The Playboy’s Unexpected Bride. Sandra Marton
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Right then, the moon decided to put in an appearance. It was only a quarter moon but it gave enough light for him to see her.
His breath caught.
She was, in a word, spectacular. Long blond hair. Big blue eyes. Razor-sharp cheekbones, an elegant nose, lush mouth and a body made for sin, poured into a black one-piece thing that lovingly molded every feminine curve.
“How dare you look at me that way?”
He’d seen a lot of thieves in his life but never one who looked like this.
“Damn you,” she said, “are you deaf? I said—”
“I heard what you said.”
Was that really his voice? So low? So hoarse? Better still, was this really happening? Was he holding an intruder in his arms who looked like every man’s dream?
She began to struggle. He drew her closer. Her breasts, her belly, pressed against his. Was it the sense of danger? Was it the feel of her? Whatever the cause, his body responded in a heartbeat.
He froze. So did she.
“Let go,” she said, her voice suddenly trembling. “If you don’t, I swear, you’ll pay for this.”
She was right, he would. Once he dragged her into the house, told Marques, the contract they’d yet to sign would go down the drain…
In which case, wasn’t he entitled to some compensation?
The thought was cold; the swift rise of heat in his blood was not. He wasn’t a man to take what had not been offered but suddenly that didn’t matter. Nothing did, except the feel of the woman in his arms.
Deliberately, he cupped her face with one hand. Tilted it up to his. She read what was coming and gasped, beat her fists against his shoulders.
He didn’t give a damn. Slowly, he bent his head to hers and kissed her.
She made a sound of protest. Tried to twist her head away. He wouldn’t let it happen. He thrust his fingers into her hair, felt it slide like silk through his hand and went on kissing her.
Kissing her. Kissing her…
She ignited like dry tinder under the flame of a match. Her hands slid up his chest. Her mouth softened. She gave a sexy little moan…
A light came on just outside the house.
The woman stiffened. Linc, lost in the moment, started to draw her into the shadows.
“No!” she gasped, and sank her teeth into his bottom lip.
Startled, he loosened his grip. One lithe twist and she disappeared into the darkness.
“Lincoln?”
It was Marques. Linc shuddered. He drew his handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed it to his bloody lip. He was a man who lived by rigid rules of self-control; there was no way to explain what he’d just done. He could only tell his host that an intruder was on the grounds and he had lost her.
No need to supply the humiliating details.
Marques smiled when he saw him. “There you are.
I thought perhaps you’d…” His smile faded. “What happened to your lip?”
“It’s nothing. An insect bite.”
“One of the maids will get you some antiseptic.”
“No. No, thanks. I…” Linc cleared his throat. “I’m fine.”
“Nonsense. Small wounds can become a problem in this climate. Come inside, Lincoln. I’ll ring for—”
“Hernando, listen to me. That security system my people installed?”
“It is excellent,” Marques said, smiling broadly. “The best, just as you promised.”
“It isn’t. I mean, it is but—”
“Papa?”
A girl—obviously Marques’s daughter—stood silhouetted in the hallway just outside the room. Marques held out his hand.
“Ana. Come in, child.”
Linc smothered a groan. Damn, what a mess! Bad enough he had to tell Marques his high-tech security system had been compromised and he’d let the intruder slip away. Now he had to top that off by saying no, he wasn’t interested in marrying a sweet, well-bred innocent young woman while she stood by, listening.
Oh, yeah, this was definitely turning into a fun night, Linc thought glumly…and felt his jaw slide to his shoe tops as Marques’s daughter entered the well-lit room.
The sweet, well-bred innocent was the woman he’d just kissed.
The sexy black outfit had been subtly altered by the addition of a pale pink jacket, long and loose enough to hide all those feminine curves. The silky tousle of golden hair was drawn back in a severe knot. But it was she, and one look at her face told him she was as stunned as he was.
“Ana,” Marques said, “this is the man I’ve been telling you about. Lincoln, this is my beloved daughter, Ana Maria.”
For the first time in his life, Linc found himself struggling for words. What did you say to a man whose “beloved daughter” had been in your arms moments ago? Whose innocence was obviously a ruse only her father was foolish enough to believe?
His cell phone rang. Ordinarily, he’d have ignored it. Now, he yanked it from his pocket like a lifeline.
“Aldridge,” he barked.
“Lincoln,” he heard his lawyer say solemnly, “I’m afraid I’ve had word about your sister.”
Somehow, in that instant, he knew what was coming. He turned his back to the room, to Marques, to Marques’s daughter. The lawyer was hemming and hawing, stalling for time. Linc interrupted with a sharp command.
“Spit it out, man. What’s happened?”
A chartered plane had gone down in a mountain pass. The pilot, the passengers…all of them, gone.
Linc felt the blood drain from his head. Dimly, he heard Marques say something but he ignored him and stepped blindly into the night.
“No,” he said sharply. “Not Kath.”
“I’m sorry, Lincoln. Your sister and her husband both. But, miraculously, there was a survivor.”
One survivor. A baby. A two-month-old little girl.
A little girl who was Lincoln Aldridge’s niece.
New York City, two months later
IT TURNED out that some clichés were true.
Tragedy fell on a man without warning, but life went on. It changed, but it went on.
Somehow, you kept going. Somehow, you adapted.
You adapted, Linc thought groggily, as the piercing wail of the gorgeous, brilliant, impossible four-month-old hellion who now ruled his life shot him from sleep.
He threw out a hand, searched on the bedside table for his watch and peered blearily at the luminescent dial.
Oh, God!
It was five-oh-five. Five-oh-five in the a.m. He had a meeting at eight-thirty with his own people, another at eleven with the European clients he’d taken to dinner last night. He had to be sharp and focused and how could a man be either when he hadn’t had a solid night’s sleep?
He never had a solid night’s sleep anymore. And he rarely had a full day to devote to his work.
First there’d been the awful, sad details of