by JoAnn Ross
Letter to Reader
Title Page
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Copyright
“I’d never let anything happen to you.”
Kate believed him absolutely. She lifted a hand to his face. At the same time, a dark cloud drifted across the night sky, revealing a crescent of moon. The silvery stream of light illuminated his face, allowing her to see the way his eyes had darkened again to that thrilling, terrifying, stormy-sea hue.
Alec let out a breath, then, in one violent motion, yanked her against him. Feeling his rock-hard arousal, knowing that she’d caused his dramatic response, fanned the flames of her own desire even higher, and this time her soft cry was one of wonder. Of need.
As his mouth closed over hers, not gently, Alec was consumed with urgency. He forgot gentleness, surrendered control to the wild warrior within as he plundered, taking what he wanted and demanding more.
He’d gone from merely tasting to devouring in a single rapid-fire heartbeat. His hands were everywhere, cruising over her face, tangling in her hair, diving below the thigh-length cotton nightshirt to race over her body with an incendiary touch.
For a man who’d always prided himself on his control, Alec was discovering that restraint was absolutely impossible whenever he was with this woman....
Dear Reader,
In 1999 Harlequin will celebrate its 50th anniversary in North America. Canadian publishing executive Richard Bonnycastle founded the company in 1949. Back then they published a wide variety of American and British paperbacks—from mysteries and Westerns to classics and cookbooks. In later years the company focused on romance exclusively, and today Harlequin is the world’s leading publisher of series romance fiction. Our books are sold in over 100 countries and published in more than twenty-three languages. Love stories are a universal experience!
Harlequin Temptation is delighted to help celebrate this very special anniversary. We’re throwing a bachelor auction...and you’re invited! Join five of our leading authors as they each put a sexy hero on the auction block. Sparks fly when the heroines get a chance to bid on their fantasy men.
Longtime favorite Temptation author JoAnn Ross sets the stage for the bachelor auction in the romantic, sexy Mackenzie’s Woman. JoAnn has written over fifty novels and has an incredible 8 million copies of her books in print. Truly she is one of Harlequin’s shining stars.
Each month we strive to bring you the very best stories and writers. And we plan to keep doing that for the next fifty years!
Happy anniversary,
Birgit Davis-Todd
Senior Editor
Harlequin Temptation
JoAnn Ross
MACKENZIE’S WOMAN
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON
AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG
STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO MILAN • MADRID
PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
Prologue
New York City
DURING HIS ADVENTUROUS thirty-five years, Alec Mackenzie had talked his way out of a potentially deadly encounter with a tribe of headhunters in New Guinea, wrestled a crocodile in the Australian outback and survived a Sahara sirocco for five days with only a package of beef jerky and a canteen of water for sustenance and a nasty-tempered camel named Clyde to block the blowing sand. But of all the perils he’d managed to survive, none had possessed such potential for danger as this one.
Oh, the Grand Ballroom of the world renowned Waldorf-Astoria admittedly might seem, at first glance, far more hospitable than the no-man’s lands he usually hung out in. The round tables were draped in snowy damask and adorned with elaborate, sweet smelling floral centerpieces. Dark green bottles of champagne were nestled in ice, glasses continually filled by formally dressed waiters. The gilt chandeliers glowed overhead like a thousand suns and the expensive perfumes worn by women clad in sparkly gowns made the lushly appointed ballroom smell like the gardens at Versailles.
Diamonds glittered like the ice surrounding the champagne bottles, emeralds and rubies sparkled, gold gleamed.
But Alec knew, better than most, that appearances could be deceiving. The truth was that he’d rather be thrown stark naked into a school of archaeologisteating piranhas than to be standing here on this stage, dressed in black tie, allowing more than a thousand pairs of avid female eyes to ogle him.
The bright lights at his feet and the flashing of light from all those crystal beads and sequins blinded Alec. But he didn’t need the sense of sight to know exactly where the woman who’d gotten him into this mess was sitting. He’d always had internal radar where Katherine Jeanne Campbell was concerned. Just as he’d always had a soft spot in his heart for the headstrong, frustrating, but oh, so luscious female.
Which was, of course, partly why he’d allowed her to rope him into this charity gig in the first place. But it was only one of the reasons, Alec reminded himself with a hot surge of masculine resolve.
The charity auction being held in the Big Apple to celebrate Heart Books’s fiftieth anniversary was admittedly for a good cause. As a bestselling adventure novelist, Alec certainly had a vested interest in building his audience, and no one could fault the romance publisher’s goal of raising funds to assist various literacy agencies. However, since he was, thanks to both the treasures he’d uncovered and his books, a wealthy man, it would have been a lot easier just to have his accountant write out a hefty donation check.
But oh, no, that would have been too damn easy, Alec thought darkly. He tried to remind himself that he’d spent his entire life not trusting things that came too easily. Still, the idea of being auctioned off to the highest female bidder—like some bedouin’s rangy goat!—rankled.
