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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
Dear Reader
Title Page
About the Author
Dedicated
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Epilogue
Copyright
Biting Off A Tiny Portion Of The Strawberry, Beth Held Up What Remained, Playfully Jiggling It In Front Of Him.
“Would you like a taste?” she asked.
Reese looked past the fruit to her eyes. “I would.”
All her best intentions of keeping herself emotionally distanced from him disappeared in a white-hot wave of desire. Placing her fingertips against his chest, she brought the half-eaten strawberry to his lips.
“Take it,” she whispered, and he closed his lips over the fruit.
The air was scented with strawberries, his rain-wet hair and pure male essence. When he pulled her hips against his firm length, she took a deep breath.
“I want more than a taste,” he said.
“I don’t want this to be a game anymore.”
“It’s not,” he said, before he drew her into his arms.
Dear Reader,
We all know that Valentine’s Day is the most romantic holiday of the year. It’s the day you show that special someone in your life—husband, fiancé…even your mom!—just how much you care by giving them special gifts of love.
And our special Valentine’s gift to you is a book from a writer many of you have said is one of your favorites, Annette Broadrick. Megan’s Marriage isn’t just February’s MAN OF THE MONTH, it’s also the first book of Annette’s brand-new DAUGHTERS OF TEXAS series. This passionate love story is just right for Valentine’s Day.
February also marks the continuation of SONS AND LOVERS, a bold miniseries about three men who discover that love and family are the most important things in life. In Reese: The Untamed by Susan Connell, a dashing bachelor meets his match and begins to think that being married might be more pleasurable than he’d ever dreamed. The series continues in March with Ridge: The Avenger by Leanne Banks.
This month is completed with four more scintillating love stories: Assignment: Marriage by Jackie Merritt, Daddy’s Choice by Doreen Owens Malek, This Is My Child by Lucy Gordon and Husband Material by Rita Rainville. Don’t miss any of them!
So Happy Valentine’s Day and Happy Reading!
Lucia Macro
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269
Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
Reese: The Untamed
Susan Connell
SUSAN CONNELL
has a love of traveling that has taken her all over the world—Greece, Spain, Portugal and Central and South America, to name a few places. While working for the foreign service she met a U.S. Navy pilot, and eight days later they were engaged. Twenty-one years and several moves later, Susan, her husband, Jim, and daughter, Catherine, call the New Jersey shore home. When she’s not writing, her part-time job at a local bookstore, Mediterranean cooking and traveling with her family are some of her favorite activities. Susan has been honored by New Jersey Romance Writers with their coveted Golden Leaf Award. She loves hearing from her readers.
This book is dedicated to CINDY GERARD &
LEANNE BANKS, my very own Thelma & Louise.
You took the leap and sprouted wings!
And an extra special bow to
Jim, Cathy, Linda and Candy
Prologue
“You have to do it, Beth.”
“No, I don’t have to do it. The idea is ridiculous, desperate and sleazy…even for you, Eugene.”
“I can see where you find the task questionable. But we have to look at what’s at stake here. You’re being called upon to do something for your country.”
“Eugene, volunteering at this homeless shelter is doing something for my country.” Reaching across the cot, she stripped the sheet from it in one deft move. After tossing the rumpled material toward the growing heap in the aisle, she pointed to the next cot. “Want to help me here?”
Ignoring her request, the neatly dressed man clutched his portfolio to his chest, leaned closer to the smiling blonde and whispered, “For the president, Beth. Come on, think about what this could mean if you succeed. You want him reelected, don’t you?”
Shaking her head in disbelief, she loosened the corner of a torn sheet. “You know I want that. But I thought this issue of Harrison Montgomery’s having an illegitimate child was put to rest when Kelsey Gates couldn’t find proof that that cowboy, Lucas Caldwell, was Harrison’s son.” Lifting the worn material from the cot, she held it up to the light to see if the sheet was worth mending. Her gaze darted to the man next to her. “Eugene, don’t look at me that way. I’ve known Kelsey since our days at Northwestern, and if there was anything of substance to sink her teeth into, she wouldn’t have let go until she had her story on the front page of the Los Angeles Times.”
