The Notorious Groom

Norah Couldn’t Sleep. Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Copyright

Norah Couldn’t Sleep.

If she were honest with herself—something she always strove to be—she knew the real cause of her sleeplessness could be summed up in two words. Elijah Wilder.

She’d made a mistake. More accurately, she’d made several.

First, she hadn’t thought enough past the immediate goal of getting married. When she had considered it, she’d envisioned a civilized, adult arrangement.

She had not foreseen knee-weakening, strength-sapping kisses.

Or disturbing visits to her bedroom.

Or veiled suggestions of more to come.

Most of all, she’d never imagined her own improper reaction.

But then, who would have thought that kissing Eli would be the most frightening, marvelous, exciting thing she’d ever done? That she would enjoy every sensation and every second? That she would be sorry when it ended?

Certainly not her. And even if she had, it did not mean she wanted more.

Did it?

Dear Reader,

MEN! This month Silhouette Desire goes man-crazy with six of the sexiest, heart-stopping hunks ever to come alive on the pages of a romance novel.

Meet May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, love-wary secret agent Daniel Lawless, in The Passionate G-Man, the first book in Dixie Browning’s fabulous new miniseries, THE LAWLESS HEIRS Metsy Hingle’s gallant hero protects an independent lady in danger in the last book of the RIGHT BRIDE, WRONG GROOM series, The Bodyguard and the Bridesmaid Little bitty Joeville, Montana, has more tall, dark and rugged ranchers than any other town west of the Mississippi. And Josh Malone has more sex appeal than all of ’em put together in Last of the Joeville Lovers, the third book in Anne Eames’s MONTANA MALONES series.

In The Notorious Groom, Caroline Cross pairs the baddest boy ever to roam the streets of Kisscount with the town virgin in a steamy marriage of convenience. The hero of Barbara McCauley’s Seduction of the Reluctant Bride is one purebred Texas cowboy fixin’ to do some wife-wranglin’—this new groom isn’t about to miss a sultry second of his very own wedding night, Yeehaw! Next, when a suddenly wealthy beauty meets the owner of the ranch next door, he’s wearing nothing but a Stetson and a smile in Carol Grace’s The Heiress Inherits a Cowboy.

Silhouette Desire brings you the kind of irresistible men who make your knees buckle, your stomach flutter, your heart melt...and your fingers turn the page. So enjoy our lineup of spectacular May men!

Regards,

Senior Editor

Silhouette Books

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 Ene, Ont. L2A 5X3

The Notorious Groom

Caroline Cross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROLINE CROSS

always loved to read, but it wasn’t until she discovered the romance genre that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. Nominated for a number of awards, including the prestigious RITA, she’s been thrilled to win the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Desire, as well as a W.I.S.H. Award. She grew up in central Washington State, attended the University of Puget Sound and now lives outside Seattle, where she tries to work at home despite the chaos created by two telephone-addicted teenage daughters and a husband with a fondness for home improvement projects. Caroline would love to hear from her readers. She can be reached at P.O. Box 5845, Bellevue, Washington 98006.

To Melinda McRae, for her support and understanding,

and

To Susan Andersen, brainstorming partner

extraordinaire, whose insight and sense of

humor keep me on track.

Sometimes a writer is only as good as her friends.

Thanks for getting me through this book.

One

“Well, I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Bunny-Boo Brown.”

Norah Jane froze on the heat-seared concrete stoop of the Cabin Court Motel’s bungalow number eight and stared, wide-eyed, at Elijah Wilder.

After three days of agonizing about this encounter, she’d thought she was prepared for anything.

She’d fully expected their first face-to-face meeting m sixteen years to be stilted and awkward. She’d resigned herself to the idea that she would be nervous and tongue-tied. She’d been braced for him to use that awful mck-name and she’d even conceded, since she’d seen him around town upon occasion, that he was more heart-stoppingly handsome than he’d been in high school.

But never had it occurred to her that he might come to the door without all his clothes on.

