by Gina Wilkins
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
Dedication
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
Copyright
A small town in Georgia. A family with a past A trilogy packed with sensual secrets and private scandals!
Meet Savannah McBride. Thirteen years ago her actions scandalized the whole town. And she’s been paying for it ever since. Now she’s ready to live a little. But is she about to make the same mistake twice?
Savannah, Tara and Emily — the McBride Women.
They’ve come home to put the past to rest. Little do they suspect what the future has in store for them!
SEDUCING SAVANNAH—
January 1998
TEMPTING TARA—
March 1998
ENTICING EMILY—
May 1998
Southern
SCANDAILS
Dear Reader,
Large Southern families are a favorite theme in my books-—probably because I come from a rather large one myself. And the McBride family, with their secrets and scandals, their legacies and legends, is very close to my heart Savannah, Tara and Emily McBride, cousins raised as closely as sisters, all have to find a way to deal with their family’s infamous history—as well as their own indiscretions—before they can pursue their dreams and find romance along the way.
While developing the concept for this miniseries, I came across another theme I’d always been curious about—exploring the way the labels we are given in childhood remain with us as adults. Savannah, “the pretty one,” labeled a flirt and a party girl, is still dealing with an overdeveloped aversion to gossip. Tara, “the smart one,” the one everyone thought most likely to succeed, finds herself facing failure for the first time in her life. And Emily, “the homebody,” has been so busy taking care of everybody that she’s neglected herself. Finally there is Lucas—Emily’s brother— labeled a murderer by the residents of the small town where he grew up. The more I get to know the McBrides better, I’m thinking that Lucas has a very special story to tell…
As a lifelong reader who has found many hours of entertainment in books, I have been truly blessed to be able to pursue a career doing what I love to do-telling stories. And so I’ll begin. Once upon a time in a small Southern town…
Happy reading,
Seducing Savannah
Gina Wilkins
For Brenda Chin, my editor, in recognition of her talent, her professionalism, her genuine appreciation for this genre, and— most of all—her patience!
Prologue
“ARE WE REALLY sure this is such a good idea?”
Kneeling beside a freshly dug hole in the springdamp, rich Georgia dirt, Savannah McBride looked up at her cousins as she asked the question. Inside the hole rested a mud-encrusted cypress chest that had once belonged to their grandfather, Josiah McBride.
Fifteen years earlier the cousins had filled the chest with personal treasures and buried it in this spot in the woods with the solemn promise to dig up their “time capsule” on Savannah’s thirtieth birthday. They were still several weeks shy of that occasion, but they’d impulsively decided to excavate the chest today to take their minds off the reason they were together—the funeral of Savannah’s uncle, Josiah McBride Jr.
Now Savannah was having second thoughts about revisiting the past. She winced as she thought of that childish letter, filled with grandiose plans that were so completely different from the way her life had actually turned out.
“Maybe we should wait,” twenty-eight-year-old Tara said after a moment. “It has been only fifteen years. Time capsule contents are much more interesting after more time has passed, don’t you think?”
Emily McBride, the youngest at twenty-six, firmly shook her head. “We’ve already trekked out here and dug it up,” she said. “We might as well open it.”
It was Emily’s father who had been buried that morning, after a long, miserable illness through which she had unselfishly taken care of him. And it had been Emily who’d talked Savannah and Tara into changing into jeans and sneakers and following the old path into the woods behind Emily’s house to this huge oak tree where they’d spent so many childhood hours, munching candy bars and sharing secrets.
“Besides,” Emily added, “wouldn’t you rather be doing this than hanging around in the house with all those other people?”
That clinched it, as far as Savannah was concerned. She’d rather wrestle an alligator than go back to that house full of chattering townspeople and cold greenbean casseroles, where she was constantly aware of the surreptitious glances slanted her way, the avid murmurs that stopped as soon as she approached, the carefully veiled comments that let her know the old scandals hadn’t been forgotten by the residents of tiny Honoria, Georgia.
“Your children aren’t with you today?” several had politely inquired, even knowing that Savannah rarely brought her twins to this place where they would be eagerly studied for family resemblances, where they were likely to overhear gossip that would only hurt them.
Go back to the house? Not until she absolutely had to, Savannah thought flatly.
“Okay, cousins. Let’s see what’s in here,” she said, dragging the old chest out of the hole.
Mud had seeped through the cracks and seams of the wooden trunk. Her hands protected by gardening gloves, Savannah plunged in and pulled out the filthy contents, while her cousins leaned close to watch.
The three shoe-box-sized plastic containers protected within the bags still looked almost new. Each box had a name written on the lid in faded permanent marker. Savannah picked up the first one. “Tara” she said, reading the childishly formed letters.
Looking uncertain, Tara reached out to take the box from Savannah. She held it as gingerly as if she’d packed it with explosives all those years ago, Savannah thought with wry amusement.
