“I’m nothing like the women you normally chase. I’m…”
“What?” he asked gently.
“Plain,” she choked out. “Ordinary. Boring.”
“I’ve never been bored with you, Amanda, and I don’t think there’s anything ordinary about you.”
Amanda sighed, not wanting to continue this conversation with him. Josh was rich and dangerous and absolutely gorgeous. She’d seen him in the society pages, photographed with some of the world’s most beautiful women hanging on to his arm. She’d spent more time than she should have looking over those photos, wondering about his life.
Fantasizing about him. She was not the kind of woman he dated, not the kind he should notice. “Josh—” she began.
“Careful. I’ll think you’re fishing for compliments.”
“I’m not. I know what kind of woman I am.”
“You don’t have a clue, Amanda. Did you ever stop to think that maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do, either?”
Dear Reader,
This is a very special month here at Intimate Moments. We’re celebrating the publication of our 1000th novel, and what a book it is! Angel Meets the Badman is the latest from award-winning and bestselling Maggie Shayne, and it’s part of her ongoing miniseries, THE TEXAS BRAND. It’s a page-turner par excellence, so take it home, sit back and prepare to be enthralled.
Ruth Langan’s back, and Intimate Moments has got her. This month this historical romance star continues to win contemporary readers’ hearts with The Wildes of Wyoming— Hazard, the latest in her wonderful contemporary miniseries about the three Wilde brothers. Paula Detmer Riggs returns to MATERNITY ROW, the site of so many births—and so many happy endings—with Daddy by Choice. And look for the connected MATERNITY ROW short story, “Family by Fate,” in our new Mother’s Day collection, A Bouquet of Babies. Merline Lovelace brings readers another of the MEN OF THE BAR H in The Harder They Fall—and you’re definitely going to fall for hero Evan Henderson. Cinderella and the Spy is the latest from Sally Tyler Hayes, an author with a real knack for mixing romance and suspense in just the right proportions. And finally, there’s Safe in His Arms, a wonderful amnesia story from Christine Scott.
Enjoy them all, and we’ll see you again next month, when you can once again find some of the best and most exciting romance reading around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
CINDERELLA AND THE SPY
SALLY TYLER HAYES
To my sister, Angie Sears, soon to be
Angie Sears, RN—
I’m very proud of you.
Books by Sally Tyler Hayes
Silhouette Intimate Moments
Whose Child Is This? #439
Dixon’s Bluff #485
Days Gone By #549
Not His Wife #611
Our Child? #671
Homecoming #700
Temporary Family #738
Second Father #753
Wife, Mother…Lover? #818
Dangerous To Love #903
Spies, Lies and Lovers #940
Cinderella and the Spy #1001
SALLY TYLER HAYES
lives in South Carolina with her husband, son and daughter. A former journalist for a South Carolina newspaper, she fondly remembers that her decision to write and explore the frontiers of romance came at about the same time she discovered, in junior high, that she’d never be able to join the crew of the Starship Enterprise.
Happy and proud to be a stay-home mom, she is thrilled to be living her lifelong dream of writing romances.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Prologue
“Give me a minute with her,” Joshua Carter said, waving off the virtual army of men who accompanied him to the modest, two-story home on a quiet street near Washington, D.C.
One of the military intelligence officers protested, but thankfully the two grim-faced FBI agents and the FBI evidence team behind them, as well as the other agent from Josh’s own office, stayed quiet. They’d come in three cars—a damned caravan—to pick up one woman.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Josh said, tired from lack of sleep and absolutely hating his job at the moment. “Surround the damned house if you want, but there’s no reason to scare her half to death by all of us showing up at the door at once. And I’d better not see anybody pull a weapon.”
He didn’t wait for their agreement. People were too edgy this morning, and there were too many jurisdictional problems involved. He charged ahead, intent on making this as easy for her as he could, because he didn’t think she was guilty of anything.
He would shield her as best he could. Normally he’d have the power to do much more, but this wasn’t just Division One’s mess. All of Washington was in on this one. He was expecting the damned CIA at any minute.
Josh rapped on the door. It swung open, revealing a woman in a thick terry cloth robe, clutching the sides together with a hand at her chest. Her long, dark hair fell to her shoulders in a loose, quietly sexy mess of curls and shimmering lights. Her soft lips, totally free of any adornment, formed the barest hint of a smile, and her pretty brown eyes widened in wary surprise.
“Josh? What are you doing here?”
Josh moved to the left, hoping to block her view of the three cars parked out front and the huddle of agents he’d left in his tracks, and he reminded himself he had a job to do.
“I need to come inside, Amanda.”
He didn’t wait for her consent, just pushed his way through the doorway. She backed up immediately, looking wary, and he closed the door firmly, wondering how long he could keep everyone else out.