Pursing his lips and shaking his head, Eugene Sprague stared alternately at the sheet and the woman holding it. Bundling up the sheet, Beth tossed it in the discard pile before turning her full attention to the man dogging her. “And don’t try intimidating me with your patronizing expression. I do care about getting President Pierson reelected and you know it.”
“I’m not questioning your dedication. But if you think sorting sheets in a shelter is the best you can do to help your country…well, you’re not living up to your potential. Besides, how can you stand working so many hours in this place?” He leaned forward again, this time pushing aside her shoulder-length curtain of curly hair. “It stinks in here.”
Taking a quick look down the rows of cots, she concluded that none of the people who occupied them had heard him. “Don’t you think I know that?” she asked, grabbing him by the lapel. “Don’t you think they know that?”
“All right, all right,” he said, avoiding her boiling gaze. “You shouldn’t take things so personally, Beth.”
“Somebody has to take this personally,” she said as the sense of injustice burned in her stomach. “And before you trip over that glib tongue of yours again, I think you should know that I spent a part of my childhood in places like this. They didn’t smell any better then, either.”
“I know all about your childhood,” he said, peeling her fingers from his suit. “I also know about your life now. And you can spare the time for what needs to be done.”
Eugene Sprague’s practiced smile and relentless attitude got him in and out of problem situations with the majority of women on President Tyler Pierson’s reelection staff. But not with Beth. She gave him a look that would have leveled most men.
Smoothing his lapel, Eugene shrugged. “You knew when you came to work for us that your life would be under scrutiny. The security of the president comes first.”
Planting her fists on her hips, she stared at the president’s campaign manager. “I understand the need for the initial checks into my background, but what’s snooping into my private life now got to do with President Pierson’s security?”
“Calm down. We tried checking into your private life,” he said evenly as he looked around the cavernous room. “But you don’t have one.”
She shoved a hand into the soft tangle of curls touching.her shoulder and shifted her stare up to the rafters. Just when she thought she’d come to terms with her past, she felt the shame creeping back in. Why couldn’t she manage to put the memories of her childhood behind her and make a life for herself? Dammit, she’d been in her Bethesda apartment for six months and she was still living out of boxes. Here she was, a college-educated, twenty-seven-year-old, reasonably attractive woman making a respectable salary in a much-sought-after position on Pierson’s reelection staff. Yet her goal of stability still eluded her. What was wrong? Why couldn’t she bring herself to take a step toward greater permanency in her life?
“Beth? Are you with me?”
Working a stiff smile onto her face, she lowered her hand as she turned to the man in the three-piece Armani suit.
“Get real, Eugene,” she said, tucking her T-shirt into her jeans. “What’s flying me off to the French Riviera to chase after some playboy going to accomplish?”
“I don’t believe he’s just some playboy. Ever since your reporter friend got us excited over her cowboy, my people have been working day and night on the old rumor about Montgomery and his French mistress. Beth, if this rumor is true and you can prove Reese Marchand is Montgomery’s bastard…”
Beth winced. “And just how would I do that?”
“You’re an intelligent woman. You figure it out,” he said, sliding a glance over her body. “Montgomery was crazy for blondes.” He shrugged. “Maybe…like father, like son?”
“I’d do just about anything to keep the president in office, but what you’re suggesting amounts to—”
“I’m not suggesting anything, Beth. All I’m saying is go to the Riviera and check this guy out.”
“Check this guy out?” She slapped a hand over the political slogan on her T-shirt. “And who do I look like? Jessica Fletcher? Forget it. I have work to do right here in Washington.” She made a move to pass him, but he sidestepped with her.
“Let’s not be hasty.”
“Send someone else,” she said, pushing him aside and moving down the aisle to the next cot. “Like I said, my schedule is full with my responsibilities at campaign headquarters and the hands-on work I do at this shelter. And need I remind you that that’s exactly what President Pierson’s been asking for,” she said, pulling off the sheet and shaking it in his face. “A little hand-son work.”
They both waited until a man in a tattered shirt and shabby pants walked by on his way out of the shelter. Beth glared when Eugene pressed his precisely folded handkerchief to his nostrils.
