No Risk Refused

Nobody can write Forbidden Fantasies

like Cara Summers!

Of Led Into Temptation

“Sensationally sensual … this tale of a forbidden,

guilt-ridden love is a delight. Brimming with diverse,

compelling characters, scorching-hot love scenes,

romance and even a ghost, this story is unforgettable.”

—Romancejunkies.com

“This deliciously naughty fantasy takes its time

heating up, but it’s worth the wait! …”

—RT Book Reviews

Of Taken Beyond Temptation

“Great characters with explosive chemistry, a fun

intrigue-flavored plot and a high degree of sensuality

add up to an excellent read! …”

—RT Book Reviews

“Filled with intrigue, mystery, humor, sizzling

hot love scenes, a well-matched couple, a surprise

ending and a ghost, this story is unforgettable

and definitely a winner.”

—Romancejunkies.com

Of Twice the Temptation

“Well written! … Fans will be delighted to see their

favorites return for brief appearances …”

—RT Book Reviews

“Cara Summers has penned two tales in Twice the Temptation which will not be forgotten, but will live on in the reader’s fantasies.” —Cataromance.com

Dear Reader,

I love writing FORBIDDEN FANTASIES for Blaze, and so getting the chance to write three in a row is a real treat!

Seven years ago, spurred on by their father’s wedding, a bottle of champagne and a serious case of lust for their new stepmother’s gorgeous sons, Adair, Piper and Nell MacPherson each wrote down their most secret sexual fantasies about their “ideal” man and buried them in a stone arch on their family’s estate. Then they forgot all about them. Almost.

Now, one by one, the Sutherland triplets, Cam, Duncan and Reid, are being drawn back to Castle MacPherson, not only by the erotic fantasies penned all those years ago, but also to right a wrong and restore a stolen bride’s long-missing dowry to its rightful owners.

I hope that you enjoy Cam and Adair’s story, No Risk Refused, and that you will look for No Holds Barred in September and then No Desire Denied. All three books feature an amazing dog named Alba, who currently resides at the Northeast Animal Shelter in Salem, Massachusetts, but is waiting for her forever home. I hope you fall in love with her just as I did.

For news on my future releases, visit www.carasummers.com. And for more information on the Northeast Animal Shelter and the Blaze Authors’ Pet Project, visit www.blazeauthors.com/blog.

May all your forbidden fantasies come true!

Cara Summers

About the Author

Was CARA SUMMERS born with the dream of becoming a published romance novelist? No. But now that she is, she still feels her dream has come true. And she owes it all to her mother, who handed her a Mills & Boon novel and said, “Try it. You’ll love it.” Mom was right! Cara has written over forty stories for Blaze, and she has won numerous awards including a Lifetime Achievement Award for Series Storyteller of the Year from RT Book Reviews. When she isn’t working on new books, she teaches in the writing program at Syracuse University.

No Risk Refused

Cara Summers

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my sons, Kevin, Brian and Brendan.

As you’ve grown into fine young men, I’ve seen

you do everything you can to protect and cherish

the ones you love. In short, you inspire my heroes.

Thanks! I love all three of you.

And special thanks to the best editor in the world—Brenda

Chin. You have once more pulled one of

my stories out of the darkness and into the light.

Prologue

Glen Loch, NY

Summer 1812

THUNDER CRASHED AND lightning ripped through the sky while rain lashed at the stone arch over Eleanor Campbell MacPherson’s head.

Perfect, she thought.

It was one of her dreams that had awakened her. She’d heard Angus’s voice again. The sound of the wind had drawn her out onto her balcony and when she’d seen the clouds roll in over the lake, blacking out the stars, she’d known it was time to begin her mission. To right a wrong that she’d done so many years before.

Slipping out of the castle, she’d raced the rain to the stone arch and reached it just as the skies opened. The dreams that had been recurring since her husband’s death had centered here in the place that had played such a powerful role in her life and in Angus’s.

Her sons and daughters-in-law, who loved her dearly, would not be happy that she regularly sneaked out of the castle in the dead of night. Even less happy that she was here in the stone arch on a night like this. And she doubted they would approve of her plan.

