The Three Musketeers: Born to Be Wild is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1995 by Donna Kauffman
Excerpt from Blaze of Winter by Elisabeth Barrett © 2012 by Elisabeth Barrett.
Excerpt from Light My Fire by Donna Kauffman copyright © 1997 by Donna Kauffman.
Excerpt from Santerra’s Sin by Donna Kauffman copyright © 1996 by Donna Kauffman.
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
LOVESWEPT and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
The Three Musketeers: Born to Be Wild was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1995.
Cover photo: Gettyimages
eISBN: 978-0-345-53731-7
www.ReadLoveSwept.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
Dedication
The Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from Elisabeth Barrett’s Blaze of Winter
Excerpt from Donna Kauffman’s Light My Fire
Excerpt from Donna Kauffman’s Santerra’s Sin
PROLOGUE
He plummeted toward the earth.
Zach Brogan arched his back, thrusting his chest and hips forward. Cool air buffeted his body as a familiar inner heat rapidly consumed him, making his fingertips tingle and his toes curl. He savored the incredibly odd dual sensations of feeling both weightless and stone-heavy while the ground rushed up to meet him.
God, this was almost better than sex.
The never-ending vista of arid, desolate landscape lay fully exposed below him, and his mind seized every detail, living each second of the free fall to the fullest.
The Atacama Desert in northern Chile wasn’t the most hospitable place in the world and probably ranked about dead last as a vacation locale. Unless, of course, you enjoyed the challenge of finding your way out of a cold desert with little or no resources except your skill as a survivor.
For Zach, the land below was his own version of Disneyland. Deserts, mountains, volcanoes, mild rain forest vegetation, rugged steep cliffs that hugged the ocean, all courtesy of one country. A thrill-seeker’s paradise.
“Hot damn, this is a rush!”
The words crackled across the stratosphere into the headphones inside Zach’s helmet. The addictive intimacy of those first few moments of free flight dissolved, and Zach let it go without remorse. He’d felt it before. He’d feel it again.
The broad grin came naturally as he shot a thumbs-up to the man falling through space beside him, automatically running a mental checkup on his client’s position. Posture good. Chute release properly positioned between his fingers.
Zach lowered his chin and spoke into the small microphone. “Two seconds.”
The man next to him nodded and returned the thumbs-up. A breath later he disappeared from sight. Up, up, and away.
Zach rolled and looked up into the startling blue afternoon sky, making sure the canopy and pilot chute had opened properly and that Cortinez was following correct procedure, then returned his attention to the ground.
He should pull now, but he didn’t. Pushing, pushing … Another hot rush stole over his skin; his pulse pounded, he grew hard.
At the last possible moment he yanked the cord.
ONE
Today her dream job had all the makings of a perfect nightmare. Dara Colbourne rushed down the hallway to her office. “I should have known better than to stop off at Cavendish’s office on the way in.” She swore under her breath, a common occurrence after a meeting with Dream A Little Dream’s founder. “That man gives new meaning to the term benevolent dictator.”
She shifted the pile of folders threatening to topple from her arms, careful not to jostle the cup of now-cold coffee in her hand. She’d hoped to go over her notes one last time before confronting her first appointment. And a confrontation it was likely to be. Having the upper hand right from the start was imperative if she was to get this over with quickly.
Of course, during their history together she’d never once had the upper hand with him, but she was a firm believer in positive thinking. Besides, a lot could change in fifteen years.
“Please, let him be soft and slow,” she muttered, knowing that particular prayer wouldn’t be answered but asking anyway. “And late.”
Using her hip, she bumped open the door. It moved two inches, hit something solid and swung swiftly backward. Directly into her coffee cup.
“Oh!” The cold brew soaked through her favorite white silk shirt. Her once-favorite white silk shirt, she amended silently, staring down at the blotchy brown mess.
Her office door swung open again, and a tall, broad body filled the entrance. Biting down on a curse, Dara looked up. Past faded, dusty jeans that became increasingly formfitting, past the black T-shirt tucked snugly enough to showcase the flat abdomen it covered, past the words “No Fear Gear” scrawled in electric blue across a vast expanse of hard-muscled chest, past the tanned neck framed with unruly blond hair, and came to rest on the pair of mischief-filled brown eyes that had haunted her throughout her childhood.
Eyes she’d once thought—hoped, prayed fervently even—she’d never have to see again.
The cold coffee dripped between her breasts and trickled out beneath her bra to track down her stomach. “Zach Brogan.” She smiled dryly. “How nice to see you again.”
His wink was as sexy as it was audacious. “Sure you saw enough?”
The voice was still teasing, but rather than high-pitched and ornery, it was low and dark. Not sounding remotely like the teenager he’d been the last time she’d seen him. So much for soft or slow.
“I can show you more if you like,” he added easily. His grin spread, flashing even rows of perfect white teeth. It was nothing short of astonishing just how incredibly generous Mother Nature had been to him.
More proof that life wasn’t fair.
