by Cara Colter
Nighttime Sweethearts
By
Cara Colter
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Magic was one thing. Miracles were quite another.
Merry felt her first shiver of doubt. Rick was wounded, and he didn't like romance. But there was something about him that made her want to see love transform his life.
And then, suddenly, he went very still beside her. Intrigued, she followed his gaze. He stared with his eyes narrowed to a hard squint at Cynthia Forsythe.
Merry started at his deep growl. Every hair on the back of her neck rose up. "You know Cynthia?" she asked.
Something in his face closed and became colder than ice. "I did," he said. "A long time ago."
"I'd be happy to reintroduce you!"
The look he gave her could have stripped paint. "No," he said. "In fact, I'd thank you not to mention me to her."
Merry's heart pounded hard. What could be more perfect? Her last couple—a love-gone-wrong-and-now-made- right story! But a glance into the cast stone of his face made her wonder if even magic could change what she saw there.
Dear Reader,
Let this month's collection of Silhouette Romance books sweep you into the poetry of love!
Roses are red, or white in the case of these Nighttime Sweethearts (SR #1754) by Cara Colter. Scarred both physically and emotionally, this cynical architect will only woo his long-lost love under the protection of night. Can a bright beauty tame this dark beast? Find out in the fourth title of Silhouette Romance's exquisite IN A FAIRY TALE WORLD… miniseries.
Violets are blue, like the eyes of the ladies' man in Myrna Mackenzie's latest, Instant Marriage, Just Add Groom (SR #1755). All business, even in his relationships, this hardened hero would never father a child without the protection of marriage—but he didn't count on falling for the prim bookseller next door!
Cupid's at play, and he's got the use of more than arrows for matchmaking! Even a blinding blizzard can bring two reluctant people together. Watch the steam rise when a gruff, reclusive writer is stranded with a single mom and her adorable baby in Daddy, He Wrote (SR #1756) by Jill Limber.
And magic, too!
With only six days left to break her curse, Cat knew she couldn't count on finding true love. Until she happened upon a dark, reticent veterinarian with a penchant for rescuing animals—and damsels—in distress! You're sure to be enchanted by Shirley Jump's SOULMATES story, Kissed by Cat (SR #1757).
May love find you this Valentine's Day!
Mavis C. Allen
Associate Senior Editor
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Cara Colter for her contribution to the
IN A FAIRY TALE WORLD… series.
To Judy and Charles Moon in gratitude for all you do
SILHOUETTE BOOKS
ISBN 0-373-19754-3
NIGHTTIME SWEETHEARTS
Copyright © 2005 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Books by Cara Colter
Silhouette Romance
Dare To Dream #491
Baby in Blue #1161
Husband in Red #1243
The Cowboy, the Baby and the Bride-to-Be #1319
Truly Daddy #1363
A Bride Worth Waiting For #1388
Weddings Do Come True #1406
A Babe in the Woods #1424
A Royal Marriage #1440
First Time, Forever #1464
*Husband by Inheritance #1532
*The Heiress Takes a Husband #1538
*Wed by a Will #1544
What Child Is This? #1585
Her Royal Husband #1600
9 Out of 10 Women Can't Be Wrong #1615
Guess Who's Coming for Christmas? #1632
What a Woman Should Know #1685
Major Daddy #1710
Her Second-Chance Man #1726
Nighttime Sweethearts #1754
*The Wedding Legacy
Silhouette Books
The Coltons
A Hasty Wedding
CARA COLTER shares ten acres in the wild Kootenay region of British Columbia with the man of her dreams, three children, two horses, a cat with no tail and a golden retriever who answers best to "bad dog." She loves reading, writing and the woods in winter (no bears). She says life's delights include an automatic garage door opener and the skylight over the bed that allows her to see the stars at night.
She also says, "I have not lived a neat and tidy life, and used to envy those who did. Now I see my struggles as having given me a deep appreciation of life, and of love, that I hope I succeed in passing on through the stories that I tell."
The Tale of the Bear Who Married a Woman
[Source: Franz Boas, Tsimshian Mythology (Washington, D.C.: United States Government Printing Office, 1916.)]
Once upon a time there lived a widow with a beautiful daughter. Many men asked for the daughter's hand, but the widow declined them all. The mother wanted a son-in-law who had the hands to build a solid canoe. So her advice to her daughter was to feel her suitors' palms. "If they are soft, decline him. If they are rough, accept him."
Her daughter obeyed and refused to be wooed by any of the young men. Until one night, a man came to her bed. She tucked her hands in his and found his palms to be very rough, so she accepted his proposal. Early the next morning, however, he had disappeared. She had never even seen his face. But in front of the house was a tasty fish, left for the girl and her mother.
The girl, her mother and the young man who visited only at night lived this way for some time. The young woman never saw her husband, but every morning she found an animal at the door, each one larger than the last. Because of the animals, the widow became quite rich.
