Romeo for Hire

by Jane Beckenham

  Raising her hands in his, he kissed them then knelt on one knee.

  A traditional proposal for a man who had discovered joy and trust and hope—but above all, true love. Marco smiled at the irony of it all, aware of an overwhelming tide of emotion. He rested his gaze on his wife. “Yes, I mean it, cara mia. With all my heart. Please, be my wife.”

  Suddenly, all words died in his throat. He had tried. Now he prayed—for forgiveness or acceptance, for her love.

  Slowly, as if wiped away by his words and deeds, all the tension in her eyes and the tinge of icy reserve that she had clung to in her uncertainty vanished, replaced by a trace of a smile.

  Finally, he could breathe.

  All was well.

  “Let’s see,” she said. As her smile increased, all Marco’s worries evaporated. “You get to sleep with the boss and make babies with the boss. Pretty good job.”

  “It is,” he agreed.

  “Then, as long as you can keep up those foot massages, you’ll make the best husband in the world, Marco. Now is definitely the perfect time for love.”

  Epilogue

  Carly stared down in wonderment at the tiny morsel of human life cradled in her arms. Only a few hours old, her daughter Ruby Angelina Valente gurgled joyfully, a halo of dark auburn wispy hair surrounding her heart-shaped face. Carly touched her small cheek, and Ruby’s eyes shot open. Deepest sapphire blue stared back at her.

  “She’s adorable.”

  “Si,” Marco whispered, so close his warm breath fanned her cheek. Carly felt the familiar heat fire in her veins, and a soft burst of laughter escaped her lips.

  “Your eyes and my hair.”

  “A formidable concoction,” he agreed.

  “Where is she?” Daphne burst into the room, a five-foot-two dynamic whirlwind that nothing could stall.

  Marco’s grin spread even further.

  “Mother,” he warned gently.

  Daphne gave him a knowing look, and when Carly looked at her husband, he merely shrugged, although she saw the flicker of crimson stain beneath his tan.

  “I believe I have you to thank for such sage advice to your son,” Carly said, saving her husband further grief.

  “Of course. Isn’t that what mothers-in-law are for? Love comes in many forms, and sometimes it takes a while to recognize it,” she said, giving Carly’s hand a squeeze. “Now I must see my granddaughter.” Daphne leaned over Ruby. “May I?” She held out her arms, eagerly waiting to hold her first grandchild.

  Carly handed over Ruby, feeling a wave of loss as she placed her daughter in her grandmother’s arms.

  “Now, darling,” Daphne cooed. “You’ve got so much to look forward to. First, there’s Grandfather Carlo. I can tell you so much about him, so many stories. Then there’s Grandfather Fred, but I think Maurie wants to be called Poppa, so at least that won’t lead to confusion.”

  Marco rolled his eyes, and Carly struggled to hide her laughter.

  There was a soft knock at the door just then and Marco went to open it. He turned back to Carly for a moment, his look searching, before whispering to whoever was outside. He shut the door and came back over to her.

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Really? A baby and a surprise in one day.” She laughed. “I’m not sure I can handle all this fun.”

  Marco turned and re-opened the door to her room, and an elderly man walked in.

  “Hello, Copper Top.” Smiling sheepishly, her father stepped toward her. “I hear you made me a grandfather today.”

  “Daddy!” Tears sprang instantly, and Carly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. Her mouth trembled, and the hurt of days long gone revisited in one painful rush.

  Marco wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Your father and I have talked. We have an understanding,” he said seriously. “He knows he cannot come in and out of your life at will. I will not let him do that to you again or to our child.”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I know. Oh, Daddy.”

  “I’d like to stay. Get to know you again. If you’ll let me.”

  Carly looked up at her father. His face was aged with the lines of a hard life. The gentle eyes she remembered filled with joy were duller now.

  Carly turned to her husband, who gave her a reassuring nod. “We’d like you to stay.”

  Daphne batted her lashes toward her father. “Oooh, I do so love all that Irish red hair.”