“Consider what you’re being asked to do as a different kind of hands-on work,” he said, his thinning patience evident in his tilted head and tightened voice. Raising his handkerchief to silence her retort, he continued, his lips barely moving as he scanned the immediate area. “Look, Beth, I know you’re not going to like hearing this, but President Pierson doesn’t have time to press for passage of that housing bill you’re so fond of quoting from.”
“But he’ll make time,” she said, tugging at the mattress until she’d turned it over. “Just this morning his press secretary announced—”
“Pierson’s got to get himself elected to another four years in the Oval Office first. And we’ve got to do our part to ensure that that happens. If we fail, then you can spend all the time you like volunteering in places like this.”
Laughing softly, she tsked and shook her head. “You’re putting too much stock in last night’s CNN poll,” she said with a confidence she was finding harder to hold on to by the minute. “Remember what you told me when Harrison Montgomery got the nomination? You said, ‘This campaign is no longer a sailing cruise. We’ll be riding a roller coaster. But never fear. We’ll arrive at the end the way we started out, in the first car. All you have to do is hold on and—’”
Eugene Sprague dropped his pricey leather case to the cot and took hold of her elbows. “Listen, do I have to spell it out for you? The campaign’s in trouble. Big trouble. And if we don’t turn up something substantial on golden boy Montgomery soon, you can kiss that housing bill goodbye, because he sure as hell isn’t going to come through for it.”
The weight of his words had her weak at the knees. Fluctuating opinion polls were one thing, but when the head of the reelection campaign smelled imminent defeat, it made her head spin. Her entire life had led to this job. Every indignity she’d ever suffered, every embarrassment she’d ever endured, every leftover doubt she had about herself would be exorcised once she saw that housing bill signed into law. She lifted her gaze to meet Eugene’s. He let go of her, and reached to smooth his hair, then straighten his tie.
“What the president’s asking you to do isn’t so different from what you’re dealing with here,” he said, jerking his thumb toward the pile of sheets. “Instead of some nameless nobody’s dirty linen, it’ll be Harrison Montgomery’s.”
Taking a step backward, she bumped into a cot. Shock coupled with momentum sent her downward to the bare mattress. The only words that registered were Eugene’s first seven. “Are you saying President Pierson chose me? I met him once and all he did was shake my hand.” She squinted at Eugene. “You’re making that part up,” she said, flashing him what she hoped was at least a suspicious look, and at best a challenging one.
“I don’t have time to make this up,” he said, unzipping his portfolio and withdrawing a bank statement with her name on it. “I know you don’t believe in vacations or long weekends or even something as frivolous as a good address, but I think the budget for this assignment will prove how important this is.”
“I don’t know what you or the president want me to do,” she protested as he pressed the paper into her upturned palm.
“You’ll get a full briefing on that tomorrow morning in my office.”
“The only thing I know about the Riviera is what I’ve seen in the movies. I don’t speak French, Eugene,” she said, hoping if she hurried through the reasons, she would convince him along with herself that she couldn’t consider his suggestion. “I don’t have the wardrobe. And I’m in the middle of setting up the northwest trip for July.”
“Everyone speaks English. Your wardrobe is already being assembled. Dress size eight. Shoe size six and a half medium. Buy whatever else you need when you get there. Someone’s already been chosen to replace you at headquarters. You’re booked on a flight out of Dulles tomorrow evening.”
Half hearing him, she looked up from the paper he’d handed her. “This is crazy. There’s enough money here to buy one of these people a house. Two houses.”
“What’s that slogan on your T-shirt read? You Can Make A Difference? Well, Beth, you can make a difference. But not by nickel and diming away your time in a place like this.” Sitting down beside her, he placed a reassuring hand over hers and spoke in a voice suspiciously reminiscent of President Pierson’s own Southern drawl. “If not you, Beth, who?”
One
“‘Never gamble what you can’t afford to lose.’ Isn’t that what you always tell me when I come to Monte Carlo?”
Reese Marchand’s searching glance around the glittering casino came to an abrupt halt on his friend. “Always,” he said, absently tapping the stack of chips in his hand. “What’s the matter, Duncan? Baccarat’s not your game tonight?” Even as Reese spoke, his gaze began straying from his friend’s frown to the entrance of the private gambling salon.