How foolish of her. After all, hadn’t he been the bane of her adolescence and the baddest boy to ever roam the streets of Kisscount, Oregon? So wasn’t it right in character that he was now lounging in the doorway as tall, golden and self-possessed as ever, clad in nothing more than a scanty pair of cutoffs and a mildly inquisitive expression?

Yes, yes and yes.

She took a long, shuddering breath and told herself she was not going to hyperventilate. Careful to keep her eyes fixed on his face, she rubbed her damp palms against the full skirt of her high-necked cotton dress and tried to ignore the way her heart was pounding. “E-E-Elijah. I hope I d-didn’t wake you.” Oh, dear. She was stammering. She hadn’t done that since he’d caught her alone in the hallway after high school graduation and pretended he wanted to kiss her.

“As a matter of fact...” He leaned one broad bare shoulder against the doorjamb as if standing required more energy than he could muster and yawned.

Her gaze took advantage of his momentary preoccupation to slide downward. In a sort of slow motion haze, she registered the solid expanse of his bronzed chest and hard, flat abdomen. A silky arrow of gilded hair started above his navel and led down past a distinct tan line to disappear beneath the unbuttoned waistband of his abbreviated jeans.

She swayed, feeling dizzy.

“Hey, Boo. You okay?”

The warm brush of his fingers against her shoulder jolted Norah. She jerked her gaze to his face, mortified to see the lazy amusement in his hooded eyes. He knew, drat him. He knew the disconcerting effect his near nakedness was having on her. Worse, he was enjoying her discomfiture, just as he had a thousand times in the past. “I’m p-perfectly fine,” she lied.

A ghost of a smile hovered at the edges of his chiseled mouth. “Good.” He eased back and resumed his lazy stance. “What time is it, anyway?”

She glanced gratefully at her wristwatch. “Elev—” Her voice cracked, and she stopped to clear her throat. “Eleven-thirty.”

“Ah.” He yawned again and raked a hand through his thick, sun-streaked, gold-on-bronze hair. “That early.” After an unhurried perusal of the mostly empty parking lot, he brought his gaze back to her. “So... To what do I owe the pleasure? You lost? Your car break down? Or...” He lowered his voice an intimate fraction and his incredible navy eyes got even bluer. “Did you finally realize how much you’ve missed me all these years?”

The businesslike speech she’d practiced all morning deserted her. Trapped in his mesmerizing gaze, she could barely recall her name, much less how she intended to convince him he ought to help her keep Willow Run—her home, her haven, her sanctuary.

Instead, every instinct she had urged her to run. It was only the promise she’d made to young Chelsea Wilder that she’d try to think of a way to aid the child’s father that kept her in place.

A promise, after all, was a sacred trust.

She dampened her suddenly dry lips. “M-may I come in?”

His eyebrows, as elegantly shaped as the rest of his chiseled face, rose fractionally. He shrugged. “Why not?” He stepped back, inviting her to follow with a crook of his hand.

Norah took a deep breath, then stepped cautiously after him, giving a little jump as the door swung shut behind her. There was no foyer and as soon as her eyes adjusted to the gloomy light she began looking around curiously.

On her left was the kitchenette, comprised of a yellow counter, a sinkful of dirty dishes, an oven with a chipped corner and an old refrigerator. A small table and two chairs were set against one wall beside a dingy window. Straight ahead a pair of doors opened onto a small bedroom and bathroom. To her right was the living room, identifiable by the TV bolted midway up one wall and by a scarred walnut coffee table and a squat chair upholstered in a nubby orange fabric. The furniture had been pushed aside to make room for an open hideabed sofa, which sported a thin double mattress and a tangle of limp white sheets. Cardboard boxes, which she assumed were filled with his and Chelsea’s belongings, were stacked around the room.

She turned as Eli swept a jumble of clothes off one of the kitchen chairs, dropped them on the floor and gestured for her to sit. “Excuse the mess. It’s the maid’s day off.”

She sat, grateful for the chance to take the weight off her shaking knees. The bungalow’s interior was warm and stuffy, the air flavored with a faint, acrid odor of smoke. She looked around for a fireplace before it dawned on her that the smell must be coming from the boxes.