  “Mother, not again,” Marco warned.

  Agog, Carly giggled. “Your mother looks like she’s reassessing her options.”

  Marco rolled his eyes and shrugged.

  “You organized this?” Carly asked of her husband.

  “Si. You don’t mind? I started to look for him the day we were married, after seeing you walk down the aisle alone. I only hope I’ve done the right thing. Today, of all days, a daughter must have her father at her side. I have my daughter. I prayed your father wanted to be reunited with his.”

  “Oh, Marco.” Carly wept with joy. “Now was just the right time. A new life, time to heal wounds, a time for love,” she said, wrapping her arms around her husband’s neck and pulling him to her. Hungrily, she sought his lips, tasting and savoring his kisses as if she never wanted it to end.

  And she didn’t.

  About the Author

  To learn more about Jane Beckenham, please visit www.janebeckenham.com. Send an email to Jane at neiljane@ihug.co.nz

  Look for these titles by Jane Beckenham

  Coming Soon:

  He’s the One

  Can anything change in 24 hours? Can everything?

  One Night in Napa

  © 2009 Allie Boniface

  Journalist Grant Walker has one chance to salvage his job and his relationship with his domineering father. When terrorists kidnap a fading film star’s son, he’s there to get the first interview with a grieving mother. Even better, her illegitimate granddaughter arrives on the scene—a granddaughter who hasn’t been heard from in seven long years. It’s the story of a lifetime, and all Grant has to do is deliver.

  Kira March left her childhood home seven years earlier, vowing never to return after discovering a terrible secret about her birth. But when her father is taken hostage and her adoptive grandmother cracks under media pressure, it’s up to Kira to find and destroy all evidence of that secret. Trouble is, a reporter has weaseled his way into the house looking for answers—and he isn’t leaving until he gets them.

  As the hours pass, Kira finds herself falling for the very man who can destroy her. And when Grant comforts her in the wake of a midnight tragedy, he discovers that reporting a story gets a lot more complicated when you have feelings for your interview subject. As dawn nears, both Kira and Grant are forced to examine the ways in which their fathers have shaped them—and the lengths they’ll go to protect and uphold the family name.

  Warning: This title contains a hunky hero who thinks he knows it all, an unconventional heroine who’s out to prove him wrong, a ticking clock, family secrets, and enough sexual tension to heat every corner of an enormous mansion…especially when the power goes out

  Enjoy the following excerpt for One Night in Napa:

  Kira’s eyes filled. After a long minute, she switched on her Internet connection. She wanted to know. She didn’t want to know. She couldn’t bear to look. Her knees popped as she stood and stretched. Come on. Her thumbs pattered against the keyboard, impatient. The screen took forever to load, and when it did, the picture looked faded and filmy. “Damn battery.” She held it up to the light.

  “Everything okay?”

  She jumped at Grant’s voice, just over her shoulder. “God. Don’t sneak up on me.”

  He brushed dark curls out of his tired eyes. “Sorry.” He leaned closer, and his breath raised the hairs on the back of her bare neck.

  “Could you possibly not crowd me?”

  He cleared his throat and stepped back again. She shive
red at his nearness and wondered if he guessed that the real reason she wanted him away was because she no longer trusted herself not to fall into the comfort he was trying to provide.

  Kira leaned against the counter and squinted at the screen. After a minute, a news report scrolled along the bottom: Morelli Kidnappers Continue With Demands. She shook her head and found another site with an AP bulletin, time-stamped 10:56 p.m.

  “The administration is refusing to give in to the terrorists’ demands to release twelve prisoners from the Guantanamo Bay complex,” she read aloud. “At this time there has been no further discussion by either party. Ambassadors in the countries of…”

  A cold stone lodged inside her stomach, and Kira stopped reading. She blinked to keep her tears at bay. “Refusing?” She looked at Grant and then flung the phone across the room. “How can they re-refuse?” She wrapped her arms around her waist and began to hiccup. “It’s my fa-father—it’s a person’s life they’re talk-talking about. It’s—”

  She couldn’t get any more words out. She wasn’t even sure what she meant to say. War images flashed through her mind: bloody bodies, overturned jeeps, a somber president who praised fallen troops, and mothers who wailed over their sons’ coffins. Hundreds of people die every year, in one war or another. One person means nothing in the big picture. Not even a person the world adores.