It didn’t help that he had only himself to blame, since in the end, it had been his choice to put himself on the literacy auction block. But only because he was a man with a plan.
The first time he’d seen his Kate, across the proverbial crowded room, Alec had felt exactly the same way he’d felt when he’d caught his first glimpse of the Maria Isabella. After years of searching, he’d found the galleon lying silent at the bottom of the Caribbean, her treasure trove of Spanish gold his for the taking. When he’d first seen Kate she’d been wearing a prim little dress-for-success, pinstriped gray suit that, while not the least bit sexy in cut or color, had set off her red hair and revealed smooth, slender legs.
Mine, he’d thought instantly. He’d wanted her with a passion that Alec might have found unnerving if he’d taken time to think about it. Which he hadn’t. The only thing that had been in his fevered mind that night was that he intended to have the flame-haired female. Which he had. Again and again. But when morning had dawned, he’d made the biggest mistake of his life: after a blistering argument, he’d let her get away.
But not tonight, he vowed with grim determination.
As the emcee introduced him with embarrassing hyperbole, relating his expeditions in a breathless way that had him sounding like an exaggerated version of Indiana Jones, Alec ran his finger around the inside of the overly starched collar and tried to remember the last time he’d worn a tie, let alone a tux. Ah, his cousin John’s wedding, which had been what, seven, eight years ago? Just one more thing Kate was going to have to pay for, he vowed.
At least he’d cut down the bidding pool. Suspecting tha
t most females were suckers for grand romantic gestures, he’d purposely chosen a date he figured the majority of attendees would willingly pass on. After all, how many women would be all that eager to go on an archaeological dig in icy Lapland? There wasn’t a lot of demand for designer dresses and expensive scents north of the arctic circle.
Surely prospective bidders would prefer a romantic candlelight dinner at some trendy city restaurant to caribou stew, canned beans and a dessert of freeze-dried peaches from his store of military surplus meals served up in a tent staked out on some far distant iceberg.
The emcee extolled his so-called attributes—his fame, his fortune.... His body, which he’d always considered adequate for what he needed it to do, but she insisted on calling cover-model hunky. In the mean time, Alec indulged in a fantasy of all the ways he planned to collect on the long overdue debt.
Oh yes, he thought with grim satisfaction, Kate had enjoyed her little dance. But as soon as this damn charity bachelor auction was over, they both knew that it would be time—way past time—for her to pay the piper. And Alec was more than ready to collect.
An archaeologist who delved into ancient civilizations while searching the world for hidden treasures, Alec had always believed important lessons could be learned from the past. And in Kate’s, case, if past experience was anything to go by, the woman he’d come to think of as his Achilles’ heel would relish every hot sexy moment. As would he.
He may have begun this adventure seeking revenge, but during the past few days, his goal had changed. Oh, he still intended to have her. But not for any brief hot affair.
He’d come here to New York tonight and was putting himself through this embarrassing dog-and-pony show for one reason and one reason only—to get his woman back. In his bed, and in his life, where she damn well belonged. Forever.
1
Heart Books New York Offices
One month earlier
“WHAT WE NEED is a hero.”
The statement, tossed out in the middle of the meeting, caused every head in the conference room to turn toward K. J. Campbell.
“Excuse me?” A vice president of public relations arched a blond brow.
“For the auction,” K.J. qualified. “We need a hero.”
“We have a plethora of bachelors signed up for the literacy auction. In fact,” the vice president said with obvious pride, “we’ve just managed to sign up Jeffrey Winston III.”
Terrific,” K.J. muttered. “That’s all we need, another banker.”
“A millionaire banker,” Molly Stewart, who was sitting beside K.J. at the long, hand-carved mahogany conference table, murmured. Although the editor’s tone was mild, everyone in the room knew it was a warning to her best friend. Ticking off vice presidents was not exactly conducive to career advancement.
But it was K.J.’s nature to speak her mind, and although she honestly tried not to rock boats, the buttoned-up corporate world could never change nature. “Winston’s got bucks,” she agreed. “And I’ll admit he’s kind of cute, in an uptight, wing-tipped, Harvard Business School way.”
“And don’t forget the fabulous date he’s offering.” A representative from the art department entered the conversation. “A champagne dinner for two and a moonlit cruise aboard his yacht is a wonderfully romantic evening.” The twenty-something woman sighed, just thinking about it.
“It’s ordinary,” K.J. complained. “It’s been done a million times in a million romances. And when you get right down to it, if you take away his bucks, Winston’s just an ordinary, run-of-the-mill guy with a great wardrobe. Let’s not forget, people, who we are. And what we do.”
On a roll now, K.J. stood up and began to pace, her forest green silk skirt twirling around her knees when she reached the window and spun around to face them all again.
“We’re Heart Books. Our name is synonymous with romance all over the world. And while I agree that the bachelor auction is a great way to raise money for charity—”
“I′m so delighted you approve,” the editorial director murmured dryly.
