Now, he understood how his mother felt about Keeley Jacobs. She’d said Keeley was a part of her husband. She couldn’t turn her back on her. How would Dad feel if she were to kick his flesh and blood out of the family without first trying to make contact, to include her?
No matter what the woman said, he would try to keep that in mind. How would he feel if someone did the same to his children, if they refused to acknowledge them? The ache in his chest grew. Did Dad know about Keeley? The thought his father would throw away an unwanted child squeezed at Alex’s heart.
“This is Keeley Jacobs.”
“Hello, Ms. Jacobs. This is Alex King. I’m calling on behalf of Amelia King, my mother.”
A moment of silence followed before she replied.
“I expected this call. Please tell Mrs. King that I want the sale of the land and house to go through as soon as possible. There is a business proposition I’m investigating, and I need the capital.”
His brothers would have a cow, or in Clint’s case 64
A Perfect Bride for Christmas a horse. The woman wanted money, pure and simple. But Mom was adamant about meeting Keeley Jacobs so he’d give it his best shot and pour on the King charm. “I never had a big sister before, so this is a little awkward.”
“I’m not your big sister.”
He could feel the ice all the way from San Francisco. He held his breath, counted to ten.
“Technically, you are. You have a family here in Missouri. Mother and the rest of the family would like you to attend my wedding on Christmas Eve, and she would like you to stay for Christmas.” That might be a lie but it would serve the purpose. He’d explain to Mom and his brothers later.
“Is this a joke?” The suspicion came through loud and clear.
Alex knew he’d made a mess of this, so he might as well go all the way. “Mom really wants to meet with you, get to know you. She’s worried you would refuse.”
“You probably think I’ll see dear old Mom and forget about my portion of the estate.” Her accusation hit the mark.
“Come for the wedding and Christmas. We can discuss the business end after the holidays. Give us a chance to get acquainted, and we’ll work out the particulars once you’re here. No one will keep you from what you deserve. You are a member of the family.”
There was a long pause.
“Are you still there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here.”. Keeley’s voice lost its harshness. “Let me check my calendar, and I’ll get back with you.”
“Good, good, that’s all I can ask. I really hope you’ll make it to the wedding.”
“Thank you for the invitation.” This time she sounded sincere. “Good-bye, Mr. King.”
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“It’s Alex. I’m your youngest brother. I’ll be in touch.” He hit the end button on his cell phone. Now, all he had to explain his crazy plan to the rest of the family. Keeley Jacobs would be one tough cookie to crack, and if anyone could get through to the woman, it would be his mother.
Amelia King was a force to be reckoned with, a F4 tornado if came down to it, and he’d inherited a bit of that tenaciousness. He and his brothers weren’t about to let Keeley Jacobs throw his mother out of her home. If it came down to a buyout, he’d foot the bill, and his mother wouldn’t know a damn thing about it.
A knock sounded on his door, and Tommy walked through. “I wanted to see how things were going with you. Did you ever get the probate issue settled?”
Alex leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. “I’m working on it. There’s something else.” He had to confide in someone. Not his mother, nor his brothers, not yet. Tommy already knew the gruesome details of his rushed wedding and quickie annulment. He’d glossed over the worst of it for his family’s sake, not even his brothers knew the identity of the woman. He’d only told them it was a stupid act of a drunken man.
Tommy sat down in the chair opposite Alex and put his feet on Alex’s desk. “What’s that?”
“I saw Zoe Hillman today, or rather yesterday, as well.”
“Oh.” Tommy tried to sound nonchalant. “How did that happen? And how is our Zoe Pie?”
Alex’s eyes popped open on a shimmer of anger.
“Don’t ever fucking call her that again.” He gave Tommy’s feet a hard shove off his desk.
Tommy’s feet hit the floor, his hands up in surrender. “Whoa. Sorry, man. What brought that on? It never bothered you before.”
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“Well, five years ago, I was a stupid ass. Just like you.”
“Hey, hey.” Tommy got to his feet, his freckled face red with anger. “I just call them like I see them.
She’s fat, plain, and dumpy. All right, the joke sucked, but she should take as much of the blame as me.” Alex got up as well. Maybe he ought to deck Tommy for calling him on that bet five years ago. A rage he’d never felt before blossomed in his chest.
“You only saw the outside. She is the best person I’ve ever known. Loving and giving.”
“Cut the crap.” Tommy paced the floor with his hands in his pockets. “You never saw any of that.You agreed the marriage wouldn’t work, that she’d never fit in.”
Shame slicked over the anger, making his outrage even worse. “I admitted to being stupid.”
“And blind. The woman had the hots for you so bad that she was the office joke. She took a shot and lost. End of story”
“Not the end of the story.”
“What?” Tommy stopped pacing, his face screwed up in disbelief. “Ah man, don’t tell me she’s got her hooks into you again.”
“That stunt of ours produced more than the shortest marriage in history. She got pregnant.”
“So what? That’s the oldest ploy in the world.”
“It’s not a ploy. I saw them for myself. They’re mine”
“Them—twins?”
Alex shook his head and smiled. “No, triplets.”