But the widow was eager to see her son-in-law, so one day she waited until he arrived. What she saw was a red bear emerging from the water. He carried two whales, but as soon as he noticed the widow looking at him, he was transformed into a rock, which may be seen up to this day.
Prologue
"Ms. Montrose?" Her secretary paged Merry over the office speakerphone. "Rick Barnett is here to see you."
"Who?" Merry asked, not even trying to keep the edge out of her voice. She did not have time for anyone right now.
"He's the architect. The one you've chosen to build the chapel?"
Oh, yes, the architect. The chapel was the brilliant idea Merry had conceived. Given the amount of romance blossoming at La Torchere resort, where she was a manager, they should have an on-site chapel. People could plan to have weddings here. The resort's owner had been thrilled with her idea, naturally, and had given her the go-ahead via correspondence to look after all the details.
At the time, Merry had been quite pleased with the success of her idea. Now it seemed like small potatoes, compared to what was going on in her real life.
She had to play matchmaker for only one more couple, and the spell that had been placed on her almost seven years ago by her well-meaning—but nonetheless wicked— godmother, Lissa, would be broken!
Broken, broken, broken. She would go from being this wrinkled, bony, gray-haired old crone back to her gorgeous, young self. Closing her eyes, she remembered what she had once looked like: the flawless skin, the waves of auburn hair, the beautiful figure she had taken so for granted.
Yes, Merry Montrose, aka Princess Meredith Montrosa Bessart, was one match away from being restored to her former fabulous life. Not that managing this very exclusive island resort off the coast of Florida
didn't have moments so rewarding they took her by surprise, but, really—life as a resort manager or life as a princess? The choice was a no-brainer!
She indulged in a moment's daydreaming. She would be welcomed back to the kingdom of Silestia. There would be parties and celebrations in the streets. She would once again have her life of luxury. She would marry the prince she had been promised to at birth, and their union would provide fabulous business opportunities and contracts. There would be glory and glamour, as was befitting a princess.
But enough daydreaming! The curse had required she match twenty-one couples before her thirtieth birthday. Couple number twenty—that delightful sheik and the lovely Selina Carrington had fallen head over heels for each other—just as Merry had planned. Couple nineteen, Brad Smith and Parris Hammond, were marrying right here at the resort next week.
Time was of the essence now. Only weeks to go before Merry turned thirty. Only one couple left!
Now was not the time for dilly-dallying, but Merry found herself wasting precious moments fretting over who to match. If it was going to be her last effort, she wanted it to be absolutely perfect. Stacks of papers and files and photographs littered her desk as she debated whose lives to meddle in.
"In the loveliest way, of course," she muttered, holding up a photo of a stunning actress, a regular at La Torchere. "Well beyond her prime," Merry noted, though not unkindly. She shuffled her photos like cards in a deck and came to La Torchere's gardener, also beyond his prime. Was it possible?
"Ms. Montrose?" the secretary's voice came again, uncertainly, over the speakerphone, "Should I send him in?"
"Oh, if you must," Merry said crabbily and slammed the intercom button with the palm of her hand. She put the actress and gardener aside and picked up a photo of an award-winning nuclear physicist and a belly-button-flaunting rock diva. "Too big a stretch," she decided unhappily.
There was that new handyman on the place. Gorgeous. Blond, blue-eyed, the build of a Greek god…
A shadow fell over her, and she looked up. The photos fell from her fingers. "You must be Rick Barnett," she said, her annoyance at this disturbance forgotten.
It's him, she decided, feeling a smile starting inside. So, fate had opted to help her with her final match. It had given her the man, now all she had to do was find the woman. She got up and took his hand, felt the strength in it and the crackle of his fate joining hers.
Merry studied the young man in front of her with avid interest now. The pure power of his build was enough to take a girl's breath away. He was massive at the shoulders, narrow at waist and hips and—she snuck a look as he turned to find his chair—his butt was spectacular.
Once, she could tell, he had been an extremely handsome man. Dark thick hair fell over his brow. His features—forehead, chin, nose, jaw—were chiseled perfection. But now a black patch roguishly covered his left eye and a network of scars, puckered and purplish, ran down the left side of his face. His face was a study in contrasts, one half perfect, the other imperfect, as if the man himself was split in two, light and dark.
"Construction accident," he said, before she could ask.
His voice was like gravel, flat and harsh, a voice that invited no intrusion into his private world and wanted no sympathy. Nonetheless, Merry heard and, glancing up, saw in the dark, ocean blue of the right eye that glared at her— Rick Barnett was a man in pain.
It startled Merry how completely she understood his situation. Had she not been transformed herself? From a woman so beautiful she put the stars to shame, to this? A bony, homely, horrible old crone?
The difference was that she had a chance to break the curse that had been put on her. The man who sat before her was transformed for life, and he looked to be in his mid to late twenties.
The young female rock star? she asked herself, surreptitiously moving the photo back into her range of vision.