“Oh, I do.” Intent on making her point, K.J. decided to overlook the tinge of sarcasm in the cultured voice. “Absolutely. But I woke up in the middle of the night and realized we’ve overlooked what we’re really about.”
“I have no doubt you’re about to tell us what, precisely, that is,” the vice president said coolly.
“You’re right. I am.” She stopped in front of a tabletop-size bronze reproduction of The Kiss and paused for dramatic effect. “We may be in the romance business. But we don’t really sell romance.” Her gaze swept the room. “What we’re actually selling is hunks.”
“Which we have in abundance for the auction,” Lisa Harding, senior editor, noted.
“True. Granted, a lot of the men signed up so far fit the category of hunks. But too many of them are still the kind of regular, everyday guys you can meet at the office.”
“Not this office,” Molly murmured.
K.J. huffed a frustrated breath. “Not everyone works in a building overrun with females. My point is that you can throw a wine cork in any upscale bar in the city after work and hit a dozen guys just like the bachelors we lined up so far.
“What we’re missing, ladies and gentleman,” she added, smiling at the outnumbered, lone male in the room as if hoping to win over his vote, “is a true-to-life hero. A man who’s larger than life, someone women all over the world would fantasize about—”
“Someone like this?” a woman from marketing asked, holding up the hardcover novel she’d been reading earlier while waiting for everyone to show up in the conference room.
As she took in Alec Mackenzie’s author photo on the back of the dustcover, K.J.’s breath clogged in her lungs. Instead of a studio shot, the casual photograph had been taken outdoors with the author wearing a rumpled khaki shirt that looked as if it had been washed on rocks in some far distant stream. Pyramids loomed in the background.
The subject was squinting because of the bright sun overhead, the lines fanning out from his gunmetal gray eyes adding character, not age, and his jet-black hair—the color of a moonless night over the Scottish moors—was ruffled, not by the electric fans used for similar effect during romance cover shoots, but by an actual desert wind.
Now you’ve done it, the puritanical censor that lived in the back of her mind and spoke with her grandmother’s voice piped up. Proving that some things—and some people—were impossible to escape, the voice had popped into her head shortly after her grandmother’s funeral.
“This guy has hero written all over him,” the marketing woman pointed out unnecessarily.
“Surely you’re not actually suggesting getting Alec Mackenzie for our auction?” The publicity vice president’s astonished tone echoed the expressions on nearly all the faces in the room—a combination of impatience and disbelief.
“Why not?” Molly asked, obviously getting in the spirit of things. “K.J. has a point. We do need a guy who’s a hero. And Mackenzie’s a real-life Indiana Jones. I read in Publishers Weekly that he’s one adventure writer whose female readership equals his male audience. And I can’t believe anyone thinks that’s because millions of women are all that interested in buried artifacts.”
“Actually, his stories are quite gripping,” the marketing woman argued, reaching out to reclaim her book from K.J. “And he doesn’t exactly look for artifacts. He’s more of a treasure hunter.”
“That may be,” Molly agreed as K.J. handed the thick novel over. “But are you reading that novel because you’ve always had a burning desire to learn about sunken Spanish galleons, or because you’re lusting over the hero of the adventure, worldrenowned archaeologist Jake Germaine?”
The woman flushed, just a little, but enough to make Molly’s point. “Jake’s a complex character,” she insisted. “Mackenzie has done an admirable job of fleshing him out, revealing more of his personality with each book.”
“He damn well should know the guy p
retty well,” Molly said. “Since it’s common knowledge that the adventures of the intrepid, drop-dead-sexy, fictional treasure hunter, Jake Germaine, are more autobiography than fiction. We’d have women standing in line to buy tickets.”
“I’ll admit that Mackenzie would be not only the icing, but the candles on our fiftieth-anniversary cake,” the editorial director agreed cautiously. A reluctant, but speculative gleam lit up her eyes. “But how do you suggest getting him to agree to such a thing?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to just ask him right out. The worst he could do would be to say no.”
“It might be worth a try, if we could find him. Even when he’s not in some far-off corner of the world, the man’s ridiculously reclusive,” the publicity vice president said. “I had lunch with his publisher’s PR guy a couple weeks ago and he was drinking doubles because Mackenzie had just turned down an offer to appear on Oprah.”
That remarkable news earned a chorus of surprised murmurs from all of the assembled staff but K.J.
“We still shouldn’t give up,” Molly insisted. “Maybe he’ll fall for the literacy charity angle. After all, the more people who can read, the more people there are who’ll buy his books.”
“He’ll never go for it,” the publicity person warned. ”I tell you, for a man who could probably sell another hundred thousand copies on a book tour on sex appeal alone, Mackenzie’s reported to be dead set against public appearances. Besides, the guy’s a poster boy for wanderlust. How do you suggest finding him.”
“Good question.” Molly turned toward K.J. “Maybe you can give it a try. Didn’t you get to know him at a conference last year?”
