Dynasties: The Elliotts, Books 1-6

by Various Authors

  At the mention of Cullen’s name and the reminder of how much he loved her, Misty’s mouth curved up in a grin. “I know.”

  “Should we go downstairs and tell them we’re ready to get this party started?”

  Her fingers flexing around the base of her rose and lily bridal bouquet with strips of pink ribbon hanging nearly to the floor, she nodded. “Yes, let’s.”

  With her hand in Bridget’s and butterflies dive-bombing low in her belly, Misty left the room, walked down the hall and stairs to the lower level of the sprawling mansion, and toward the back of the house where her other bridesmaids were waiting to precede her down the makeshift aisle.

  Bridget left her at the back of the gathering, rushing around to match up each bridesmaid, including herself, with the appropriate groomsman.

  Cullen’s father, Daniel, would be escorting Misty down the aisle, and as he approached, she saw a glint of emotion dampening his eyes. Close to tears already, she quickly looked away, linking her arm with his and busying herself with the folds of her gown and ribbons of her bouquet.

  Once everyone was lined up and ready to go, Amanda gave the signal for the orchestra to begin playing “The Wedding March.” As the first strains began, Misty’s heart lurched in her chest, and she had to tell herself over and over again to take deep breaths and relax.

  She may not have wanted to step outside and have hundreds of guests gawk at her, but she most certainly wanted to get to the end of this day and finally be Mrs. Cullen Elliott.

  The minute she saw him, standing in front of the flower-strewn trellis at the other end of the pink pathway, her nerves left her. A sense of calm swept over her entire body and a gentle smile curved her lips.

  Cullen smiled back, and from that moment on, they had eyes only for each other.

  When they reached the minister, Daniel kissed her cheek, then turned her over to Cullen. Their fingers twined and he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. She squeezed back, never taking her gaze from the man she was about to marry.

  The minister spoke of love and commitment, and before she knew it, it was time for them to exchange their vows. In turn, they each promised to love, honor and cherish, which Misty knew would never be a problem for either of them. And then the minister told Cullen he could kiss the bride.

  “My pleasure.”

  Cupping her face in both hands, he leaned forward until their breaths mingled. “I love you,” he whispered, for her ears only.

  She blinked rapidly, feeling her heart swell near to bursting inside her chest. “I love you, too.”

  And then he was kissing her, a soft, chaste meeting of their mouths that still managed to convey all the passion and devotion their future together would hold.

  Epilogue

  “That was some pretty incredible newlywed sex,” Cullen said, combing the hair away from his damp brow before pressing a line of kisses down Misty’s throat, chest, the underside of her breast.

  They were in their suite at the Carlyle, blessedly alone. The wedding reception had dragged on forever—at least it had seemed that way to Cullen—until at last he’d been able to whisk Misty away.

  A limo had brought them back into the city, and he’d had the honor of carrying her—in all her bridal finery—into the hotel lobby, up in the elevator and across the threshold to the honeymoon suite.

  She’d protested that she was too heavy, too largely pregnant, but to him she was as light as a feather. Even if she hadn’t been, the adrenaline pumping through his veins would have allowed him to carry her the entire length of Manhattan.

  Not one to overlook even the smallest detail, his mother had made sure that the room was filled with fresh flowers, gourmet chocolates and two bottles of chilled champagne—one regular and one nonalcoholic.

  It was lovely, and everything a newly married couple could hope for, but Cullen had barely given it a second glance.

  Instead, he’d carried his new bride straight to the king-size bed and slowly peeled the pristine white gown from her luscious body, languorously making love to her for the first time as her husband. The experience had been so moving, so elemental, he’d wanted to cry.

  The second time, he had realized that Misty really and truly belonged to him. Forever.

  He was one hell of a lucky man.

  “If I’d known,” he added, “I’d have wrangled you down the aisle years ago.”

  She laughed, the sound skating down his spine like chips of ice while she rubbed the back of his calf with the arch of her foot.

  “I still can’t believe you wore fishnet stockings under your gown.”

  When he’d run his hand under her dress, only to find the sexy, revealing things covering her shapely thighs, it had been quite a surprise. But in a good way. A very good way.

  “I thought they were appropriate,” Misty said. “As a reminder that even though you made me an Elliott today, I’ll still always be a showgirl at heart.”

  “Amen to that,” he muttered with feeling.

  And then his hands began to wander again. His palms circled and stroked the taut mound at her middle, followed by his lips. “Have I ever told you how sexy I find your pregnant belly?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said with a chuckle, feathering her fingers through his hair.

  “I love touching it, feeling the baby move inside and knowing I played a part in putting it there.”

  “You certainly did.”

  “And now we have the birth to look forward to. Diaper changes and midnight feedings. Maybe even siblings.”

  Keeping his hand on her stomach, he kissed a trail back up to her mouth. “Have you thought of any names yet?”

  “No,” she answered, looking drowsy and sated, lying naked on the silky sheets. “Have you?”

  “A few. And I’m sure my family will have some suggestions of their own.”