  She sank to the floor, legs rubbery. For the first time, the possibility that her father might really die clutched in the back of her throat. Shaking, she leaned over and buried her forehead against her fists on the cold tile.

  “Hey.” She felt a touch on her back. “Hey, hang on there.”

  But Kira had nothing to hang on to. No hope, no good memory. She opened her eyes and stared at the pattern of dark green and gray tile beneath her. It spun, grew lighter and darker by turns, until she thought she’d go mad. Tears dripped. Her head pounded.

  “Kira?” Grant’s hand moved from the small of her back to her shoulder.

  She stiffened, but only for a moment. Then she acquiesced because the pressure at her temples and the tightness in her chest softened as he moved his fingers along her spine. She didn’t speak. She barely moved. She remained prone, because she didn’t have the energy to sit up. Fatigue washed over her in waves.

  Still he sat there with her, silent. His fingers moved in the fringe of hair along her neck. His palm flattened in the space between her shoulder blades, and the heat from his touch seeped into her in slow degrees. Finally she pushed herself to a seated position, in slow jerking movements, until she sagged against the refrigerator with her arms crossed.

  One breath, she told herself. In and out. Just keep breathing. It amazed her how difficult that one act could become, when it seemed as though the entire world crushed her with desperation.

  Just breathe.

  After what seemed like a long time, she opened her eyes. Grant was crouching beside her, a few inches away, and saying nothing. His hands rested on his knees. The breaths came more easily, one after another, and she rubbed a hand over her face. Outside, the rain increased, spitting against the windows.

  “A little better?” His breath feathered her ear, and she shivered at the chill that crept along her skin.

  She nodded. “A little.” She closed her eyes as his fingers brushed her neck, and then her jaw. “That tickles.”

  He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t move away either.

  Kira kept her eyes closed. For a moment, she let herself imagine she was sitting somewhere else. She imagined she was someone else, the someone else she’d tried to become after leaving home. It would be so easy, if I was just a girl and he was just a guy. She wouldn’t be sitting here trying to rationalize every thought and resist every touch. She could flirt. She could turn and wrap her arms around his neck. She could just…be.

  Grant’s arm slipped around her waist, and he leaned closer, pressing his cheek to her temple. Affectionate. Comforting. Kira let the sensation move down her, warming her until her toes burned against the tile underneath them.

  “Can I do anything?”

  For a moment, Kira’s thoughts turned decidedly twisted, and the fine line between the agony of missing her father and the ecstasy of blending into a man blurred. She almost told Grant he could do whatever he wanted, right then and there, wide windows or cold tile or granite countertop be damned. Then she reined in the heat that slipped through her veins.

  “Like what?” Kira looked at him and lifted her chin. But facing him turned out to be a bigger mistake than she’d guessed. Want colored his eyes a deeper shade of blue, and his smile lit something inside her. She swallowed. She knew she only had to reach up with one hand, draw in his mouth with hers, and Grant Walker would wrap those arms around her and lift her, breathless, off her feet.

  So she did.

  Grant hadn’t expected this. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected at all, when he approached Kira and dared to touch her. He’d thought maybe he could ease her anxiety. Maybe even convince her to talk to him some more.

  But every rational thought left his mind when Kira pressed her fragile frame against his and opened his lips with her tongue. His hands slid to her waist and he pulled her to a stand, breathing in a fragrance that reminded him of springtime.