With a stab of remorse, she looked over at Eli as he strolled toward the counter, moving with the easy, graceful motion of a well-oiled machine. “I’m sorry about the fire,” she said quietly, her eyes riveted to the long, clean lines of his bare back.

There was the slightest hesitation in his stride. He shrugged, setting off a ripple of muscle. “Stuff happens.”

“At least no one was hurt.”

“Yeah. That’s true.” He turned and propped himself against the kitchen counter.

“I... understand there’s some question about what may have started it.”

Just for an instant, his mouth tightened and he didn’t look quite so benign. “Where did you hear that?”

“I... believe Chelsea may have mentioned it. You do know, of course, that she comes to the library, don’t you? She’s taking part in my summer reading program.”

“Yeah.” He nodded, his expression abruptly softening at the mention of his daughter. “She likes books.”

“She’s very bright. And sweet and engaging and...and very creative.”

“Yeah, she’s that, all right.” He was silent for a moment. “So what happened? She try to check out Madonna’s book again? Or hack into some bank accounts with the library’s computer?”

Startled, she sat up a little straighter. “Oh, no. No! I’m sure Chelsea would never dream of doing either of those things.”

“Yeah, right.” That amused look was back on his face as he studied her. “Look, you want something to drink?” He pushed away from the counter without waiting for her answer.

“Why, yes. That...that would be nice.”

He opened the refrigerator, reached in and emerged holding a pair of aluminum cans. He bumped the appliance door shut with his hip, then crossed the narrow space that separated them and offered her one.

She accepted it, unprepared for the inexplicable little tingle she felt as his fingers touched hers. Flustered, she watched through her lashes as he restaked his claim on the counter, popped the tab on his can, then tipped his head back and took a long swallow, ending with a drawn-out “Ahhh.”

Something about that sound warned her. She looked down at her own can. It was beer, she saw with a shock. She opened her mouth to protest, only to hastily shut it as she looked up and saw the anticipation in his eyes.

Gathering her dignity, she set her unopened can on the table and folded her hands in her lap. “I find I’m not that thirsty after all.”

“Ah.” He nodded and took another sip, doing his best to look serious as he regarded her over the top of his own can. “You gonna tell me what this is all about?”

She swallowed. The moment of truth had arrived. “Well, you see,” she began carefully, feeling her way. “Chelsea mentioned that there was a slight problem with your insurance, and I thought I might be able to help.”

“Ah. You know someone at Security-TrustCo?”

“Security-TrustCo?” she said blankly.

“My insurance company.”

“Oh. No. I mean, I might, but that wasn’t quite what I had in mind.”

He shifted impatiently. “Listen, Boo, I’m sure your intentions are good. But other than putting in a good word for me at the insurance company, I don’t see what you can do. I don’t take charity. From anybody. Although—” he cocked his head and gave her an assessing look “—I wouldn’t be averse to a little comforting.”

Her stomach did a flip-flop. “It wouldn’t be charity,” she said hastily, focusing on the first part of his statement, since she knew he didn’t really mean the other. Why should he? He could have anyone. He didn’t have to settle for a plain, almost thirty-four-year-old virgin he’d nicknamed “Bunny-Boo” because she reminded him of a scared little rabbit. “The point is, I have a little dilemma of my own, and I hoped—” She glanced down at her skirt, nervously pleating the fabric between her fingers. “I hoped that perhaps we could arrange something...mutually advantageous.”

“You need help?”

“No. I mean, yes. That is—” She gave a quavery sigh, squeezed her eyes shut and told herself impatiently that she might as well just spit it out. “My birthday is a week from Sunday and I have to get married,” she said all in a rush.

There was a deafening silence. Norah waited tensely, then screwed up her courage and opened her eyes.

Her heart plummeted when she saw Eli’s expression. He looked...stunned. Perturbed. And—oh, dear!—annoyed. Clearly she’d overstepped her bounds. She never should have come here, never should have entertained such a far-fetched idea.

“Tell me who he is,” he said grimly, “and I’ll take care of him.”