Duncan Vanos patted his empty pockets as he reached the roulette table. “Baccarat’s never my game. It’s your game. Remember that time in Las Vegas?” Duncan shook his head, his words dissolving into a chuckle. “She’ll be along any minute now.”
Reese never took his gaze from the entrance. “Who are you talking about?” he asked, bluffing badly for his friend’s entertainment. He knew exactly who Duncan was talking about. The exquisite creature who’d been ducking behind columns out in the atrium tonight. The same one who’d been trailing him through Monaco for the past three days. Thank heavens she’d left off the sunglasses and head scarf tonight so he could finally get a good look at her face. He pictured her checking herself in the tiny mirror inside her purse when she thought he wasn’t looking.
He couldn’t stop looking; that she wasn’t a perfectly poised clone of every other woman in a two-mile radius had intrigued him to the point of fixation. How many stalkers, he wondered, stopped every five minutes to check their lipstick and fluff their hair? No doubt about it, the lady was on a manhunt…for him. His body shook with silent laughter when he tried imagining what terrible things this fine-boned beauty with the brandy-colored eyes could do to him once she had him in her clutches.
Duncan leaned closer, his voice reeling with melodrama. “The way she presses her hand flat against her tummy, then takes that calming breath just before she walks by you…” He gave an appreciative shiver.
Reese narrowed his eyes in sincere curiosity toward his old college friend. “You’ve noticed that, too, have you?”
“Along with every other red-blooded man here,” he said, as he moved to Reese’s side and looked toward the entrance with him. “They say she’s staying at Billy Waleska’s place over in Cap Ferrat while he’s away.”
“Is she American?”
“Do you really need to ask?”
No, he didn’t. If there was one thing he could always recognize it was anything or anyone American. And he would happily bet his substantial night’s winnings to prove it by locating the Made In America stamp on her derriere. A twist of a smile was fighting for control of his mouth when he pictured himself uncovering the evidence.
“Here she comes,” Duncan said behind his fingers as he ran one down his nose. “Listen, if you decide to join forces with your mystery lady, we can have our talk tomorrow.”
As the croupier raked in the house win, Reese frowned at his friend. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Come on. The thought of leaving the casino with that angel hasn’t crossed your mind?” Duncan asked as they watched her slip into the crowd on the other side of the roulette table to buy her chips.
Reese watched as the other men there took a look, some less discreetly than others. He couldn’t blame them. Her décolleté dress was showing off the creamy curves of her breasts to perfection, but the choker of large white pearls at her throat added that odd touch of sexuality that was grabbing at his gut. He repositioned his body against the hard edge of the table as he continued to watch her. Knowing she’d dressed with him in mind had him musing about the parts of her he couldn’t see.
Duncan lowered his voice to a comical level. “I don’t think she’s following you around for a contribution to the Red Cross.”
Neither did Reese, but that was beside the point. With each of her subtle movements, she set his blood humming. Reese tore his gaze from the beauty in the curve-caressing white silk. “I was referring to your marketing strategy for my champagne. It’s not going to happen, Duncan. The timing is all wrong to start exporting it Stateside,” he said as he turned back to where he’d seen her last. A sense of alarm shot through him when he couldn’t find her in the crowd.
“The timing’s perfect, Reese,” Duncan insisted. “Have you forgotten? It’s an election year. Anything’s possible.”
Duncan kept talking, stirring up private demons Reese didn’t want to face. Not now, not ever. He plowed his fingers through the tousle of brown curly hair threatening to spill lower on his forehead. Straining, he squinted into the crowd, then rolled his eyes in protest over the state he was getting himself into. What was happening to his evening? Where had she gone? And why was it suddenly so important that he find her? He groaned inwardly. Why wouldn’t Duncan shut up? Clamping a hand on Duncan’s shoulder, he mugged for his friend. “I’ve got my mind on more immediate concerns here. Where in hell did she disappear to now?”
Duncan sighed with resignation, then quietly scanned the area. “I think your angel flew away, which is probably a good thing. Maybe now we can talk some business.”