No. It would take the most special of women to see beyond surface appearances. Not the rock star, she decided, shuffling that photo to the bottom of the stack.
She studied him carefully and was able to see what had not been taken from him, but what had been given to him. Oh, yes, his looks had been shattered, but she had the sudden sensation of seeing his heart.
Formidable strength, enormous pain and, under it all, an amazing capacity for love.
Love.
It was all she could do not to burst into song. She realized she must be smiling at him with far too much enthusiasm, because he looked at her suspiciously and then got up from his chair and wandered restlessly over to the window.
Merry watched how he moved, fluid, an athlete, and felt a sigh inside of her. She got up and joined him at the window.
"There are a number of possible sites," she said. "That's one over there, by the pool. We want the chapel to be a small, very tasteful building. La Torchere seems to inspire romance." Especially recently.
He grunted at that, letting her know exactly what he thought of romance.
"The new owner has agreed with me that offering an entire wedding facility here would be an aesthetic plus for the resort."
"Not to mention financially lucrative?" he asked.
Cynical, Merry thought, and felt her first shiver of doubt. The man was wounded, and he didn't like romance. Magic was one thing. Miracles were quite another.
"I'm interested," she said carefully, "in why you would agree to do a job like this? Something so small? Your reputation, naturally, made me think you would refuse so humble a job."
He was studying the possible building site she had pointed out. If she had hoped his answer would reveal something she could use to find him a match, she was disappointed.
"I needed a break from the pressure of big jobs," he told her.
"Oh," she said, her mind whirling. Maybe he wasn't the one. Maybe she had just leapt to that conclusion. Maybe the actress and the new handyman. She felt a certain reluctance to match up the new handyman.
What was that about?
But before she could consider it further Rick Barnett turned from the window. The hard light in his eye softened. "I felt oddly compelled to be here."
Merry tried not to gasp out loud. Oh! Then it was him! But who would she pair him with? She wanted to hustle him out of her office without ceremony so she could go through her files. She felt a most delicious sense of warmth beginning in her belly.
And she realized, amazed at herself, that it was not completely because she was so close to breaking the curse.
No, there was something about this man, that made her want to see love transform his life. Suddenly, he went very still beside her, as if he had stopped breathing.
Intrigued, she went to his side and followed his gaze. He was staring, his eye narrowed to a hard squint, at Cynthia Forsythe, one of the guests whose files Merry had pored over earlier. She would be an ideal candidate for a match—she was young and beautiful and personable.
Except her mother, the famous historical writer, Emma Bluebell Forsythe, had cornered the matchmaking market for her daughter. The woman was intent on finding the perfect mate for Cynthia…and she was utterly insensitive to the fact that her daughter was not interested.
"Cynthia," he said.
Merry started at the deep growl that came from the man beside her. Every hair on the back of her neck rose up.
"You know her?" she asked.
Something in his face closed and became colder than ice. "I did," he said, "a long time ago."
"I'd be happy to reintroduce you!"
The look he gave her could have stripped paint. "No," he said. "In fact, I'd thank you not to mention me to her."
Merry's heart was pounding hard. What could be more perfect? Her last couple—a love-gone-wrong-made-right story!
But a glance into the cast stone of his face made her wonder if even magic could change what she saw there.
Still, she had a soft spot for him, the man who, like her, had been transformed, but unlike her was not ever going back to what he
used to be.
How strong was her magic? Dare she waste it on this couple who were far from a sure thing when her whole life was at stake?
She sighed. Oh, how she had cursed this spell that had been put on her. How she had railed against it and wallowed in self-pity over it.
But, ever so reluctantly, Princess Meredith Montrosa Bessart, aka Merry Montrose, realized a truth. She had become a better person than she had been before.
Because, for just the briefest moment in time, just long enough to make up her mind, she was able to put the future happiness of two other people ahead of her own.
Rick and Cynthia it is, Merry decided, and began humming the wedding march. Naturally, he thought she was inspired by the imminent arrival of the new chapel, designed by him, but he winced nonetheless.
Chapter One
"No."
Cynthia Forsythe marveled at the enormous power of that small word. She said it to her mother, the famous writer Emma Bluebell Forsythe, rarely, and she expected to feel guilty, saying it now.
Instead, she felt a delicious and rather wicked sense of delight.
Her mother, dressed in a Chanel gown with her hair dyed a new shade of dark brown, stood in the door between their adjoining suites.
"No?" her mother repeated, as if she might not have heard correctly. "Cynthia, of course you are coming. I've met a real live baron. From Germany. He's only a year or two older than you and he is one of the world's wealthiest industrialists! Isn't that exciting?"
"No," Cynthia repeated.
"It's not exciting?" her mother said, her hazel eyes wide with bafflement.
Cynthia really didn't think it was that exciting—no more exciting than the newspaper magnate, the oil tycoon or the banker, but she clarified. "No, I'm not coming out tonight."