“Where’s mine?” Emily asked.
Savannah handed her the appropriate container and Emily moved away, staring at the box with a mixture of anticipation and fear.
The final container in the chest had Savannah’s name written on it with a flourish of curlicues and squiggles. She hesitated a moment before picking it up. Waves of memories flooded her mind, whirling, crashing, almost overwhelming her.
The first ten years of her life had been almost fairytale perfect. “Daddy’s little princess,” she’d been. She could almost see him now, coming home from a hard day’s work with sweat on his brow and a gift for her in his shirt pocket—gum, candy, a pretty ribbon, an inexpensive bracelet. It didn’t matter. She’d loved them all, because she’d adored him. How he’d spoiled her, telling her she was pretty, she was smart, she was talented, that she could be and do anything she wanted.
And then he’d died.
Savannah’s mother had continued to spoil her, though in her own odd, almost prosaic way. Ernestine, who’d grown up on the wrong side of the social tracks, had urged her pretty, popular daughter to be everything—head cheerleader, homecoming queen, soughtafter date.
Savannah winced in response to memories that were almost too painful to contemplate.
“Savannah?” Emily prodded. “Aren’t you going to open your box?”
Savannah wanted to refuse. Wanted to shove the box and the trunk right back into that hole and cover them with dirt, to stomp it down and pretend she could do the same with the memories. But then she
looked up at Emily and saw the rather lost expression in her younger cousin’s wide blue eyes, and Savannah’s heart twisted in sympathy.
“Yes,” Savannah said gently. “I’m going to open it.”
By unspoken agreement, they moved apart. Savannah had packed the contents in layers of newspaper. The Honoria Gazette. She was tempted to look through the old pages, but her attention was drawn, instead, to the objects they had protected.
There was a small tiara, studded with rhinestones that spelled out Junior Miss Honoria. A miniature royal-blue-and-white pom-pom to represent her envied position as head junior-high cheerleader. A program from a school play, in which Savannah had played the lead. A dried-up corsage. A photograph enclosed in a clear plastic sleeve—herself as freshman prom queen, wearing a formfitting, shimmering blue gown and standing beside her date, Vince Hankins, captain of the football team. Every girl in town had wanted to date him. Savannah had felt like the luckiest girl in the world when he’d turned his frequently fickle attentions her way.
She stared blankly at that photograph, remembering….
Remembering the time he’d hit her for smiling at another boy. He’d left a bruise on her cheek. She’d told everyone she’d fallen.
Remembering the way he’d made her cry by telling her that she would be nobody if he dumped her. That the girls who envied her and emulated her would turn on her if he declared her “uncool.” She’d believed him. Rightly so, it had later turned out.
Remembering the night of her sixteenth birthday, when he’d made her prove her love for him in the back seat of his father’s Cadillac. She’d cried all night, then had to wear extra makeup to school the next day to hide the evidence. That was the day he’d given her his class ring to wear. The envious looks she’d gotten from the other girls had almost made her forget the humiliation of the night before.
She’d been an idiot. Blind. Gullible. Shallow. Needy. And when she’d become more trouble than she was worth to Vince—when she had become pregnant less than six months after that first clumsy bout of experimentation—he’d dropped her like a hot coal. And so had all those “friends” who’d formerly surrounded her.
She’d been so young when she’d packed this box. Fifteen. Shallow and materialistic, obsessed with her looks, with possessions and popularity. And yet she’d been so eager and hopeful, so certain that everything she wanted would come to her in time. Vince Hankins had stolen that optimism from her along with her innocence.
She forced her thoughts back to the earlier memories, those precious times with her father. She’d been so blissful then. Even when she’d buried this box, she’d been happy, thriving on the attention she’d received, naively unaware of how quickly envy could turn ugly.
She shouldn’t have let Vince take her happy memories along with everything else, she realized with a renewed surge of anger.
Thoughtfully, she looked at her cousins, wondering if the memories their treasures had evoked were any more pleasant than her own. Tara’s expression was unreadable, but it wasn’t hard to tell that she wasn’t happy. Emily looked stricken, her face pale as she stared down at something she held in her hand. Savannah didn’t know which of her cousins needed comforting most. She hardly felt in a position to help either of them.
She looked down at the box in her hand, at the unopened letter lying among the other mementos. And she knew she couldn’t open it, at least not just then.
First, she had to look long and hard at what her life had become. And then, she had to decide if she wanted it to remain that way.
1
HE WAS WATCHING her again.
Savannah glanced across the outdoor dance floor toward the man who leaned against a palm tree on the far side. Tiny white lights strung overhead combined with flickering candlelight from the tables surrounding the dance floor to cast intriguing shadows on his handsome face, increasing the air of mystery surrounding him. She thought of him tonight as a pirate, an illusion enhanced by their Caribbean surroundings, by his loose black shirt and fitted black slacks, by the longish dark hair that tumbled carelessly over his forehead.
