouth on the sleeve of her four-hundred dollar jacket. “Smooth,” she rasped with a shaky smile.
“Glad to hear it.” He returned her smile with one of his own. More and more, he found himself wanting to do that around her. The fasten seatbelt sign blinked off and he took a quick swallow of his drink then stood. “You okay alone for a minute? I’m going to speak to the pilot and then get you some food.”
“Sure thing.”
Once he’d gotten an ETA and secured some snacks, he headed back to his seat to find the overhead lights on bright. Lindy was leafing through one of the men’s magazines he kept in stock and looked up when he approached. “They sell vibrators,” she said in a stage whisper. “What would a guy need a vibrator for?” Her eyes were bleary and her body weaved, leaning his way.
One drink and Lindy was well and truly inebriated, fluthered. He bit back a grin and plucked the magazine from her limp fingers, giving it a glance. “No, love. That’s not a vibrator. That’s a neck massager.” But damn if her assumption didn’t give him ideas. She gazed up at him, all sleepy and soft looking, and the urge to kiss her gripped him like a boa constrictor.
No. That wouldn’t do at all. They had a task to complete. Even if they didn’t, there was a kind of woman a man could have a laugh with and move along. Lindy wasn’t that kind of woman.
He sat down and put on his seatbelt. Before he’d even settled in, Lindy’s head was tucked against his shoulder, her soft snores tickling his chin.
Yes, for some man—one far less jaded than him—Lindy was a keeper.
Chapter Four
Six hours later, Lindy stared out the car window and swallowed hard, trying to work up some saliva. Awesome how, in her drunken slumber, she managed to leave a giant puddle of drool on Owen’s jacket, but now her mouth was dry as a bone.
“Feel all right?” Owen asked, sparing her a quick glance before training his gaze back on the road.
“Not so much. A little woozy and super thirsty. Could I seriously have a hangover from one drink?”
“It was a big one, and straight alcohol. Not much of a drinker, I imagine?”
“No. I mean, I enjoy a wine cooler as much as the next guy, but the hard stuff? No.” His lips twitched and she stared at him suspiciously. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing at all. You’ll be able to quench your thirst soon. That’s the resort in the distance.”
She followed his finger and sighed. While she was whining, she’d been missing out on the spectacular view. The mountain was glorious. Twin peaks against the purple morning sky. Nestled at the bottom was a sprawling split-log chateau trimmed out in thick, white snow so pristine, it looked like icing on a wedding cake.
She let out a long, low whistle. “Nice.”
Owen’s face hardened, and he nodded. “My sister’s money was well spent. That reminds me. In my briefcase in the back seat, there’s a wide, flat box. Grab it, would you?”
She turned in her seat and did as he asked, then set it on the console between them.
“Go ahead,” he said, gesturing with a jerk of his chin. “Open it.”
She laid the large, leather box in her lap and tugged the lid off. A royal blue swatch of velvet covered the contents, and she pushed it aside. Jewels, like something out of a pirate’s chest, twinkled up at her. Glorious emeralds, rich, blue sapphires, fiery opals. And the diamonds…dear God, the diamonds. If anyone had said she was the type of woman to lose her breath over gemstones, she would’ve rolled her eyes. Yet here she was, positively gobsmacked.