“You’re sure? Triplets? Fuck. You screw her one time, and you get triplets. You never do anything half way, do you?”
It took every ounce of restraint Alex possessed to keep from pounding Tommy’s face to a greasy pulp. First wanting the steak, tasting the brisket on 67
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Zoe’s luscious mouth, and now the hot rush of anger that made him want to beat his chest and rip out Tommy’s heart.
“Yes. Beautiful little girls—who all look like me,” he growled. “The only thing I need to confirm paternity is a DNA test.”
“We’ll ask for that, of course.” Tommy paced in circles, his face hard with concentration. He seemed oblivious to his imminent danger. “A suitable amount of child support isn’t out of the question. I’d think Zoe would be content with that.”
“I wouldn’t. I want to be part of their lives.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? You’re about to get married.”
“I know, I know.” Alex sat on the edge of his desk. He picked up his pen and slapped it against his hand. “You’re not saying anything I haven’t already said to myself. The thing is, Zoe’s changed. A lot.” “We’ll just order the paternity test and go from there.”
Alex nodded, but in his heart, it didn’t feel right.
Nothing felt right anymore, except the moment he kissed Zoe.
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A Perfect Bride for Christmas Chapter Eight
Zoe tossed and turned, first too hot, then too cold. Maybe she had the onset of early menopause, maybe she’d gone out of her mind. Either way, she couldn’t sleep. Alex had turned her life upside down with one kiss—a kiss she had to admit she wanted.
She threw off the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed. A chill hit her but it felt good on her overheated skin. She saw only dark out beyond the window. No moon tonight.
A quick look outside confirmed her fears. It had snowed, and from the looks of it, at least four inches.
That meant no sc
hool today. Cherri would take care of the kids, but they still demanded a lot of attention when they were home.
It also made catering a hell of a lot harder. She’d have to work in extra packing and travel time to the different locations. With any luck, the snowplows would have everything under control before she had to hit the roads.
There had been snow the night she’d been stuffed into a limo with Alex and Tommy Dunne.
She remembered the smell of it, leather mixing with exhaust fumes from the city streets and the odor of alcohol in the limo. The Plaza lights were cheery and as pretty as a Christmas card. She sat, hands and feet tucked in close, while her groom-to-be and his best man celebrated without her. She hadn’t cared.
Alex King would be her husband in a few hours and once he understood how much she loved him, he would love her back.
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What a crock.
Zoe threw the curtain aside. How could she have ever believed such a lie? Easy, if yesterday’s kiss was any indicator. The first time, shame on you. The second, shame on me. That would be her new mantra.
She sat back on the bed and picked up the remote control. All she could find were infomercials and men with skinny moustaches wanting to sell her a new product designed to clean her colon. No thanks. She shivered at the graphic pictures. She’d leave well enough alone.
Disgusted, she turned off the television and picked up the latest romance she’d bought at the bookstore. She didn’t believe in true love, not the way described in the books, anymore than she believed in Santa Claus, but it made for a nice read.
The moment the hero kissed the heroine, she pictured Alex.
That didn’t work either. She threw the book aside.
Hot cocoa sounded like a good idea on a restless winter night. Maybe it would put her to sleep. If that didn’t, she had a big bottle of brandy someone had given her as a birthday present.
Zoe padded down the stairs, careful not to wake her sleeping children and headed for the kitchen.
She put on the kettle for the hot cocoa and glanced up at the clock on the wall. It read three in the morning, and she felt wide-awake.
It might be early for some, but she started a batch of croissants for breakfast. The girls loved them. She’d allow herself one as a treat, other than that, it she’d make do with eggs, bacon, and a small bit of fruit.
From the moment she’d found out about the gestational diabetes, she’d kept herself on a strict diet. The weight rolled off, even during her 70
A Perfect Bride for Christmas pregnancy. It thrilled her to have her stomach stuck out, full of babies rather than with blubber. The day she reached a loss of one hundred and fifty pounds, James insisted she go in for a tummy tuck and breast reduction. Not for him, but the skin hung on her body in a way that depressed her as much as being fat. He wanted her to be happy.
Still, the loss of weight and surgery didn’t change her. It didn’t make her happier like she thought. That she had to do on her own, learn to take joy in her children and in a man who truly loved her. That was the secret.
Yes, her new life in Kansas City made her happy, regardless of Alex King. She took a sip of cocoa and heard the sound of scuffling feet. Mia peeked around the corner.
“Hey, baby.” Mia was indeed her baby, born a half hour after Macy and Michaela. “Shouldn’t you be in bed? What’s wrong?”
Zoe sat in one of the kitchen chairs and held out her arms. Mia scrambled into her lap with the desperation of a child who was hurting. Mia had always been the sensitive one, the child who felt deepest and fiercest. “Mia, honey.” Zoe ran her hand over the dark hair, so like Alex’s, and laid her cheek against the top of Mia’s head. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
Her warm, little body snuggled closer. “Do we have a real daddy?”
Zoe’s heart twisted in her chest. “Of course you do—did.”
“Aunt Brenda said—”
“I heard what your Aunt Brenda said.”
“Michaela and Macy think Mr. King is a hop-on daddy.”