He fascinated her.
She took a sip of her champagne and told herself that the bubbles must be going to her head. Just because the man was sinfully gorgeous, just because he seemed to be staring at her every time she’d spotted him, there was no reason for her to get carried away by fantasy.
And yet a tiny voice inside her kept asking, Why not get carried away? This vacation on Serendipity Island was the last reckless adventure of her twenties. A chance to remember what it was like to be young, free, daring…and totally without responsibility for the first time in thirteen years.
An orchestra played from a raised platform at one end of the dance floor, filling the perfect, tropical night with sultry music. Couples swayed and twirled, talking softly, merging in the shadows, looking so happy and cozy that Savannah felt a twinge of envy.
That was something else she’d never had, she mused. Romance. True intimacy.
Was it too late?
A shiver of awareness coursed down her spine, causing her to look again in the direction of the man in black. He was making his way toward her, a look of determination on his face that caused equal reactions of excitement and wariness within her.
He strode through the maze of tiny tables and ornate little chairs with a natural grace and fluidity that made her mouth go dry. His eyes locked with hers from several yards away, letting her know that he’d had enough of just watching her. He was making his move.
And that challenging little voice inside her said, Go for it, Savannah.
He could have stepped straight out of a foolish, romantic fantasy, she found herself thinking as she watched him walk toward her table. His dark, layered hair looked windblown and touchable. Angelic dimples combined with the devil’s own smile. Six feet of lean, tanned, firm body. Thick-lashed dark eyes that could cajole a woman into doing something incredibly unwise.
He held out his hand to her, the gesture both inviting and a bit arrogant. A pirate’s move, she thought. And his voice was as smooth as old Southern sippin’ whiskey when he said, “Dance with me.”
The orchestra began to play a new number, one that Savannah recognized immediately. “That Old Black Magic.”
Was this magic? Or just her long-starved romantic imagination being fed by the island, by the music, by this man’s dangerously beautiful smile?
She placed her hand in his.
And almost gulped when his fingers closed around hers—strong, warm, alive.
Undeniably real.
He led her to the dance floor, then turned to take her in his arms. Their gazes locked when he pulled her close to him, the jolt of physical awareness as apparent in his expression as she knew it must be in hers. A sense of wonder filled her as he studied her face for a moment, seeming to memorize every feature, before he began to move.
His shoulder was broad and strong beneath thé soft silk of his shirt. Savannah could feel his warmth through the fabric. Well-defined muscles shifted beneath her fingertips. She very nearly shivered in response.
She hadn’t danced in ages. Longer than she could remember. Yet she danced with this enigmatic stranger as if they’d had years of practice, as if they knew by instinct when to turn, when to sway, when to move apart, when to come back together.
What was happening between them?
“What’s your name?” he asked her, never taking his gaze from her face.
“Savannah.” She didn’t add a last name; details seemed unnecessary in a fantasy.
He rested his cheek lightly against her hair, bringing them slightly closer together.
His voice was a low rumble in her ear. “Kit.”
“Excuse me?”
“Kit,” he repeated. “My name.”
Kit. A suitably piratical name for this man in black, she thought with a private smile.
The orchestra was playing “Bewitched” now. How could they possibly know exactly what Savannah w
as feeling?
She was vividly aware of the heat of Kit’s right hand at the small of her back. The thin fabric of her filmy black dress provided little barrier between his warm palm and her suddenly-sensitized skin. His left hand was still closed around her right, his hold firm, almost possessive. As if he had no intention of releasing her anytime soon.
She didn’t want him to release her. Being this close to him felt much too good. She could go on like this for hours.
Kit smiled down at her when the orchestra broke into a new, swingier number, “Cheek to Cheek,” from the Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers movie Top Hat.
“Ready for this one, Ginger?” Kit asked, demonstrating that he, too, knew the song.
“I’m game if you are, Fred,” she replied with a smile.
He promptly swung her away from him, then pulled her more tightly against him. “‘Heaven. I’m in heaven,’” he crooned in a better-than-adequate imitation of Astaire.
And Savannah knew she was dangerously close to falling for him. How could he possibly know that she was a pushover when it came to old movies and old songs?
Kit ended the dance by dipping Savannah back over his arm in a dramatic move worthy of the big screen. She clung to him, laughing and breathless, for once uncaring of what anyone around them was saying about her. Who cared? She would never see these people again. Tonight she was having more fun than she’d had in a very long time, and she intended to savor every moment of this magical evening.
Kit didn’t immediately release her, even after the music stopped. Savannah’s smile faded as their eyes met, locked. She wasn’t aware of the other dancers, of the orchestra members moving off the stage for a short break, of anything except Kit’s body pressed close to hers, his mouth hovering inches above her own.
She swallowed hard as her pulse began to race.