A truth she worked to change every day, and one she doubted he had even a passing acquaintance with.
“Well,” she said with studied nonchalance. “The body has improved, Brogan. But the mind is still in grade school.”
He made a sizzling sound and shot her a mock wounded look. “Little Dart, Still a fire-breather, I see.” Zach lifted the pile of folders from her arms without asking, the unwieldy stack looking somehow small and manageable in his big arms. “It’s been a long time.” He inclined his head, motioning her into the office ahead of him.
“Fifteen years,” she responded, moving quickly past him.
“Seems hard to believe we never bumped into each other in all that time.”
It wasn’t hard for her to believe. She’d been fifteen when her mother had remarried and they’d moved from Madison County to Fairfax. Both counties were in the state of Virginia, not fifty miles apart, but back then it had seemed a galaxy away. Her twin brother, Dane, had worked hard over the years to maintain his friendship with Zach.
Dara had just thanked her lucky stars to be rid of him.
She heard him close
the door behind her. “We don’t exactly move in the same circles,” she said finally, not really wanting to get into their particular past.
“No. I don’t imagine you travel in a circle at all. More of a straight-line type, I hear.”
The underlying edge in his statement caught her off guard, but she managed to swallow the retort that sprang to her lips. After all, she wasn’t an awkward teenager any longer. She could hold her own against the likes of one Zach Brogan without resorting to childish one-upman-ship.
Leaving him by the door, she walked directly to her desk, grabbing the box of tissues sitting on one corner. His gaze on her back was a tangible thing, and she was surprised at the instant of awareness the knowledge provoked in her. It took an annoying bit of extra concentration to keep her hands steady.
Of all the emotions she’d have expected to feel upon facing her childhood tormentor again, sexual awareness hadn’t even made the list. Oh, Dane had kept her informed over the years of just how charming and dashing all the ladies thought Zach to be. But that had been the case all through school, beginning with kindergarten when he’d wrapped poor Mrs. Potter around his then-pudgy pinky finger by asking her to marry him on the second day of class.
Dara, on the other hand, had been completely immune to it—inoculated early on by his endless pranks at her expense—and she really hadn’t imagined time would change that. His globe-trotting, wild man lifestyle might seem exciting and exotic to some women, but Dara was no longer drawn to bold, larger-than-life males. It had taken several painful lessons for it to sink in, beginning when she was eleven and her much-adored pilot father had died, and finally, mercifully, ending with the death of her athlete fiancé when she was in college.
Bold and brash may have enticed her when she was young; she’d been quite the daredevil herself as a kid. But that was then. She’d grown up and entered the real world. And she’d never looked back.
She certainly didn’t plan to now.
The stack of folders appeared on her desk as she dabbed at the sticky mess on the front of her shirt, jerking her thoughts back to the present. She felt his warm breath on her neck an instant before he spoke.
“I’d help you with that,” Zach said, his deep voice touched with humor, “but I bet Dane we’d go ten minutes before you slugged me, and I don’t want to lose twenty bucks.”
The tissue she’d been pulling from the box ripped in half at the sudden jerk of her hand. “Your money’s safe,” she said after a moment, hating the smile that threatened. “I can handle it,” she added, hoping she wasn’t lying. Yanking a wad of tissues from the box, she edged away from him, dabbing at her blouse while she moved behind her desk.
She’d just made the mistake of thinking of him the way he’d been the last time she’d seen him; an immature teenager just discovering the joys of testosterone. She stupidly hadn’t factored in the reality that he was now a man full grown. A man who likely knew just what to do with all that testosterone.
Steadfastly ignoring the responding tingle that idea brought on, she looked down and swiftly rearranged the stack of folders on her desk. “Please, have a seat.”
He brushed off the back of his jeans and sat in one of the padded leather chairs across the desk, his huge frame dwarfing the hand-tooled seat.
Catching her looking at the fine layer of dust he’d just sent sifting to her Persian rug, he smiled and shrugged. “Desert dust. The Chilean airstrip I used didn’t exactly come equipped with a changing room. And once I hit Dulles, I figured I was beyond redemption.” His grin made it clear he wasn’t the least disturbed by that notion.
Beyond redemption. Even dusty with a day or two’s growth of beard, she was forced to admit he was sexier than sin. And the devil himself would kill for that smile.
She ignored it. “I appreciate your making it here today,” she said, putting all the poised professionalism she’d earned over the last eight years into her voice.
His raised eyebrow questioned her sincerity, but all he said was, “I understand you have a problem with using my company, The Great Escape, in conjunction with a donation made to the foundation.”
“It’s not personal, Zach. Really.”
His smile was as dry as the desert dust coating her carpet. “Really.”
“Really,” she repeated, her tone sharper than intended.
“Well, that certainly explains why I had to scramble to get someone to replace me in the middle of a trip—a very complex, expensive, prepaid trip I might add—because you refused to deal with anyone but me.”