  He was watching her sparkling emerald eyes, so he saw the slight shuttering of her gaze at the mention of his family.

  “What’s the matter?” he asked.

  She shook her head, her teeth toying distractedly with her bottom lip.

  A stab of concern hit him low in the gut. “Tell me,” he said, stilling his caress of her body.

  “It’s nothing bad, I just didn’t have a chance to tell you before the wedding.”

  Releasing a breath, she turned her head on the pillow, looking him straight in the eyes. Her arm moved until she found his hand and linked their fingers together.

  “Your grandfather came upstairs to see me before the ceremony.”

  Cullen reared back, shocked to the soles of his feet. “What? What did he say to you? Did he upset you? Threaten you? Did he offer you a bribe not to marry me?”

  “No. No, no,” she quickly assured him, stroking her free hand over his bare shoulder in a soothing gesture. “That’s the thing. He was nice to me, and sort of…welcomed me to the family. I think.”

  For a few seconds, all he could do was stare down at her as though he’d been smacked between the eyes with a brick.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he finally found voice enough to mutter. “I have to admit, I never expected Granddad to come around. I’m glad, though.”

  He pushed the hair back from her brow and lightly kissed the corner of her mouth. “Now do you believe me when I say you’ll make a fine Elliott?”

  “I don’t know. But it certainly is a relief to know your grandfather doesn’t hate me anymore…and won’t end up hating you in the process.”

  “Wouldn’t matter if he did,” he replied confidently. “You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone tell me we can’t be together.”

  She brought her hand from the back of his head to hold out in front of them—her left hand, with its obscenely large diamond ring and bright gold wedding band flashing in the light of the bedside lamp. And then she touched that same hand to the side of his face.

  “Here’s to four years as your mistress,” she murmured, “and the rest of my life as your wife.”

  “I�
��ll drink to that,” he said before covering her mouth with his own. “Later.”

  CHARLENE SANDS

  Heiress Beware

  Published by Silhouette Books

  America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

  Special thanks to Jefferson County Deputy Sheriff Jackie Tallman for her help and guidance in getting the facts straight. My heartfelt gratitude goes to one-time Navarro County Deputy Sheriff Betty Swink and Hollis Swink for their help and constant loving support. And a big thank-you to senior editor Melissa Jeglinski for creating such a great cast ofcharacters for the Elliotts continuity series.

  Acknowledgment

  Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Charlene Sands for her contribution to THE ELLIOTTS miniseries.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  One

  “Don’t you dare die on me,” Bridget Elliott pleaded for all she was worth. But the darn rental car died despite her plea. The motor shut down and no amount of key turns and pumps to the gas pedal would do any good.

  She peered out the windshield to view nothing but vast dry Colorado land, an abundance of road ahead and a bright dawning sun that promised a sweltering day to come. A born and bred New Yorker, she was accustomed to scorching June days, but she’d never been to Colorado, and from the look of the place, she hoped she’d never have reason to come here again.

  But her mission was just, and the hot tip she’d received last night during her cousin Cullen’s wedding reception had put her on a late-night plane. She’d flown all night, making plans and hoping to add one last chapter to the book that would expose secrets and lies her grandfather had imposed on their family for two generations. Patrick Elliott, the family patriarch, owner and CEO of Elliott Publication Holdings, one of the largest magazine empires in the world, would finally be exposed for the man behind the image. There’d be no more positive spin on the Elliott clan. Bridget planned to clear the air, uncover family secrets and expose scandals with truths that could knock her grandfather off his feet.

  He deserved it. The last stunt he’d pulled, earlier in the year, had stunned and angered the whole family. He’d announced his impending retirement, but instead of picking his successor, he thought to make a bitter game of it, pitting his four children against one another for the job.

  It had been the last straw for Bridget.

  So for the past six months, she’d been searching for Aunt Finola’s child. The baby, conceived when her aunt was a teenager, had been given up for adoption—an adoption forced upon her by her own father, Patrick Elliott. Bridget suspected her dear aunt had never gotten over the loss, choosing instead to devote her life to Charisma magazine to fill the void. Being the photo editor at Charisma, Bridget often witnessed the sense of loss in her aunt’s eyes, even now, more than twenty years later.

  And Bridget had finally made a breakthrough with, hopefully, a reliable tip from someone who claimed to know the identity of the child. She had to get to Winchester. She had to locate Aunt Fin’s daughter. Finding her aunt’s child would secure the ending chapter in her book. The world would finally see the kind of man her grandfather really was.

  It was close to 6:00 a.m., yet not a soul appeared on the road. Of course, if she’d broken down on Highway 25, she would have been rescued by now, but the directions given by her tipster had taken her off the well-traveled road to this two-lane highway.

  Bridget sighed, slumping in her seat. She didn’t have time to waste. Then she remembered her cell phone. At least she could call for help, maybe get a replacement car out here quickly. She reached into her purse, coming up with the phone. But her hopes dimmed immediately. Dead battery. Heck, Bridget was forever forgetting to plug the darn thing in to recharge. That made two dead batteries in the span of a few minutes. At least, she thought her car’s battery had died. But maybe not. Maybe it was just a fluke.

