by Jule McBride
Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
A funny thing happened.
Books by Jule McBride
Dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
Copyright
How it all began with a big bang
Lo Lambert rarely found time to contemplate physics—much less the big bang and relativity. theories of Albert Einstein. But hadn’t the white-haired genius believed that time could actually bend?
“Dammit,” Lo swore under her breath, “time doesn’t even have to bend that far.”
She just wanted to turn back the clock five measly minutes—to when she wasn’t yet a fugitive from the law. Or at least to when she hadn’t known she was a fugitive. And to when Sheldon Ferris hadn’t broken her heart.
She was no longer a successful Wall Street executive. Sheldon had set her up to take the rap for him.
She had to move—somewhere, anywhere. Baggage claim and ground transportation were up ahead. Drivers in dark suits formed a semicircle and proffered large white cards bearing printed names. When Lo’s eyes landed on her own name, she jumped as if she’d been goosed by an invisible hand. She couldn’t admit who she was!
Another sign. The name Max Tremaine was scrawled across it in black.
Her own driver was eyeing her. “You Loraine Lambert?”
“Max,” Lo said on impulse. “I’m, er, Maxine Tremaine.”
Dear Reader,
The first important thing you have to do this month is to flip to the back of this book and fill out the Let’s Celebrate sweepstakes entry, then relax and enjoy another good dose of love and laughter!
Popular Jule McBride’s debut novel received the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for “best first series romance.” Ever since, she has continued to pen heartwarming love stories that have met with strong reviews and made repeated appearances on romance bestseller lists. A recent nominee for a Romantic Times award for “career achievement in the category of Love & Laughter” Jule was a natural for Love & Laughter! And I have to admit that when I told her I really wanted a mistaken-identity book, Jule really impressed me with her twist—a pregnant woman who takes over a man’s identity!
Trish Jensen is a wonderful new find. Let me quote from the Genie Romance And Women’s Fiction Exchange: “Fans of romantic comedy will be delighted to discover new author Trish Jensen, sure to become one of the genre’s brightest stars. In her debut novel, Ms. Jensen’s sparkling prose mixes love and laughter. in an unbeatable combination of wacky situations, offbeat humor and wonderfully memorable characters. I chuckled, I giggled, I laughed out loud.and I hated to see it end. I want more Trish Jensen stories and I want them nowl”
Have fun!
Malle Vallik
Associate Senior Editor
Who’s Been Sleeping In My Bed?
Jule McBride
A funny thing happened.
I love to write comedy because weird things always happen to me. I remember, in first grade, bundling up in my little red coat for recess—only to discover my hem hit my ankles, my arms were swallowed and my belt dragged the ground. Doing the logical thing, I fled home, convinced I was shrinking. (Mom’s sleuthing—she was a great solver of such conundrums—uncovered that I’d donned a sixth grader’s identical coat.) Nevertheless, to this day, I remain confused by many of life’s little mysteries—as are the heroines I create. Here, when Lo Lambert meets her prince, she’s not just wearing his coat.she’s using his name, his house and his credit line. Even worse, sexy Max is highly willing to further compromise Lo’s precarious position. I sincerely hope you’ll be amused by Lo’s predicament!
—Jule McBride
Don’t miss Jule McBride’s upcoming books in Harlequin American Romance. Jule’s ongoing Big Apple Babiesminiseries (Can anyone resist a baby?) begins with #693 MISSION: MOTHERHOOD in September and #699 VERDICT: PARENTHOOD in October.
Books by Jule McBride
HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE
546—THE WRONG WIFE?
562—THE BABY AND THE BODYGUARD
577—BRIDE OF THE BADLANDS
599—THE BABY MAKER
617—THE BOUNTY HUNTER’S BABY
636—BABY ROMEO: P.I.
658—COLE IN MY STOCKING
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
418—WED TO A STRANGER?
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for making me laugh and laugh and laugh.