  She murmured something against his mouth that turned him heady. Grant shifted and took a step back, fighting for composure. She reached for him, her eyes so wide that he thought he might slip inside them and not come up for air. His groin ached, and something in the back of his mind thought he should probably stop this before it went somewhere it shouldn’t. But this was Isabella Morelli he had his arms wrapped around. And she—was that a tongue stud exploring his mouth? Cold metal touched his bottom lip, and stars exploded behind his eyes.

  She laced her hands behind his neck and stood on her tiptoes. Her mouth moved to his cheek, his neck, his collarbone.

  “Hey.” With great effort, he pulled away from her.

  She continued to look at him with those dark brown, heavy-lidded eyes.

  “This—I really shouldn’t.” He could barely choke out the sentence.

  The tiniest frown knit her brows together, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She locked her gaze with his, and Grant could almost feel her peeling away his shirt and khakis. Jesus, what a look. No wonder the camera loved her.

  “I—” It took near-inhuman strength to loosen his hold on her waist. “I don’t want…”

  “Me?”

  He almost laughed. “Christ, no. You—” You drive me crazy in ways you can’t even imagine. But a bizarre sense of duty, even this close to midnight, knocked against his brain. He didn’t want to fulfill the prophecy he knew waited for him at the Chronicle’s office. He didn’t want to play the predictable role of cavalier Grant Walker, playboy extraordinaire, and think with the wrong brain. Not when he was this close to getting the story of a lifetime.

  He ran a finger along her chin. Yet somehow the story of Isabella Morelli was far less fascinating right now than the curve of her mouth. Or the length of her fingers, especially when they were buried in his hair.

  “I’m a reporter,” he began.

  “So you said.”

  “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Who says you’re taking advantage?”

  Lies and secrets have a way of returning to bite a girl in the butt…

  Tea for Two

  © 2008 Shelley Munro

  Hayley Williams thought she was past the screwing-up stage of her life. These days, she wears her good girl persona well—except when she moonlights as a gypsy tea leaf reader in order to earn money to buy her own home. There’s something about Sam Norville, though, that prods her inner imp back to life. A chance meeting, a margarita…okay, two…a stolen kiss, and suddenly she’s back in hot water.

  Sam, a successful businessman, doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Not anymore. For him, involvement with any woman means risking a run-
in with the tabloid press. But his mysterious gypsy lover keeps him coming back, keeps him prodding her for more…like the truth. Of course it’s not love. No, sir. Sam only does lust.

  Hayley knows she shouldn’t want Sam, especially since she lied to him. The right thing to do? Shove that naughty imp off her shoulder and come clean. But at pesky imp just won’t budge…

  Warning: There be lies and secrets ahead, wrapped in pretty bows with margaritas, a one-night stand, fortune telling and a gypsy. Oh, and tea. Lots and lots of pots of tea.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Tea for Two:

  Hayley couldn’t believe Sam Norville sat beside her, holding her hand. His spicy citrus scent and the stroke of his fingers were playing havoc with her senses. Her stomach fluttered despite her steady smile. The man looked better in person, way better than in the photos plastering the magazines and society pages of the newspapers.

  Sam’s dark hair gleamed, even in the dim lighting. Slightly long, it looked in need of a cut, but the shagginess didn’t detract from his good looks. His strong features were sensual and the corners of his golden eyes bore fans of wrinkles, displayed whenever he grinned his very sexy and probably well-practiced crooked smile. A definite bad-boy smile if ever she saw one. Jeans, a white T-shirt and black leather jacket added to her initial bad-boy impression.

  Happy birthday to me.

  “I haven’t seen you around here before,” he said, leaning forward so they could speak over the noise.

  “I came with a friend.” Hayley couldn’t suppress a shiver of awareness when his warm breath wafted across the whorl of her ear. His palm bore several calluses and, curse her vivid imagination, she could envision them stroking across her naked breasts without any difficulty at all. Oh, dear. Big trouble—margarita-induced trouble. Maybe she should have stopped at number three, but she’d badly needed a drink to steady her nerves after their dance.

  “Are you going home with your friend?”