Moonlight on Monterey Bay is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A Loveswept eBook Edition
Copyright © 1994 by Sally Goldenbaum
Excerpt from Midnight Hour by Debra Dixon © 1994 by Debra Dixon.
Excerpt from Morgan’s Woman by Judith E. French copyright © 1999 by Judith E. French.
Excerpt from A Case for Romance by Katie Rose copyright © 1999 by Katie Rose.
All Rights Reserved.
Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
LOVESWEPT and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
Moonlight on Monterey Bay was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1994.
Cover design: Derek Walls
Cover photograph: © Tetra Images/Alamy
eISBN: 978-0-307-79902-9
www.ReadLoveSwept.com
v3.1
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Dedication
Editor’s Corner
Excerpt from Debra Dixon’s Midnight Hour
Excerpt from Judith E. French’s Morgan’s Woman
Excerpt from Katie Rose’s A Case for Romance
ONE
A ribbon, deep green and nearly as rich and vivid as her eyes, bound her floppy velvet hat. The hat was soft and well-worn, the kind discovered in thrift shops beneath piles of musty-smelling blouses or pants.
On Maddie Ames the eccentric hat was at home, looking as if she had come into the world with it pressing down on her thick black hair.
Her boss, Joseph Carter, a dear, elderly man, sat behind the scratched wooden desk in the offices of Ocean Interiors and watched her, the pleasure of her presence indicated by the smile on his lined face.
“Joseph, are you listening to me?” Maddie asked.
“Of course, Maddie, don’t I always listen to you?”
“Hardly ever,” she said, then added, “If anyone calls, I’ll be at the Eastland place the rest of the day.”
“I am now the lady’s secretary!”
Maddie laughed. “Things could be worse. You could be me instead of the boss. You could be the one trying to satisfy tastes that sometimes match those of banana slugs.”
Joseph smiled and picked up his chewed cigar. “Bless you, Madeline. I don’t know what I would do without you.” The words were sincere. His wife, Sadie, had loved her small interior-design business and wouldn’t have given it up for anything. When it had begun to turn a nice profit, she had encouraged Joseph to retire and do what he most enjoyed: puttering around the house and playing golf. Sadie was delighted her earning power made it possible to free her husband from his teaching duties at the university that had started with such enthusiasm some thirty years before and grown more frustrating and onerous with each passing semester in the last ten years. Joseph had been a happy retired professor, and Sadie a busy interior decorator, and all was right with their world … until one bright California morning the year before when Sadie, feeling unusually tired, set down her teacup in their sunny kitchen and died of heart failure.
Now Joseph was in charge of Ocean Interiors, trying to keep it going and even build up the business, if possible, so he could sell it in a year or two and finally retire in comfort.
“So tell me the truth, Joseph,” Maddie said now, touching his shoulder. “What’s the catch to all this? Why were we invited to bid on the Eastland house?”
“Because we are good at what we do, Madeline.”
“Sure, I know that, you know that, but a big gun from San Jose can’t know that. The Eastlands can afford the best, Joseph.”
“And that’s exactly what they’re getting.”
Maddie allowed herself to smile. “You’re hopeless.”
“And you’re the one with eternal faith. Don’t let it fail you now, Maddie.”
“You’re right as usual. Okay, I’ll give it my all.” She hugged him, then glanced at her watch. “I need daylight to get all the measuring done over there, so I’d better scoot.” She blew him a kiss from across the room and sailed out the door, her fast walk turning into a trot as she hit the sidewalk and headed for her ancient VW Bug, hoping against hope it would start this time.
The Eastland house was on the southern edge of Santa Cruz, a resort town on Monterey Bay. It stood on a rise surrounded by a lawn that ended on three sides in dense stands of fragrant conifers, Monterey pine, and cypresses. The two-story house commanded a breathtaking view of the water from huge windows and a terrace. The location was one of the finest in Santa Cruz County. A half-million-dollar view, Joseph had said.
Maddie stood on the circular driveway and shielded her eyes against the sun. Joseph’s estimate was far too conservative, she decided. The place was a showcase.
Excitement surged through her. If they got this job, Joseph would be set. It was a full house job, top to bottom, the woman who called her from San Jose had said. Maddie glanced at the carved wooden sign that read EAST OF THE OCEAN, then walked on past it as if she entered exclusive beach homes every day. She found the key beneath a giant empty pot, imagined it full of brilliant red geraniums, and hurried on inside.
“Fantastic,” she murmured, looking around at the spacious home. From the tiled entryway she could see all the way through to the back, where the ocean view was framed by enormous windows. Heaven. This was surely heaven.
A clearing of a throat, followed immediately by a deep “What are you doing here?” echoed out of nowhere.
Maddie jumped. Her clipboard went sailing across the polished floor.
A tall, half-naked man, so close to her now she could smell the salt water on his skin, leaned over to retrieve her papers. When he stood up again, Maddie found herself staring into a broad bare chest. Beads of water glistened in a dark golden thatch of springy hair. Slowly she raised her head and found herself staring up into startling, serious, midnight-blue eyes.
