One Little Indiscretion

by Joss Wood

  Sadie allowed the photograph to drift to the floor. He was right; this was their time. Her news could wait.

  The celebration of their love could not.

  Epilogue

  Sadie, in the boardroom of Murphy International, couldn’t take the huge smile off her face. She was in love, carrying her man’s child, she’d had amazing sex this morning—and last night—and she’d never been happier in her life.

  And now she got to tell Keely and Joa that not only did she think their painting was by Homer—the results of the paint analysis informed her that the paints used on the canvas were consistent with paints used in the mid-nineteenth century and also with Homer’s preferences—but that there were another two paintings in the series.

  Where were they? She couldn’t wait to start tracking them down...she was damn good at her job.

  As she’d proved when she finally tracked down the artist of the massive painting in Carrick’s—no, their bedroom. Between researching the Homer paintings, she’d flipped through countless databases of unattributed works and finally found a similar canvas in a private collection in Dubai, a collection she’d had the privilege of viewing, via Hassan’s father, years ago.

  The painting was by Joshua Reynolds, who was better known for portraits than for landscapes.

  Yeah, let’s be honest, she rocked at tracking down provenance and attributions.

  She was nearly as good at that as she was at loving Carrick Murphy...

  Sadie stood behind Carrick, needing to feel his heat, his presence, their connection. Looking down at him, she smiled. She was so lucky to have him in her life; their child was blessed to have him as their father...

  Carrick looked up as his hand covered the hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

  Sadie nodded, suddenly emotional. “Very okay.”

  “You’re not going to faint again, are you?”

  She grinned since he often teased her about falling at his feet. “Not right now.”

  Carrick lifted his arm to encircle her waist. “Not very professional, Mr. Murphy,” Sadie murmured.

  “I can’t tell you how little I care,” Carrick replied.

  “Jeez, not only do I have to watch Levi and Tanna’s public displays of affection, I now have to watch you two, as well?” Ronan complained as he walked into the room. “Unhand your fiancée, brother, we have work to do.”

  Sadie looked down at her engagement ring—sapphires and diamonds—and grinned. She was Carrick’s fiancée and would, when they finally decided on whether to get married before or after their baby’s birth, be his wife. She couldn’t wait.

  But Ronan was right; they had work to do, so she stepped away from Carrick and smiled at Keely and Joa. “I have good news and better news. The good news is that I’m convinced your painting is a Homer.”

  Joa’s eyes immediately darted to Ronan, and they exchanged a look full of heat and a healthy dose of confusion. Sadie looked at Carrick and raised her eyebrows. He winked at her, telling her that he also noticed the sparks flying between his brother and his nanny.

  Keely clapped her hands in glee. “Take that, Wilfred.” She looked at Carrick. “Wilfred was convinced it was a fake. I can’t wait to tell him he was wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  Sadie had heard that the estate was wound up, so why were Keely and her lawyer still talking? Especially since they seemed to rub each other the wrong way. And why did she call him Wilfred when everyone else called him Dare?

  Anyway, back to business.

  “The better news is that I think it’s one of a series. There are two more paintings out there. The one you own might be copies of the originals.”

  Joa leaned forward. “If we own one original, where are the other two?”

  Sadie lifted her hands. “Good question. Somebody needs to track them down.”

  Joa glanced at Keely before a beautiful smile crossed her face and brightened her eyes. “Can we hire you to do that?”

  Sadie grinned, and mentally punched the air. She’d wanted to suggest that the Mounton-Matthews heirs do exactly that, but she hadn’t wanted to sound too pushy. Of course, if they hadn’t asked, she would’ve offered.

  “Of course I will. I’m not walking away now.” Sadie looked across the table to Carrick, who was watching her with a lazy, sexy, possessive look on his face. She tipped her head to one side and gently rested her hand on her slightly rounded stomach. “I’m not ever walking away again.”

  Carrick smiled at her. “Good to know. Not that I’d let you but still...good to know. Now come here and kiss me.”

  Ronan released a long, heartfelt groan. “Oh, for the love of God, enough already!”

  Never, Sadie thought, as she walked over to Carrick. She’d never get enough of him and his love and the life they were in the process of creating.

  And, judging by the way Carrick looked at her, neither would he.

  * * *

  Joa Jones has no intention of being an

  au pair again, but when Ronan Murphy

  needs temporary, live-in help with

  his adorable sons, Joa agrees.

  Now all she has to do is ignore

  their crazy chemistry...

  Temptation at His Door

  by Joss Wood

  Available April 2020!

  Keep reading for an excerpt from His Forbidden Kiss by Jessica Lemmon.

  WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM

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  His Forbidden Kiss

  by Jessica Lemmon

  One

  Heartbeat pounding in her ears, heels of her designer shoes clacking on the marble flooring, Taylor Thompson ran as fast as she dared in the heavy, beaded, floor-length Versace gown. She’d chosen it specifically for the River Grove Valentine’s Day gala, extravagant even for the high-end affair, but until the tapered skirt was strangling her ankles with each quickening step she hadn’t imagined it’d be inhibiting her escape.