“My angel?” Laughing out loud at the thought, he shook his head. “If she were my angel,” he said, stepping aside to allow someone to sidle next to him, “she wouldn’t have abandoned me to you.”
A slow smile spread across Duncan’s face. “She hasn’t,” he said, subtly gesturing with his chin toward the person on the other side of Reese.
Reese turned his head for a quick confirmation, but once he locked onto her profile he couldn’t bring himself to turn away. Close up, she was breathtaking, living up in every way to Duncan’s designation. The mass of white blond curls tumbling loosely around her face befitted an angel, not the aloof, sophisticated woman she was trying to be. Her lovely, long-fingered, soft hands fidgeted mercilessly with the clasp on her evening bag until she’d snapped it open. He knew his blatant staring wasn’t helping her nerves, but if she pulled out her lipstick and starting doing those sexy things with her mouth, he wasn’t going to miss a second of it.
As the croupier called for bets, he continued drinking in the details of her face. Her clear, luminous complexion, thick, curved lashes, perfectly sculpted nose…and her mouth. He swallowed. Her incredible mouth with its unspoken promises of pleasures to share.
Breathing softly through his lips, he stood his ground when several players tried slipping in to place their bets. He wasn’t giving an inch. After three days of trailing him, she’d mustered her courage to rub elbows and hips with him and he didn’t want her bolting. Besides, he’d made a bet with himself that he would get close enough tonight to enjoy her fragrance. The blended scents of spring flowers and her feminine warmth were keeping him content.
But not for long.
The moment she started stroking one of her ribbony curls and biting softly on her lip, the sensations of her actions began replicating themselves along the length of his body. Her simple gestures were bringing to mind every erotic fantasy he’d had since puberty. As a mercy to both of them, he turned his eyes toward the roulette table. The empty square marked with a black two caught his eye, and without pausing, he set his stack of chips there. Discreet murmurs of approval buzzed around him.
Duncan leaned in. “Everything?” he whispered. “I hope your luck is better than mine.”
From the corner of his eye, Reese could see her lifting her gaze from inside her bag to steal a glance at the numbered squares. The moment she located his wager she blinked, then widened her eyes in surprise.
“Well, Duncan,” he said, loudly enough for all three of them to hear, “someone’s bound to get lucky tonight. I wonder who it will be?”
Duncan smiled as the croupier spun the wheel, then tossed in the little ball. “Just find out if she has a sister,” he said quietly before slipping into the crowd behind them.
She took out her chips, gave them a quick visual count, then bit down on her lip again. This time the guileless gesture tugged at a different organ. His heart. As the crowd around the table pulled closer to the action, she started to return the chips to her bag.
Don’t be afraid, he wanted to tell her. Take a chance.
Hesitating, she looked up at him as if she’d heard his thoughts. Smiling and shaking his head, he focused on the wheel. “You’ll never know the thrill until you’ve risked it all.” If he’d known her name he would have said that, too, but in the end it didn’t matter. She’d heard him.
She set her stack of chips on red three, the square next to his, a second before the croupier waved his hand to end the betting. Tapping her fingertips against her pearl choker, she raised her chin toward the wheel and held her breath. As her lashes began fluttering like little fans, a tiny line of concentration formed between her brows. For the moment the mystery surrounding her vanished, replaced by the kind of excitement that made her eyes shine and his heart pound. He understood this moment, this feeling, this fusion of fear and freedom, of letting go of the world that ruled you to wrap yourself in the thrill of danger. There was nothing quite like it, he thought, watching her.
As the ball tumbled down she braced her hands on the table edge and leaned toward the wheel, offering him a clue as to what she was like when a sense of urgency overtook her. And the game she didn’t know he was playing with her became more meaningful to him than he’d ever expected.
As temptation poked and prodded him, he shifted his weight, first to one foot and then to the other. The impulse to touch her had him cupping his chin, then rubbing his hand against his cheek. If he leaned forward he could bury his nose in those blond curls to breathe in more of her scent. And make a fool of himself in the process.
She pushed up from the table edge, but the croupier’s call didn’t register with Reese until he saw her eyes light with surprise.
“I won?”
“Oui, mademoiselle.”