1
How It All Began with a Big Bang
LO LAMBERT RARELY FOUND time to contemplate physics—much less the big bang and relativity theories of Albert Einstein. But hadn’t the white-haired genius believed that time could actually bend?
“Dammit,” Lo swore under her breath. “Time doesn’t even have to bend that far.”
She just wanted to turn back the clock five measly minutes—to when she wasn’t yet a fugitive from the law. Or at least to when she hadn’t known she was a fugitive. And to when Sheldon Ferris hadn’t broken her heart.
She’d been briskly traversing La Guardia Airport’s electronic walkways, looking like a COSMO cover girl—listening to the purposeful click of her own high heels and the swish of her trim sea green silk suit skirt against her stockings. The jaunty tilt of her head sent her layered red hair swirling around her shoulders. And, because she was floating on cloud nine, all her luggage—everything from her practical gray garment bag to her small purse and leather briefcase—seemed as breezily light as the spring air.
She’d been daydreaming about Sheldon, and in the fantasy he helped her celebrate the deal she’d just closed in L.A. After their late, candlelit dinner, he dropped to his knees and handed her a ring-size box from Tiffany’s. Then he lowered that sexy baritone of his and whispered, “C’mon, Lo, I’m absolutely begging you. Marry me.”
Of course, in the fantasy, she said yes.
And then she and Sheldon were married in an instant mental flash.in an intimate garden strewn with arching arbors and domed gazebos and white-latticed trellises laced with vines and pink roses. After the ceremony, Sheldon carried her in a cradling embrace through a tunnel of sweet-scented flowers to the reception, where they giggled, exchanging bites from a three-tiered cake. On the table, pure golden sunlight glinted off the silver script on the matchbooks and cocktail napkins, all of which read Loraine And Sheldon.
Lo’s only living relative, Gran, was at the reception. So was the entire Meredith and Gersham staff, who were thrilled to see Lo and Shel—golden couple of the firm’s merger and acquisitions department-finally marry.
It was the most wonderful wedding in wedding history.
Except it wasn’t real.
It was only a fantasy begun during Lo’s long, boring layover in Denver. And now she found herself back in hard, cold reality—standing stock-still in the concourse at La Guardia, numbly clutching her cell phone and gaping slack-jawed at her own reflection in a darkened window. I’m a fugitive. Sheldon’s not going to marry me, and he doesn’t care about the baby I’m carrying. The SOB set me up.
“A bad dream?” she ventured in a whisper.
But it wasn’t. And Lo’s mind raced back in time again, tryi
ng to figure out—step by step—exactly what had gone wrong.
Only five minutes ago, she’d been an upstanding citizen. She was sure of that much. She’d been briskly traversing the electronic walkways of the concourse—fantasizing about Sheldon’s proposal, remembering how happy he’d sounded before she’d left for L.A., when she’d told him she was pregnant.
Suddenly, she’d realized that the ringing she heard wasn’t wedding bells. It was her cell phone, which had been buried in the bottom of her pocketbook.
Frantically, she’d searched for the phone—clawing through lip liners and stray receipts, feeling sure Sheldon was calling to propose. It wasn’t exactly how she’d imagined the timeless romantic moment, but then beggars couldn’t be choosers. When one of her manicured nails merely stabbed through tissues, her knees buckled and her breath left her in a whoosh; all that seemed to stand between her and the altar was a fat wad of Kleenex.
Then, thankfully, she’d found the phone. Heart pounding, she mustered her breathiest, Wall-Streetexecutive-turned-sex-kitten voice and purred, “Sheldon?”
“Trust me, he’s the last person you want to talk to.”
It was Lo’s assistant, B.B., a Long Island girl with a heart of gold and a tendency toward the theatrical.
Before Lo could respond, a panicked B.B. had rushed on. “It’s the end of the world here. Arma geddon. And you’re dead meat, Lo. I mean total dead meat.”