  She tugged the hemline as high as her calves, steered clear of the ladies’ room—no doubt teeming with primped, classy women who were also attending the gala—and ducked into the coatroom.

  At least she’d thought it was a coat “room.”

  Now that she’d shut the door behind her, the tight, dark space felt more like a coat cracker box.

  No matter. She just needed thirty seconds to herself, away from onlookers. Without having to pretend she didn’t know she was about to be proposed to.

  God. A proposal.

  She’d attended the gala every year save one—the year she traveled to Miami during a college vacation with her friends—so she never thought much of going. She’d never thought of not going. It was what the kids of River Grove did.

  Here, being wealthy wasn’t an option, it was a requirement.

  Her family had helped build this town—along with her date’s, Brannon Knox’s, family. The Thompsons and Knoxes were known for founding one of the biggest tech companies in the nation. The ThomKnox Group was started by her late father, Charles, and Brannon’s father, Jack, some twenty-six years ago, when Taylor was two years old.

  It seemed that tonight Brannon was attempting a merger of a different style.

  “Brannon Knox, what were you thinking?”

  To be fair, she should ask herself exactly the same question. When he’d asked her to come as his date tonight, she should have said no. Instead, she’d chickened out, agreeing to one last event before having the discussion she should have had with him three weeks ago. The one where she said something to the effect of, “This isn’t working. Let�
�s be friends.”

  Aware she couldn’t finish out the party in the closet, Taylor considered her options. She couldn’t dart into the ladies’ room and face Mrs. Mueller or Patsy Sheffield. They were sweet, and had been nothing but lovely after her father died last fall, but they were also...involved. She didn’t need the entire town gossiping about her hiding from her date—and Patsy and Mrs. Mueller would happily start that rumor.

  Was it considered a rumor if it was true?

  If it hadn’t been for her father losing his battle with cancer not so long ago, she probably never would’ve dated Brannon. They’d known each other a lifetime, but the attraction simply hadn’t been there.

  Explaining that to him was never going to be fun. Sorry, Bran. I only dated you because I was sad and in some way hoped it’d please my father from beyond the grave. Now with an engagement on the line, explaining to Bran that she should’ve said no—before tonight—would be more agonizing.

  “Dammit!” Fists balled, she stomped one high heel into the floor in frustration. It was hot in here and the room was closing in on her.

  Deciding to find a bigger space in which to gather her thoughts, she reached for the doorknob. Wiggling it once, then twice, didn’t help. The third time wasn’t the charm—the antique knob had an antique lock fixture that had engaged.

  “Crap.” Sweat beaded on her brow as she jiggled harder, and she suddenly wished she’d carried her clutch in with her instead of leaving it on the table in Addison’s care. At least then she would’ve had the light from her phone.

  She wasn’t particularly claustrophobic, but the options of suffocating in a coat closet or passing out from panic weren’t good ones.

  The instant she’d observed Brannon admiring the ring nestled in the Tiffany & Co. blue box backstage, she should have handled the situation. Where was a time machine when she needed one?

  She strained to hear music or voices. Not a single sound infiltrated her insulated new home. Giving up on the doorknob, she backed up to throw her shoulder into the panel and bust herself out, when the door swung open, easy as you please.

  Silhouetted in the frame was a pair of imposing shoulders in a black tuxedo jacket, long legs in matching trousers, and above that shadowed, sharp jaw she could easily imagine a frown.

  Brannon’s older brother.

  “Taylor? What the hell are you doing in here?” Curiosity lined Royce Knox’s voice. Even though he wasn’t yelling at her, and even though he scared her about as much as a passing butterfly, her building anxiety pushed forth a gusty breath.

  “Royce, thank God.” She gripped his forearms. Over the material of his jacket she could make out the corded muscle, the sinew that made up those damned attractive arms. Once, years ago, she’d stumbled on her way to the limo and he’d been there to catch her. She was sixteen years old when she gripped his arms then. They weren’t as muscular or thick as they were now, but the fluttery feeling in her belly was the same. When it came to Royce, there was never any question if she was attracted to him. She totally was.

  She hadn’t missed her father’s scolding glower at that party afterward. He’d told her under no uncertain terms to stay away from the older Knox brother. “He’s too old for you.”

  Her father hadn’t wanted the older, more serious Knox brother for Taylor. He’d dreamed of a union between her and the younger, more eager one. Brannon.

  She yanked her hands from Royce’s forearms, unsure if she was more troubled by inadvertently obeying her father’s wishes and dating Brannon, or feeling an attraction for Royce she still couldn’t deny. It was there, though—pounding in her bloodstream.

  “I thought I was going to die in here,” she mumbled into the tight, dark space.

  A short grunt came from Royce’s throat. “Highly unlikely. Bran’s looking for you.”

  “I know.” She pictured the engagement ring and her stomach did another somersault. “This was our last date.”

  “What?” Royce’s alarmed question was interrupted by another voice. Bran’s coming from down the corridor.

  “Has anyone seen Taylor?”