Squeezing her hands into fists, she jerked them toward her shoulders and whispered an impassioned “Yyyeesss!” Without looking at him, she wrapped her hands around Reese’s arm and shook him. “I won! I—I—”
“Congratulations.”
Her head snapped in his direction. For one rich, rare moment, Reese focused on the only two things moving: her drop pearl earrings, his thudding heart. He smiled. He was one giant step closer to finding out who she was and what she wanted. And she couldn’t do a thing about it. Then her unquenchable brandy-colored gaze turned from merely startled to purely panicked.
This is happening too fast, she seemed to say as she released his arm. Please don’t make me do this. I’m not ready.
Before he could react, someone bumped into her, sending her against his chest. The next few seconds blurred into a heavenly tangle of blond hair and bilingual apologies. With her breasts pressed against his chest and her lips temptingly close to his, it was all he could do not to sink his fingers into her hair and pull her even closer for a kiss. The only thing stopping him was a whisper in the back of his brain telling him that he’d read her thoughts correctly. Now wasn’t the time. But as she struggled to free herself from the forced intimacy, he could feel himself becoming more and more aroused.
“Careful there,” he warned, curving his hands around her waist. He wanted to settle her hips away from his until he’d regained control, but she arched against him when his fingers touched the bare skin near the base of her spine. With commendable restraint, he forced himself not to massage the satiny depression. Because if he did, the situation threatened to become a lot worse. Or better. Clearing his throat he gently removed his hands and slipped into the crowd.
His exit was less than seamless, but more important, it was what she’d wanted—an end to their embarrassing situation. From the corner of his eye he saw her reaching for her necklace as her lips parted in alarm. He hesitated. Had she wanted him to stay or go? Her fingers were wrapping around her pearl choker as she strained to keep him in view. The next moment pearls were slipping through her splayed fingers and spilling down her breasts, bouncing off the table edge and arcing left and right. Half a dozen men made a mad, inelegant scramble with her to retrieve the pearls. He was several yards away when he turned for a better look. Already on her hands and knees, she didn’t see him looking. Didn’t see him smiling. And didn’t see him stoop to pick up a pearl and slip it into his pocket.
Beth Langdon paced back and forth on the private beach below the Cap Ferrat villa. Hugging the cellular phone to her ear, she responded to Eugene Sprague’s greeting with a rush of emotion. “This is the stupidest thing you’ve ever asked me to do.”
“Beth, you give me this same spiel every time you call. Why don’t you fast-forward to the good stuff. What have you been doing?”
“Skulking around Monaco in a scarf and dark glasses.”
“The trick is to get Marchand to notice you. You’ve been there almost a week now. Aren’t you any closer to making contact with him?”
Contact? Stopping dead in her sandy tracks, she glanced down at her bikini-clad body as she recalled her contact with Reese Marchand. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been embraced…like that. As awkward as the moment was, she remembered thinking how solid he’d felt, how alive she’d felt and how perfect they’d felt together. Then his fingers had settled on the small of her back and she’d lurched forward. The instant she made the move, she’d become achingly aware of his masculinity. Every inch of it.
From her breasts to her knees, every cell sizzled with the memory of her body moving against his. Animals in heat displayed more finesse! Swallowing hard, she forced her attention to the speed boat racing by on the open water.
“Hello, Beth? Are you there? Did you hear me? I said the trick is—”
“He noticed me…when I made a complete and utter fool of myself last night.” Turning away from the sparkling water, she quickly continued. “And don’t ask how. All you need to know is that the next time he sees me he’s going to turn around and run the other way.”
“I doubt it.”
Why couldn’t she get it through Eugene Sprague’s thick skull that she wasn’t suited for this job? Out of sheer frustration, she grabbed a handful of her filmy cover-up and rubbed at the intricate gold needlework decorating the edge. “You can doubt all you want, but that doesn’t alter the fact that this overblown project of yours is a complete waste of money.”
“Money’s not a problem. Besides, I thought I’d told you that the funding came from a private source. No one’s going to miss it at headquarters.”
“Please!” Letting go of the material, she curved her hand over her sun hat and hunched her shoulders closer to the phone. “I told you, I don’t want to know where the money came from. I wish you’d never bring that up again.”
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