  She tried the key in the ignition one more time. “Come on, please,” she pleaded to the car gods. “Start, damn it.”

  Like an unruly child, the Honda Accord refused to comply. Nothing. Not even a little grunt of a sound. “The rental company is going to hear about this,” she muttered, slinging her purse over her shoulder and exiting the car.

  She slammed the door shut and began walking. Vaguely, she remembered seeing a sign a while back that Winchester County was ten miles ahead. If her calculations were correct, she’d have about a five-mile trek to reach her destination.

  “I can do this,” she said, her three-inch-heel boots grinding on the asphalt. Always fashion conscious, a true-blue testament for Charisma, Bridget now wondered why she hadn’t thought to pack her walking shoes.

  Where were her Nikes when she needed them?

  Sheriff Macon Riggs bounded out of his patrol car and strode with purpose toward the woman lying on the side of the road, her body motionless and damn close to the edge of the cliff. She would never have survived the steep drop had she fallen. The woman faced sideways, with her legs twisting awkwardly, but it was the blood at the back of her head that worried him the most. No doubt she’d hit that sharp wedge of granite beside her, the one smeared with blood.

  As he came closer, he noted a face devoid of expression, but beautiful all the same. Dark blond hair framed her face, and her lips, still pink with life, were slightly parted.

  He took her hand and gave a squeeze. “Miss, can you hear me?”

  Mac hadn’t really expected a response, but the woman’s eyes snapped open immediately. She stared up at him, blinking several times, and he gazed into amazing lavender-blue eyes. The combination of blond hair, fair skin and that particular shade of blue made the woman memorable by anyone’s standards.

  He leaned in closer and reassured her. “I’m Sheriff Riggs. You’re going to be all right. Seems you had an accident.”

  “I did?” She spoke softly, with furrowed brows and a puzzled expression that suggested she was dazed from the head injury.

  “Looks that way. You hit your head on a rock.”

  Again, she appeared confused.

  “Hang on and don’t move. You’re close to the edge of the cliff. I’ll be right back.”

  Within a few seconds, Mac returned to her side with the first-aid kit he kept in his patrol car. “I’m not going to move you until you give the okay. Do you feel pain anywhere?”

  The woman shook her head slightly. “Not really, except my darn skull’s pounding like a son of a—gun.”

  Mac held back a grin, admiring her attempt at restraint. “I bet. You think you can sit up?”

  “I think so.”

  He knelt down, wrapped his arms around her shoulders and helped her to a sitting position. The material of her raspberry-pink sweater bunched up in back under his fingertips, but it was the V-neck in front that drew his attention. After one swift glance, he kept his eyes averted from soft skin and mind-blowing cleavage, focusing instead on helping the injured woman. “That’s good. I can look at the back of your head now.”

  “Does it look bad?”

  Mac did a cursory examination. The blood had clotted to her hair and there was no further oozing. No telling how long she’d been unconscious, though. It was a good thing Mac thought to patrol this road from time to time. Or she might just have rolled the wrong way, right smack into Deerlick Canyon.

  “Actually, you’re pretty lucky. It doesn’t look too bad.” Mac sat behind her, positioning himself to attend to her injury. He dabbed at the gash with moistened gauze, parting her hair to see the extent of the wound. “Does this hurt?”

  “No. Keep going.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked, to distract her from discomfort she refused to admit. He’d seen her flinch the moment he touched the
gauze to her head.

  “My…name?”

  “Yeah, and while you’re at it, want to tell me what you were doing up here? What happened? Did you fall?”

  The woman tensed, her body becoming as rigid as a plank of wood.

  When she still hesitated, Mac softened his tone. “Okay, first let’s start with your name.”

  “My name is…” she began then started again. “My name is…”

  She scooted away from him enough to turn around. She stared into his eyes, blinking, with a panicked look on her face. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice elevating. She paused again, her eyes darting in all directions, seemingly searching her memory. “I don’t know who I am! I can’t remember anything!”

  Tears pooled in her eyes and she blinked hard, trying to keep them at bay. With desperation in her voice, she repeated frantically, “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

  Mac stood, then reached down to take both of her hands and slowly help her up. With her erratic behavior, he wanted her away from the edge of the cliff. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll have the doctor check you out.”

  “Oh, dear God. I can’t remember anything. I don’t know who I am, what I’m doing here.” Pleadingly, she tugged on his sleeve. “Where am I?”

  “You’re in Winchester County.”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Colorado.”

  She shook her head hard, her eyes wide, and Mac saw the determination on her face as she tried urgently to remember something. “Do I live here?”

  “Don’t know. Seems you were on foot. But we’ll search for a car later. There’s no sign of your belongings, either. No purse or backpack or anything. If you had anything with you, I’d guess it went over the edge when you fell down. That’s if you fell. But I can tell you one thing for sure, with those boots you’re wearing, I doubt you were hiking.”