Her eyes got so big, spiky lashes a mile long not enough to shield them now, and she was scared. Already she was scared. He took her cold, trembling hands in his and held on tight. If she fainted on him, he didn’t want her to fall down. Then he glanced down at the ring she wore on the third finger of her left hand. He’d always hated the sight of Rob Jansen’s ring on her finger. Even though there was nothing between him and Amanda Wainwright and likely never would be, he still hated that ring.
He took a breath and said, “Rob died this morning.”
“What?”
“He died,” Josh repeated. “I’m sorry.”
She tightened her grip on his hands, and then tilted her head to the right, as if that might be enough to change her view of the world or maybe the words he’d said.
“I don’t…I don’t understand.”
She stared at him for the longest time, and slowly her expression started to crumble. Her bottom lip trembled. She bit it to make it stop. Tears filled her eyes, overflowed and ran in rivulets down her pale cheeks. Her lashes came down, and every dab of color left her face. She gasped once, then again, and then she made the sound of a woman in awful, physical pain.
He pulled her into his arms, bringing her to a place he’d never thought to have her again. If there was a shred of decency in his body, he wouldn’t have noticed how it felt to have her so close. The citrusy smell of her hair. The softness of her cheek. Was that baby lotion on her skin? He certainly shouldn’t be aware of how little she had on beneath the robe, that her breasts were pressed against his chest, her arms wound tightly around his shoulders.
But then
Joshua Carter had never taken a woman in his arms and felt absolutely nothing. He simply didn’t have it in him. He was a connoisseur of women, and there’d never been one quite like Amanda. He hurt for her now. He would have gladly borne the pain she felt himself to spare her, and he really could have killed Rob Jansen for dragging her into the middle of this mess.
Finally her sobs quieted. She backed away and looked up at him with wet, sad eyes. “He had an accident?”
“We’re not sure. His heart stopped. It looks like a seizure of some sort.”
“He had asthma. He could control it most all the time, but—”
“It may have been related to his asthma.” Or it could well have been murder, something Josh wasn’t ready to tell her. He settled for a vague “It’ll be a few days before we know for sure.”
“I just…I can’t believe it.”
“I know,” he said gently, giving her a weary smile, thinking about taking her in his arms again, wishing there was time but knowing there wasn’t. “I’m afraid there’s more, Amanda. It looks like Rob was doing some things he shouldn’t have been doing.”
Guileless, tear-stained eyes stared back at him. “What?”
“There are people outside. I’m sorry, but I have to let them in. I’d give you some time if I could, but it’s out of my hands.”
“I…I don’t understand.”
“I know. Just tell us what you know, Amanda, that’s all you have to do, and everything will be fine, I promise.”
He moved quickly then, opening the door. A team of men fanned out across the room, the technicians donning gloves and bringing their equipment.
Nodding toward them, Josh said, “They’re going to search the house.”
“Sir?” A red-faced colonel, still upset about being kept out of the house initially, cut in, “Did you advise Ms. Wainwright of her rights?”
“Rights?” Amanda repeated, close to panic now, looking back to Josh.
“I haven’t advised her of anything,” Josh said, “except the fact that her fiancé is dead.”
Amanda edged closer to Josh. “What does he mean, ‘rights’?”
“We have to ask you some questions. You need to get dressed and come with us.”
“I don’t understand,” she said again.
She’d be saying that again and again, Josh suspected, before they were done. “I know,” he said again. “This is about Doc.”
“Doc?”
Josh nodded grimly. Doc was a federal agent, a colleague of theirs, and this was deadly serious.
“Amanda, we think Rob was involved in Doc’s murder, and we have to ask you some questions. You have to come with us. Now.”
Chapter 1
One year later
Joshua Carter sat in his car across from her house. He hadn’t been here since the day he told her Rob Jansen was a traitor, a murderer and that he was dead. Josh doubted she would be glad to see him, but he couldn’t stay away any longer.
Taking a breath to steady what were normally rock-solid nerves, he approached the house and rapped on her door. “Amanda,” he called out in a voice that sounded strangely harsh to his own ears. “It’s Josh.”
He tried to prepared himself for the sight of her, which somehow always managed to suck the breath from his lungs. He hadn’t seen her in eight long weeks. Without meaning to, he’d kept track of the days. Like some lovesick kid.
Lovesick?
Josh laughed wryly. He wasn’t in love with her. He didn’t do love. He merely found himself in the decidedly uncomfortable and unusual position of being obsessed with her.
They worked in the same office. Within minutes of returning to the office after a long mission, he’d be searching the room for her. If he didn’t see her, he’d start asking, with practiced casualness, “Where’s Amanda?” He wondered whether anyone saw through the act and if they were enjoying it. Joshua Carter, the consummate ladies’ man, obsessed with a woman he would likely never have.
Looking up, he saw her through the door. Her eyes got so big he thought he might drown in them. He felt immensely better, just seeing her face.
“Open the door, Amanda.”
The door swung open finally, giving him a good look at her. On a normal day the sight of her could nearly bring him to his knees. But seeing her like this—her body covered in soft, loose-fitting, cream-colored things that might have been pajamas, her eyes huge and dark and wet with tears—was painful, staggeringly so.