It was her turn to look stunned. Then heat flooded her face as it dawned on her what he thought. “No. Oh, no, I didn’t mean...I’m not...I’ve never..” She paused, trying to calm herself, only to hear herself blurt out, “It...it’s my grandfather.”

“What?” He jerked upright. “I thought he was dead.”

“Oh, he is! More than three years. But he had very old-fashioned ideas and he left a will and—”

“Norah.” Although he didn’t raise his voice, Eli’s tone stopped her cold. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I have to get married. By a week from next Sunday. Otherwise, if I’m still single when I turn thirty-four, I lose Willow Run.”

He stared at her incredulously. “Hold on a minute. You want to marry me so you can keep your house?”

“Yes. Exactly! I thought.. it’s just...Willow Run is so big. You and Chelsea could live there until you get matters settled with your insurance company. And if you wanted to, you could convert the old carriage house into a temporary garage, so you could get back to work. You’d be able to save money because you wouldn’t have any overhead—”

He shook his head. “It’s nice of you to think of me, but I really don’t think—”

“Please, Eli!” Desperation gave her the courage she needed to continue. “I.. I realize now that Chelsea must have misunderstood and you don’t need any assistance, but I do. I don’t want to lose Willow Run. Surely after losing your own home, you can understand. Besides, this would be a temporary arrangement. Lasting only a few months, or even less, depending on how long it takes the probate judge to sign off on Grandfather’s estate once he has a copy of our marriage certificate. And Willow Run would be a wonderful place for Chelsea to spend the summer. She’d have her own room, and there’s a tree house and a pond and lots of space to play and explore. She could have friends over to spend the night, and you and I, well, we wouldn’t even have to see each other if we didn’t want to.” She looked at him beseechingly as she ran out of breath.

He stared back, his expression impossible to read. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” he said finally.

“Oh, yes.”

He tapped his fingers against the counter. “But it’s crazy. Damn, it’s worse than crazy, it’s probably illegal.”

Swallowing her surprise that he cared, she shook her head. “No. It was Grandfather’s attorney who suggested it. He was against the provision in the will in the first place. He...he says it’s archaic.”

Eli raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, maybe you should many him then.”

Her heart sank. Clearly he’d already come to a decision, and it wasn’t the one she’d hoped for. “I believe that would be considered a conflict of interest,” she said in a small voice. “Plus, he already has a wife.”

“Bummer. But that doesn’t mean I’m the next logical choice. Think what marrying me would do to your reputation. The entire town would go into shock. We both know I’m not exactly a role model. There’s got to be somebody more suitable.” He thought for a moment. “I know. How about Ken McDonald?”

“He got married last week.”

“Ian Koontz.”

“He moved to Portland in April.”

“Joey Carmicheal.”

“He’s living with someone.”

“Then how about Matt Winfrey?”

Norah plucked listlessly at her skirt. “That’s who Joey’s living with.” She told herself she shouldn’t feel so devastated. She’d known Eli was a long shot. At least he hadn’t thrown back his golden head and laughed at her. It wasn’t his fault she was out of options.

Swallowing her misery, she climbed to her feet. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”

“No problem.” Eli hesitated, then said slowly, “What are you going to do?”

“I’m not sure.” She started toward the door. Some sixth sense warned her that he was right behind her, but for once she didn’t care. “I guess I could speak to Nick Carpetti....”

“Nick Carpetti? I thought he was in jail.”

“He’s out on parole,” she said absently.

“Yeah, but still...I don’t think that’s a good idea, Boo.”

She shrugged dispiritedly. “There isn’t anyone else. Unless—” She stopped and turned to look up at him. “Will you just think about it? Please, Eh?”

He was silent, his perfect mouth pursed as he considered her plea. Finally he blew out an exasperated breath. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll think about it. But that’s all I’ll do. Don’t get your hopes up. You need to consider some alternatives.”

“Oh, I will I promise.” He was going to think about it! She couldn’t contain a tremulous smile. “I’ll call you, okay? Or you can call me. Or...or come by the house or whatever you choose.” Filled with renewed hope, she reached for the doorknob, anxious to escape before he changed his mind. She tugged, only to give a little squeak as he caught her by the arm and gently spun her around.