“You frightened me,” she said accusingly, frowning.
The man frowned in return, and Maddie was dismayed at the fierceness in his incredible eyes and the strong set to his square jaw.
“I should call the police,” she continued quickly, her nerves tap-dancing from apprehension.
“Be my guest,” the man said. The corner of his mouth lifted into a slight, mocking, half smile.
Maddie took a step backward. “This is a private home,” she said sternly, taking some comfort from the fact that there was nowhere on his swim-trunk-clad body to conceal a weapon. “You can’t come jogging in off the beach this way. And look what you’re doing to the floor!” She pointed to the spreading puddle of water around his bare feet. Behind him, leading all the way to the wide-open glass doors in the distance, was a trail of sand.
“It’ll dry,” he said.
“I think you’d better leave now,” she said, nibbling on her lower lip. The flicker of fear returned. What if he wouldn’t leave? What if he were dangerous? He was twice her size. She could see the headline now: BODY OF TALENTED SANTA CRUZ DESIGNER FOUND IN MILLIONAIRE’S BEACH HOUSE. Well, maybe the press wouldn’t call her talented, but if she lived to do this house—
“Leave, sir,” she repeated, her voice quivering slightly. Her chin was up, her green eyes flashing, her slender frame straight as a reed.
“Lady,” the man said slowly, drawing out the word so that Maddie had to squeeze her fingers into a fist to keep from swinging at him. “Maybe you’d better leave,” the man continued. “I’m Sam Eastland. This is my house.”
Maddie’s heart lurched, clattered, thudded painfully in her chest. She bit down hard on her bottom lip, fighting for composure. It was all those late movies she watched. They warped her imagination, and led to enormous professional faux pas—like this! “Well, all right, then,” she said with forced calmness. “You can stay, of course.” Maddie watched his face for a smile, even a half smile, but his forehead was furrowed so deeply, she was tempted to smooth it out with her fingers.
“Generous of you,” he said finally.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.”
The man was silent.
“Next time tell me you’re coming, okay?” she added.
The frown remained, but it was accompanied now by a hint of a smile. “Tell you,” he repeated with great deliberation. “I guess I could do that. There is one small detail that needs some clarification first.”
His expression disarmed her. It was guarded, a half smile that told her nothing, not whether he was amused, angry, or simply bored. It irritated Maddie. “And what’s the detail?” she asked. She took another step backward.
His smile disappeared when he spoke. “Simply this. I don’t know who the hell you are. Nor do I know why you’re standing here in front of me telling me to leave my house. No doubt there’s an explanation, but I sure can’t come up with it.”
Maddie’s mouth fell open, then snapped shut. She frowned and spoke accusingly. “You don’t know who I am?”
“I confess, no.”
She ignored the facetiousness in his tone. “If you don’t know, then why have you allowed me in like this? Do strange women just wander into your house off the street?” She flapped a hand through the still air as if to emphasize her point. Her fingertips brushed his bare chest and she jerked her hand back, as if it had been burned.
“It’s been known to happen,” he said. He reached for a shirt hanging on the banister and slipped it over his head. “But from the looks of things, in this case you seemed to have a key.” He nodded toward her hand.
“Of course I have a key. I’m Madeline Ames,” she said.
The enigmatic half smile was back.
Maddie lifted her chin higher. “I was invited to come out and look at this place, then submit a design proposal. I represent Ocean Interiors.”
“Ocean Interiors?” Sam frowned again. Maddie suspected it came easily to him.
“I think I’m beginning to understand.” He looked her over from head to foot. The crazy hat, set on a mass of thick, dark hair, was slightly askew now. Her dress was loose, a light, airy cotton garment that flowed gracefully over her willowy body. She was of medium height, very pretty in an offbeat way, and she fit his image of an interior designer about as neatly as Dolly Parton. He frowned. “You’re the interior designer?”
“I’m sure I’m not the only one.” Behave, Maddie, she cautioned herself. This job was important to Joseph. She forced a smile to her face. “But our firm was called about this job.”
Sam still wasn’t sure what was going on here. He had told Eleanor, his assistant, to call the Oceanic Interior Design Firm. Elizabeth had used them for everything. But who the devil was this? He suspected he and Eleanor had a little talking to do.
“Okay,” Sam said out loud, extending a hand. “Hello, Ms. Ames. I’m Sam Eastland.”
“Mr. Eastland.” Maddie nodded solemnly. There, now she had it all back on a firm footing again. But the job was becoming complicated. There was more to this expensive view than the house and the ocean and the beach. The moody owner of East of the Ocean, as the house was called, looked as if he had stepped out of an ad for Marlboros. “All right, let’s get down to business,” she said. “As you know, your wife asked us to come out, see what needed to be done, then draw up some rough designs—”
“My wife?”
“Yes. And she neglected to mention you, but as long as you’re here, if you’d like to show me around, that would be fine. If not, you can be about your swimming and I’ll be happy to find my own way around.”