She looked so fragile and small, as if a stiff breeze could carry her away. There were dark smudges under her eyes. Her face looked painfully thin and pale, the only color a flush in her cheeks, which he attributed to her embarrassment that he’d found her like this.
She wasn’t the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, but it was her face he saw every night before he drifted off to sleep. She was the one who haunted his dreams, whose taste he still remembered from a single, long-ago, stolen kiss, and he worried about her, almost every bit as much as he ached to make her his, to wipe the sadness from her face, if only she would let him.
Her hair was brown, shot through with bits of red when it hit the light just right. She had piled it on her head, which only made him want to pull out all the pins and take it down. Still, the style had its advantages; it showed off the curve at the back of her neck. Her nape. He found that spot utterly enticing, found himself wanting to press his lips to that spot, to see just how soft and sensitive it was. He liked the way bits of her hair always managed to escape from all the pins, little curls hanging down her neck, curls she sometimes tucked behind her ears, that sometimes curled in a tiny circle against her collarbone and her throat. Which made him want to have his mouth all over her neck.
She had big, innocent-looking brown eyes, spiky, thick lashes and a wide, generous mouth, and there was something about her features, some balance to the bones in her face, her cheek, her jaw, her brow, her neck, that he found utterly compelling at times. She’d turn her face at a certain angle, and one of those sweet, tentative half smiles would come across her face, and he’d be struck by how absolutely perfect her face was. Wide, guileless eyes, soft, generous lips, soft, pink cheeks. There were moments when she looked absolutely stunning.
Damn.
Josh, a man who prided himself on perfect control, had to turn his head away for a second to steady himself. His chest hurt, as if someone had it in a vise, and then he remembered—breathe. The message finally got through his pitifully muddled brain, and the pressure eased.
He forced a careless smile across his face and said, “I don’t suppose you’re going to invite me in?”
She hastily wiped away tears. “Josh, it’s late.”
“I know. But I just got back into town this evening,” he explained. “Heard you had a rough day.” Actually, he’d heard she looked as fragile as she had in the days immediately following Rob Jansen’s death, and that had scared him.
She stiffened, folded her arms across her chest, the movement drawing his eyes to the soft curves of her breasts, unrestrained inside the folds of the oversize top. Dog that he was, he looked for another moment before turning his head away yet again.
“Josh.”
There was impatience, irritation, bone-deep fatigue and maybe something else in her voice. Desperation? Need? That was the main reason he’d come. It was a long time until morning, and she would need someone tonight.
Although she’d been cleared today of any lingering suspicions anyone might have had about her involvement in the scandal that had rocked Division One, she’d been forced to relive the whole thing in her testimony before the Board of Inquiry. Josh was worried about all the questions she’d faced, all those nasty, old memories that might have been dredged up. And maybe a part of him was thinking about someone else entirely, a woman he’d let down so completely, so very long ago, because he simply hadn’t understood how bad things were for her.
So no matter how much Amanda might think she wanted to be alone tonight, Josh wasn’t going t
o let her.
“I thought we’d take a drive,” he said, struggling for something they could do, someplace they could go. He didn’t think she needed to be in this house tonight, knew he shouldn’t be here alone with her.
“A drive?” She gaped at him.
Keeping her off balance was probably a good idea. She might not accept a normal show of sympathy or of support from him, but if he could keep it light, keep surprising her, she might let him help.
“You know…in a car. I have a fabulous after-hours car,” he bragged, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his pants so he wouldn’t touch her. “A ’65 Jag, dark-green, butter-colored leather interior. Convertible, of course. Runs like the wind. Not a scratch on it. What do you say?”
She frowned at him. “You didn’t happen to get hit on the head while you were in Rome, did you?”
“Paris.” He flashed a smile, wishing she was indeed keeping tabs on him. “I was in Paris.” A particularly frustrating experience. He hadn’t found what he was looking for, and it had kept him away from her.
“Fine, Paris.” She nodded impatiently. “Josh, I don’t think this is the time…”
“It’s the perfect time,” he insisted, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets and purposely not gentling his wry tone. “What else are you going to do, Amanda? Sit here alone in the dark and cry?”
Her chin came up at that, and if she’d been about to shed another tear, she wouldn’t dare do it now. Good. He wasn’t ready to handle her tears, although before the night was over, he would find a way to do that, too. If she needed to cry, he wasn’t going to let her do that alone, either.
“Hey, are you hungry?” he added.
She closed her eyes, no doubt looked for patience. “No.”
“I am. I’ve had nothing but airline cuisine all day, and I don’t have to tell you what I think of that.”
He brushed past her and walked into the kitchen. He dug into her refrigerator, finding a deli bag full of roast beef. Not the kind of thing he normally fed his women, but it would do. He rifled through her kitchen until he found the makings of an adequate sandwich. Amanda watched, her arms crossed in front of her, her back rigid, but she’d given in. He could feel it.
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