“That promising?” Lo managed to ask.
“Just listen.” B.B.’s voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you remember how you and Sheldon handled the acquisition of Dreamy Diapers by Nice Nappies last month—and how shocked everybody was when Nice shut Dreamy’s down? Well, now the SEC—that’s the Securities Exchange Commission—”
“I know what it is, B.B.,” Lo had interjected, feeling a rope begin to knot in the pit of her stomach.
“Well, they’re saying you took monetary kickbacks from Nice Nappies and that you fixed diaper prices against the overseas.” B.B.’s voice dropped, became unintelligible, then rose again. “Turns out, a lot of your accounts look suspicious. So, the NYPD, SEC, FBI and—”
“A real red-letter day,” Lo muttered.
“Yes, well, they all showed up. And Sheldon starts handing them evidence—files and disks, phone records and office logs. Then this guy from the FBI gets on the phone, freezes your bank accounts and—”
Lo had stopped dead in her tracks at that point, her legs suddenly too rubbery to support her one hundred and twenty pounds. Since she’d deplaned, two ATMs had refused her card. Without access to her accounts, she was flat broke.
“I ordered a car to pick you up at the airport,” B.B. raced on, her whisper turning urgent. “But now, the SEC wants the car number in case they can’t catch and arrest you at the air—” B.B. gasped. “Where are you?”
“The airport,” Lo admitted shakily. Trying to hold on to reason, she continued, “Look, love might be blind, but Shel and I couldn’t overlook price-fixing. I mean, we do all the number crunching ourselves and—”
“Lo—” B.B. groaned. “Sheldon gave them the evidence. He said he’s been collecting it for months. He said he was so in love with you that he couldn’t bear to turn you in until he was one hundred percent positive you were guilty.”
“Get me Mr. Meredith,” Lo said. “Or Mr. Gersham.”
B.B. made a strangled sound. “I know you didn’t do anything wrong, but everybody believes Sheldon. Meredith was so glad Sheldon caught you that he promoted him to VP of mergers. Sheldon told me to pack my personal belongings after I help the SEC. Then he fired you in absentia.”
“But Sheldon can’t do that.” Lo murmured. Tonight he’s going to kneel down, kiss my earlobe and whisper, “We’re having this baby together, Lo, so you’ve just got to marry me.”
“Oh, God,” B.B. gasped. “The SEC’s coming!”
“Okay,” Lo murmured. “Don’t panic. Let’s just—”
But they weren’t going to do anything.
Because the line went dead.
And now, full minutes later, Lo was still gripping her cell phone and gaping at her reflection in a darkened window. Shel Ferris, she thought with venom. The name fit. Shel—because he was a shell of a hu man being. And Ferris—because, like a Ferris wheel, he’d sure taken her for a ride. In fact, Lo felt as though Sheldon had just stomped on a magic button in the concourse floor—and sent her plummeting through a trapdoor into oblivion.
Except this was reality. And unfortunately, Lo was still standing in the very airport where the SEC was going to arrest her. Even worse, her fellow travelers were starting to stare. Realizing the cell phone was emitting a loud, intermittent buzz, Lo pressed the off button, then shoved the phone into her bag.
She had to move—somewhere, anywhere. Ignoring her quivering knees and churning stomach, she forced herself to walk. Her high heels—clicking so purposefully before—now chattered like teeth in the cold. Where could she go?
Baggage claim and ground transportation were up ahead. Drivers in dark suits formed a semicircle and proffered large white cards bearing printed names. When Lo’s eyes landed on her own name, she jumped as if she’d been goosed by an invisible hand.
Walk right past your driver, Lo. Get a cab.
And keep denying the truth about Sheldon so your heart won’t break. But it was impossible. She remembered the many late-night meetings Sheldon attended alone and the mysterious long-distance calls he’d made from her home and office phones.
Yeah, she could hear his voice as surely as if he were next to her. “Something’s wrong with my hard drive, Lo. Mind if I download into you?”