Now Zoe was completely baffled. “A hop-on daddy?”
Mia blinked up, her bright blue eyes filmed with 71
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tears. “Like on TV. Animal Planet. You know, the daddy hops on and goes away. The mamma has the babies.” Mia shivered. “Sometimes the daddy’s kills the babies.”
Zoe’s gut twisted into knots. How did she tell her child about the screwed up lives of adults?
She blew out a short breath. “I knew Mr. King a long time ago. We were friends, but we did something stupid. We got married when we shouldn’t have. Do you understand? I got really mad at him and left before he knew anything about you. I met your daddy, and he loved you, watched you being born.”
“Is Mr. King our real daddy?”
It would come out now or later, and Zoe couldn’t hold back the lie any longer. “Yes, he’s what’s called a biological father.”
Mia’s eyes still held concern. “He won’t kill us, will he?’
“Oh, no.” She held Mia close and planted another kiss on her head. “He’ll probably want to get to know you better. That’s all.”
Zoe sincerely hoped Alex would leave them alone.
****
After another night of excuses, Sydney insisted on showing Alex her surprise. He’d conceded on his lunch hour, followed her across town to the heart of the city. Expecting some wild, mid-afternoon sexual tryst, she surprised him when she pulled in front of a brick-faced warehouse renovated into upscale lofts. What the hell?
When the doorman greeted her by her first name, understanding filtered through his confusion.
He rode the elevator to the top floor, grinding his teeth all the way. By the time she inserted a key into a brass doorknob and flung the ornate wood open, he’d figured it out—she’d bought a luxury loft in 72
A Perfect Bride for Christmas downtown Kansas City without bothering to consult him. Alex had made the mistake of assuming they would stay at her place until they found something they wanted. He’d even given notice to his landlord.
They’d talked about what they wanted in an apartment—Alex voted for conservative and casual.
A put-your-feet-on-the-furniture kind of place.
Conservative didn’t begin to describe what lay inside. The interior designer she’d hired filled the loft with ultra modern furniture, streamlined cabinetry, and bright colors that were pure Sydney.
Pure money.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” Sydney twirled around the room, picked a hot pink pillow off the lime-green couch. “Can you envision making love in front of the fireplace with all that glass letting the night in?”
He took in the bank of windows loaming over the Kansas City skyline. All that clear glass, and not a mini-blind or drape in sight. It made him itchy.
Alex liked his privacy, and he had a thing about closing the drapes at night.
“I’m not marching around, bare-ass naked, for all of Kansas City to see.” He took in the huge maw of the fireplace carved from a wall of unfinished concrete. Maybe it was supposed to say something to him, in an architectural sense. It could only be described as ugly. Butt Ugly, as Clint would say.
She dropped the pillow on the floor. Typical Sydney. Why put anything back to where she got it?
That’s what she paid a maid for. How many times had he heard her laugh and say she supplied job security for someone less fortunate, like being a slob equated to national service? He used to think it adorably funny. Now, he felt annoyed with her patronizing attitude.
Sydney sensed his lack of enthusiasm. She skipped over to the kitchen with an island of black 73
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and stainless steel accented with a healthy dose of red. Maybe her designer chose the color to camouflage the blood if someone sliced off a finger while trying to use the culinary gizmos on the counters.
“Look, at the kitchen. State of the art.” She sounded more like a re
al estate agent trying to convince a prospective customer to sign on the dotted line.
“Who’s doing the cooking?”
“Me, silly.” She opened a cabinet and pulled out a cookbook with enough French names on the front to require a degree in linguistics to decipher. Sydney flipped through the pages and pointed her finger at a recipe complete with step-by-step instructions for something or other en croute. The picture showed what looked like a hunk of meat wrapped in pie dough.
“When did you learn to cook?”
“I don’t know how, at least not yet, but I plan to take lessons after our honeymoon. I want to make special dinners for you and hold parties. Lots of parties.” She slicked her hand over the black granite, past the sink, before ending at the refrigerator. “Ta da.” She pulled out a bottle of champagne and took down two glasses from the rack hanging over an island. This must be her first attempt at planning a party for two.
“I thought we might celebrate.” Sydney gave him the smile that usually signaled some hot nasty sex. “To break in the place.” She gave them a sassy little shake, along with her backside. “Follow me.”
Not an inch of arousal stirred his dick to action.
He knew everything worked just fine, especially after his lunatic kiss with Zoe yesterday morning.
Nope. Everything was in dandy work condition. It should’ve worried him that Sydney’s antic left him cold. Instead, he followed her out of curiosity, rather 74
A Perfect Bride for Christmas than her blatant sexual lures.
“This is the bedroom, the only bedroom, and it takes up at least a third of the loft. I told the architect I wanted an adult’s playroom, as well as a bathroom to die for.”
The ultra-modern living space gave way to a bedroom that could’ve been straight out of an old Rudolph Valentino silent movie. Sheer Morocco. A sultan’s harem. Reds, golds, glitter, and mirrors everywhere, and enough material hanging off the bed and walls to clothe a small country. She’d already lit some obnoxious incense that made his nose hairs burn.
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