  Since the closet she’d sprinted into was around a corner, Bran hadn’t seen her or his brother yet. Nor would he. She wasn’t ready.

  Taylor yanked Royce into the small space and pulled the door shut behind him, lock be damned. Suffocating in here might be better than facing the man who was about to go down on bended knee.

  “Hey!” Royce protested as the door clicked. She clapped her hand over his mouth, feeling the barest hint of stubble pushing past a sharp, clean shave—his preference. He reached for her wrist but froze when she gently shushed him. Together, they listened. Her to her erratic pulse sloshing in her ears and just under that, Brannon’s receding voice as he continued his search.

  She let out the breath she’d held and became aware of two things. Royce’s long, blunt fingers covering the pulse point at her wrist and the feel of his warm exhalations on her hand that still covered his mouth.

  * * *

  “This is where my parents were engaged.” Taylor’s voice was soft with reminiscence. Royce couldn’t make out her expression in the dim light but he could hear the sadness. “At the Valentine’s Day gala. Mom said it was the most romantic night of her life.”

  His heart ached for Taylor and her mother. Losing Charles had been hard on all of them. The Knoxes and Thompsons had practically been family since Royce was in grade school.

  “That’s probably why he did it,” she tacked on glumly. Before Royce could wonder if she’d found out about the surprise, she confirmed with, “Brannon.”

  Gently, he pulled her hand away from his mouth, the soft scent of her perfume tickling his nose. She smelled good—she always had whenever he’d been this close to her, which was a rare occasion. Charles had seen to that.

  “You know,” he said. “About the proposal.”

  “Not until very recently, but yes.”

  And she didn’t sound the least bit happy about it. He couldn’t dredge up surprise at hearing that. She’d been dating his younger brother for what? On and off for three weeks? When Brannon came to show him the ring, Royce’s reaction had been immediate and it hadn’t been favorable. Brannon led with his heart and Royce was more of a numbers guy, so he’d stuck to what he knew and told his brother the truth. Seems soon in the time line for that, Bran.

  “It’s too soon,” Taylor echoed now and Royce could swear the feeling in his chest was akin to relief. Bran’s plan to propose was a mistake. Anyone should date longer than three weeks before stepping into engagement territory.

  “It was supposed to be a surprise. Who blew it?”

  “I saw Bran admiring the ring.”

  “She’s a beauty,” Royce said of the diamond solitaire that was God only knew how many carats.

  “He showed you?” She sounded almost anguished.

  He released her wrist and felt for a light switch, which he found after a few failed attempts and moving Taylor one step left and then right. Once the light clicked on he could see three things: empty hangers, plastic bins containing, according to the labels, holiday Decorations, and Taylor’s expression: simultaneously distraught and beautiful. The beauty he was used to; distraught was a new look for her.

  Shoulder-length dark blond hair swept up for the event, her lips painted a shade of pink darker than her usual. Taylor fit into the world of class and wealth as well as any of them. They were accustomed to attending events like this one—to being trussed and preening for the elders in their midst. Royce had grown used to the game over the decades. He’d been groomed on how to behave—in life, at work. It came as second nature to him now. He supposed Taylor could say the same.

  Even her sparkling gown couldn’t hide the ribbon of seriousness strung through her, the ambition she couldn’t mask with glitz and glam. That, in part, was why Bran’s suggestion to marry her
had taken Royce by such surprise. They’d seemed an odd fit from the start. Taylor was like an unofficial sister, a little older than their actual sister, Gia.

  But then, he hadn’t had a chance to think of Taylor any differently before her father declared her off-limits.

  When Bran was insistent about continuing with the proposal, Royce accepted that he might not know Bran or Taylor as well as he’d thought. That maybe they were in love after all.

  Until right now. Taylor didn’t seem like a woman in love. Not with her breathing approaching fast to erratic and that note of worry in her voice. Royce wasn’t the only one who believed an engagement was a bad idea.

  “It’s hot in here. Try the knob.” She didn’t wait for him, shoving him aside and twisting the knob back and forth. When that didn’t work, she slapped the door, letting out a growl when it didn’t magically swing open.

  He put a hand on her shoulder, hoping to quell her anxiety, which was due to more than being trapped in a closet. “It’s a country club teeming with people, Taylor. Someone will come around in a few minutes. Take a deep breath.”

  “I can’t. I’m wearing Spanx.”

  Whatever those were. She thrust her bottom lip out and he fought a smile. She’d be fine as soon as she started breathing.

  “Do your best. We’ve got this. Watch me.” He bent to meet her eyes but didn’t have to bend much. She was a good eight inches shorter than his six foot four, but today her high-heeled shoes added some height—her lips almost came to his chin.

  Her hazel eyes met his, and in the dim light of the closet he could see that she wasn’t calm yet.

  “Breathe with me,” he told her in his gentlest voice.

  She let out a shaky breath and took in another, making a soft O shape with her mouth as she blew it out. She did it once more but on her exhale a tear streaked down her cheek.

  “I don’t want to hurt his feelings, Royce.” She gripped his tux’s lapels.