“There’s just one more thing,” he said.

She stared up at him, her heart thumping as she saw the glint lighting his eyes. She wet her lips. “What’s that?”

“I just want to say that I appreciate the proposal.” He planted his hand against the door frame only inches from her head. “I always suspected you had the hots for me. Now I know.”

“Oh, no.” She tried to lean back, but there was nowhere to go. “I don’t! I mean—” Her eyes widened in horror as she realized she’d just unintentionally insulted him. “I mean, I like you, but not that way....” Her assurance died a quick death as his mouth slowly curved in a wicked smile.

“You one hundred percent sure about that, Boo, honey? Maybe we should find out.”

“Oh, no. I don’t...that is—”

He dipped his head, so close that she could smell the clean, slightly musky scent of his skin.

With a frantic squeak, Norah did what she’d always done in the past where Eli was concerned. She pushed him away, yanked open the door and fled.

Eli stood on the stoop and watched Norah’s panicky escape. Since she was on foot, as usual, he had a few minutes to reflect on their encounter before she finally turned the corner at the end of the block and disappeared from sight.

He shook his head. Good old Bunny-Boo, with her wide gray eyes and her stick-straight, mud-colored hair in that oversize bun. Not only did she look the way she had in high school, small, earnest and pale, with her body swaddled in one of her trademark lace-collared granny dresses, but she was just as easy to rattle. A little provocative innuendo and whammy! Faster than you could say Peter Rabbit, she’d regressed into her adolescent run-for-cover routine.

Not that he’d been much better, he admitted ruefully, knowing he ought to be ashamed of his less-than-gentlemanly behavior.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to wipe the smile from his face. The instant he’d realized who was. on his doorstep he’d felt sixteen again, consumed by the old need to see what it would take to shock Norah—to set off her stammer or make her eyes widen or turn her cheeks pink.

Eli raked a hand through his hair. Okay, so he’d behaved badly Hell, what else was new? It was a natural talent, one he’d had thirty-four years to practice. He was good at it. It wasn’t his fault there was something about Norah that had always gotten to him.

In any event, it was his first real transgression in a three-week stretch that could best be described as hellacious. Things had started to go downhill the night he’d awakened to the smell of smoke and found his house and adjoining auto repair shop on fire. Although he and Chelsea had gotten out unscathed, the house and most of their belongings had been destroyed. So was the business he’d spent three long years building up. And thanks to an insurance company that was dragging its feet about paying out, his savings were quickly diminishing. Despite what he’d told Norah, he was going to be flat broke by the end of the month at the rate things were going.

So that makes it all right to give her a bad time? What are you going to do for an encore? Steal candy from babies? Roll little old ladies for their Social Security money?

Well, hell. It wasn’t as if he’d meant any harm. He’d just been having a little fun. He was only human, after all. And though women of all ages, shapes and sizes had been tossing propositions his way for most of his life, none of their offers had a thing to do with marriage. He was entitled to be a tad off balance when someone he hadn’t seen in sixteen years proposed to him. Particularly when that someone was Bunny-Boo Brown, voted by their high school classmates as the girl most likely to enter a convent—even though she wasn’t Catholic.

His mouth quirked. He still found it hard to believe she’d actually found the courage to ask him to marry her. He supposed it was rather flattering...in a weird sort of way. Not that he was actually considering the scheme. Like he’d said, he didn’t take charity. He’d been on his own for most of his life and he’d done all right. One way or another, he’d get through this, too.

More to the point, he had a daughter to consider. Unlike Norah, who’d grown up in a big house with her wealthy, ultrarespectable, ultraresponsible grandfather, Chelsea had been through a lot in her short span of years. While he couldn’t do a thing to change the past, he sure as hell intended to provide his daughter with a steady, secure, stable future. As far as he could see, that ruled out a temporary marriage—no matter how sorry he might be that Bunny-Boo was probably going to lose the family mansion.