“I had no choice. You know the donor specifically requested you to run the trip he’s funding. Dream A Little Dream Foundation relies solely on private donations to fund the granting of wishes made by handicapped and terminally ill children. Occasionally a donation is made for a specific wish, which is the case this time. You have to understand how important it is that every aspect of each wish we decide to fulfill be thoroughly checked.”
Zach stretched out his long legs and crossed his arms. “This was all explained to my assistant. I know she provided you with everything you requested. What exactly is the problem?”
“My research has raised some serious questions, and I thought it was important to give you the chance to discuss them before I present my report to the board this afternoon.”
“And if I hadn’t shown up?” His tone seemed sincere enough, but his lazy sprawl suggested he wasn’t overly concerned.
“I can’t speak for the board, but I imagine they would have postponed this particular wish request until we could contact the donor and get his approval for another outfitter.”
Zach looked confident. Too confident. “I don’t think you’re going to have much luck contacting the donor anytime soon.”
Dara sighed. He knew about Jarrett. She hadn’t been sure, but it didn’t really surprise her. Though they didn’t see each other often, Jarrett McCullough, her brother, Dane, and Zach, were still good friends.
As children they’d been known as the Three Musketeers of Madison County. Dara’s constant bid for and continual humiliating failure to gain acceptance into the group as the fourth musketeer is what led Zach to brand her with the nickname Dart. Short for D’Artagnan. Short, because that’s what she’d been. Short, scrawny, and for the entire fifteen years they’d lived in Madison County, generally considered by the trio to be a major pain in the butt.
“How did you find out?” she asked. “Did he tell you?”
“Actually, no. I didn’t know anything about it until Beaudine contacted me in Chile about this meeting.”
“I guess I don’t have to tell you why he requested anonymity.” Dara knew that up until his wedding a month ago, Jarrett had run a courier service that specialized in handling sensitive information. Usually dealing with thwarting various terrorist activities. His wife, Rae, had been one of his top couriers. “I know he’s only consulting now,” she went on. “But I guess with Rae and Jarrett out of the country on their honeymoon, they can’t be too careful. No one knows where they are, not even Dane.”
Zach shrugged. “Me either.”
“So how did you find—?”
Zach’s raised hand stopped her. “Beaudine has contacts that would scare the President. I didn’t ask how. But I didn’t question it either.”
The name Beaudine Delacroix had come up occasionally when Dane forced her to listen to the wild re-counting of his and Jarrett’s annual break from sanity which Zach planned for them every summer. She’d never met her, but from everything she’d heard, Dara concluded the woman was nothing short of amazing. Sort of a Cajun Mrs. Doubtfire.
“I did try to contact Jarrett myself,” Zach said. “By then even Beaudine couldn’t get an exact location on them.” He raked one hand through his hair, making it look even wilder than it had before, something she hadn’t thought possible.
Her gaze dropped back to his, and the dark intensity she found there was completely at odds with his I-couldn’t-give-a-damn attitude.
> “Are you really willing to let these kids wait for their camping trip until Jarrett and Rae surface?” He settled his arms back across his chest and crossed his ankles. “I’m pretty booked up, but I’ve got the manpower and can probably rearrange things enough to get this in within a month or so.”
Dara wasn’t fooled now. His relaxed posture was simply a calculated move to get her to drop her guard. Zach might be a crazy man, but one look in his eyes proved he was far from stupid.
She took a steadying breath. She had to get him to see this from her point of view. “Zach,” she began, “surely you understand why we can’t have Great Escape run this trip?”
To her increased annoyance, she realized his attention had wandered—to her blouse. Specifically the part that was plastered to her chest. Her body reacted in an alarmingly instant and very visible manner.
She leaned forward on folded arms, not caring that she was dripping coffee on her sleeves and her desktop, steadfastly ignoring the knowing twinkle in his eyes as his attention shifted back to her face.
Lord, but it was getting harder and harder to keep her train of thought on the same path for more than two minutes.
“Zach,” she began again, determined to end this swiftly. “Let’s face it. You’re not a typical outfitter.”
His grin was as wild as his hair. “Yeah, I know.”
Dara sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. The man was incorrigible. “I wasn’t exactly complimenting you. You’re a thrill-seeker. Your company caters to people who think intentionally courting death is fun. Your idea of a good time is skydiving into active volcanoes and hang gliding off of glaciers, for crying out loud.”
“Don’t forget diving in shark-infested waters,” he added with sincerity. The padded leather creaked as he leaned forward. “You keeping tabs on me, Dart?” Another lazy grin curved his lips. “I didn’t think you cared.”
Talk about shark-infested waters. I won’t let him get to me, she repeated silently like a mantra.
Of course, it would be a whole lot easier if he didn’t sit there looking so damn … healthy. And if that deep voice of his didn’t make her feel so incredibly … aware. And just when she’d get him pegged as nothing more than an outrageous flirt, that sharp edge would appear in his eyes, making her wonder just what sort of thoughts were really lurking behind them.
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