“I don’t have a wife.”
“Oh.” Maddie frowned and checked the address again. The Eastland property. She was in the right place. She looked up. “I believe a woman called.”
“My assistant. Eleanor Williams.”
Maddie nodded. “Of course.” His assistant. “I shouldn’t have presumed it was your wife. But she seemed to be in charge.”
“Yes, Eleanor is an in-charge kind of person. She handles many facets of my life.”
“I see.” Maddie looked down at the Mexican tiles on the floor and tried not to think of the details of this man’s life that were being handled by Eleanor. The tiles were damp, glistening, a blush pink in color—like her face at the moment.
“Eleanor is very competent,” Sam said. “She’s going to get the place in order, take care of what it needs. It needs something, don’t you think?”
Maddie glanced through the wide archways that led from the foyer to the rest of the house. For as far as the eye could see, the home was absolutely bare.
“It depends. Are you a monk?”
He gave a short laugh.
“If not, then some furniture wouldn’t be out of line.” Maddie smiled. She looked around again. “I presume you just bought this place?”
Sam paused before answering. He probably should have gotten rid of the beach house, as he had everything else, and started fresh. He could have bought a new place, one without a past. He should have, and now, suddenly, he had no idea why he hadn’t. He looked up and noticed the young woman watching him, waiting for an answer, curious at his reticence. “No,” he said shortly. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”
His manner was abrupt, evasive, and Maddie felt as if she had overstepped an invisible line. There had been sadness in his voice when he had answered her, and she resolved to stay clear of issues involving Sam Eastland’s past.
She followed him into the living area, hurrying to keep up with his quick strides. The long, sunny room ran the length of the house, then soared up two stories to huge skylights. A wide wooden deck with a hot tub and a sunken fire pit followed the lines of the house in back, and stone steps led from the backyard down the shallow, treed hillside to the beach.
The kitchen opened off the living room, a clean, well-lit area with an oval work island and not a utensil or dishrag or coffeepot in sight. The bedrooms were upstairs, equally empty, equally sunny, and equally a designer’s dream.
“So that’s it,” Sam said. They were standing in the living room, where they had started. Beyond the windows and treetops a fleet of sailboats skimmed along the water.
Maddie drew her attention away from the view and glanced around again. Her next step would have been to sit down at the dining-room table and talk her client through a questionnaire that would reveal needs and tastes and lifestyles. But since there were no tables or chairs, Maddie picked a smooth wall near the fireplace and sat down on the floor.
Sam watched with reluctant admiration as she moved, her lean body folding as gracefully as a sixteen-year-old’s. At first he had been annoyed with the woman’s presence. The whole purpose in coming down here was to be alone. But there was something about her that required a second look, then a third. For good or for bad, she jarred him. Each time he looked at her, her beauty seemed to have deepened, emerging gradually, like a moonflower. He had trouble now looking away.
“Would you care to join me?” she asked. She pushed a stray lock of dark hair from her forehead.
“For what?”
“For the next part of this process. As long as you’re here, I need to ask you some questions.”
/> He frowned. “I don’t have time for that. Call Eleanor.”
“Does Eleanor know your favorite color? Your entertaining patterns? Whether you like the moon at your head while you sleep? How often you cook? How many books you own? What size—”
“Ridiculous!” Sam stopped her midsentence. “No one needs to know all those things about me. What the hell are you, a reporter in disguise?” His sharp tone blanketed the unnerving sensation of wanting to trace the curve of her neck with his fingertips. It was long and tan, a perfect curved column.
“No, sir,” Maddie said. “These are important questions. They guide me in planning. We want you to like the house when it’s finished, Mr. Eastland. And if I don’t know anything about your tastes, how will I know what will satisfy you?”
“If you’re good at what you do, I’ll like it.” Sam leaned against the wall. He regarded her thoughtfully. She had great eyes, powerful eyes, he thought, full of vigor and life. But so young. Or did he simply feel old? Maybe that was it, the rest of the world was automatically suffused with youth in his presence. At thirty-five, he was aging fast.
Maddie looked down at her list of questions, then back up again. “We’ll be wasting each other’s time if you don’t give me some idea of what you like and don’t like.”
“Work out some ideas. I’ll pay you for your time. And then, no matter what, your time won’t be wasted, at least not as far as you’re concerned, right?”
“Well—”
“And whether my time is wasted is my business.”
Maddie frowned. This wasn’t the way Sadie had taught her to work with a client. And she didn’t know beans about this man. Maybe he liked pink and blue and flowered chintz, for all she knew. She couldn’t just pick things out and hope for the best. The project would be doomed to failure.
Sam Eastland was walking toward the open doors to the deck, talking as he went. He felt a sudden need to get air, to get away from this woman whose gaze didn’t waver, whose eyes seemed to dance in the late-afternoon sun. Who was she anyway? “If you want to hand in ideas,” he said briskly, “send them to my San Jose office in two days.”
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