She’d laughed. “Download into me anytime, tiger.”
Now her temper flared. No doubt the father of her coming baby had fed incriminating documents into her computer. All along, he’d been fixing deals and setting her up to take the rap if he ever got caught.
It had been years since Lo’s parents died, but she’d finally opened up to a man.to Sheldon. And now he’d killed two birds with one stone—pinning his crimes on her and ditching her because of the pregnancy. How could she have trusted him, given herself to him?
Just don’tthink about it, Lo.At least not until you’re safely out of here.
She took a deep breath—and a silent vow never to fall in love again. Just as she reached the drivers, she remembered she had less than twenty dollars, and cabs didn’t take credit cards. Even if they did, calls made to verify a card might alert authorities to her whereabouts.
Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them back. She’d been so wrapped up in work and Sheldon that she didn’t have a friend left in the world. Cantankerous old Gran loved her, but Gran was still stuck in that nursing facility back in West Virginia.
Near her, a driver said, “It figures. My guy shoulda been here an hour ago.”
Lo’s eyes slid toward the sign in his hand. The name Max Tremaine was sprawled across it in black.
Her own driver was eyeing her. “You Loraine Lambert?”
“Max,” Lo said on impulse. “Er—Maxine Tremaine. Sorry, I’m late. My flight.I couldn’t.”
The driver raised a bushy eyebrow.
Lo flushed. “I’m just late, okay?”
It was as simple as that. The next thing Lo knew, Max Tremaine’s driver—a heavyset, fortyish guy in a nondescript navy suit—had wrestled away her bags and settled them into the back seat of a sleek, midnight blue Lincoln Town Car. A photo of the driver hung above the glove compartment, identifying him as Jack Bronski. While Jack sped toward Manhattan and Lo’s apartment in the East Fifties, Lo riffled through every mental file she’d ever collected on price-fixing cartels, House subcommittees and jail terms.
Not that she had much time to review the files. In less than twenty minutes, Jack screeched to a halt in front of her building. “This it?” he said.
Lo looked—and the shock of what she saw brought on a true-blue, out-of-body experience. She was suddenly floatin
g above the car, staring down at her stunned, mortified self. Not to mention the cops and newspeople on her sidewalk. “Please,” she begged, slouching in the seat. “Just get me out of here.”
“You a movie star or something?”
Lo craned her neck around and peeked through the back windshield as Jack pulled from the curb. “Er-sort of.”
He nodded, seemingly unimpressed. “My orders said to take you to Connecticut, anyhow. That address okay with you, lady?”
Lo mustered her most confident tone, as if she knew exactly where she was headed. “Of course, Connecticut’s fine.”
But who was Max Tremaine? And how could she explain her arrival at his home? Surely, his flight would come in later tonight Should she wait on his porch and plead for the stranger’s help? Lo gulped. Maybe he was married—and his smiling wife would skip outside to meet the Town Car! Maybe he’d been gone a long time and his wife was throwing a big surprise party and—
Lo shut her eyes, pressed the tips of her fingers against her eyelids and tried not to hyperventilate. Why don’t you simply calm down? This is all just a minor glitch in your evening.
But it wasn’t. And when the Town Car stopped again, Lo found herself staring at a dead end. Jack circled the cul-de-sac, then growled, “You getting out or not?”
Something inside her finally snapped. Even though she desperately wanted to stay inside the car, she shrieked, “Of course I’m getting out. I Live here!”
Jack merely grunted, reached over the seat and thrust a small metal clipboard beneath her nose, which she took with shaking fingers. As she forged Max Tremaine’s name on the car voucher, her eyes narrowed. Haven’tI heard that name before?
She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the man’s uninviting stone cottage was the blight in an otherwise well-maintained neighborhood. Nearby, friendly lights blazed inside brick houses, but Max’s cottage was dark, illuminated only by a weak street lamp.