So she would make sure that they didn’t know.

All her life, she’d been good at keeping secrets. But since the death of her husband a year ago, one of those secrets had begun to weigh on her. And the dreams had begun. Angus was sending them to her. He’d known her so well, and he’d known that the Stuart sapphires she’d carried with her to the New World had troubled her conscience.

Thunder roared and lightning flashed so bright and fierce that for an instant, Eleanor saw everything clearly—the garden, the elegant facade of Castle MacPherson, the cliffs beyond and the roiling waters of the black lake below.

Home, she thought. Whatever mistakes she may have made, coming here with Angus Daniel MacPherson fifty years ago was not one of them. She’d turned her back on her home in the highlands of Scotland, the pride and expectations of her family, and a man who’d claimed to love her very much. And she’d never looked back.

Not that Angus had given her any choice.

The memory made her smile and set her mind drifting back to that night in Scotland so long ago, when he’d asked her to run away with him to the New World. She’d been shocked at the idea, thrilled and frightened at the same time. They’d been standing beneath a stone arch in the gardens of her family’s home. Its location in an isolated part of the garden made it a perfect place for them to meet in secret.

And secrecy was essential. She shouldn’t have even talked to him. Even though their families’ lands shared a common border, the MacPhersons and the Campbells had been blood enemies for years.

And she’d been promised to another man.

But once Angus had kissed her beneath the stone arch he’d completely captured her heart. Her mother and older sisters had warned her about the legend surrounding the stones. They carried a power from ancient times, and the man you kissed beneath that arch would be your true love forever.

And she hadn’t just kissed Angus once. Each time she’d met with him she’d kissed him again and again. And each time she’d promised herself it would be the last time.

The night of Angus’s proposal, her family had thrown a ball to formalize her upcoming wedding to her betrothed. She was wearing her future husband’s gift to her, the legendary sapphire earrings and necklace that had been bequeathed to his family for service to the Scottish court during the reign of Mary Stuart. The queen had worn them at her coronation, so they were priceless. He’d insisted she wear them tonight as proof of his love for her and as a symbol of the union of their two families.

When she’d slipped away from the ball to meet Angus, she’d planned to say goodbye.

She’d been repeating the little speech to herself all day. She was betrothed to another man, she couldn’t go back on her word, and their situation was impossible. There was no way that their families would allow them to marry. In fact, her father would probably inflict bodily harm on Angus.

Eleanor slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fingers around the leather pouches where she kept the sapphires. The only time she’d worn them was for her wedding portrait that hung in the main parlor of the castle. The jewels always reminded her of the man she’d betrayed and left behind. Everyone had always believed that they were her dowry, and she’d kept silent all of these years.

If only she’d left the necklace and earrings behind with the man who’d given them to her. At least their families would have had the sapphires. But there’d been no time. Angus, impatient, impetuous, irresistible, hadn’t allowed her any. And when she’d initially refused to go with him that night, he hadn’t taken no for an answer. He’d simply carried her away.

Thank God.

Her heart tightened as she thought of how he’d completely swept her up in his belief in their future.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the visual reality of that belief. Angus had promised to build a castle and gardens for her in a setting that would remind her of all that she was leaving behind in Scotland. He’d kept his word. The lovely lakes and mountains in the Adirondack region had kept her from getting too homesick during those early years. He’d kept his promise to build a replica of the stone arch in her family’s garden. He’d even brought some stones from the original, and when it was complete she’d stood with him here just as she’d stood with him beneath the one in Scotland.

That was when the legend of Castle MacPherson’s stone arch had begun. Over the years she’d lost count of the number of times Angus had told and retold the story of how she’d captivated him, heart and mind, that first time they’d kissed beneath the stone arch in her family’s garden. And the story had spread, being told and retold throughout the community. Her children had believed in it and they’d each married their mates right here.

The little pain around her heart increased. In the year since he’d passed she’d missed him so much. But she always sensed his presence when she stood here in the place where they’d laughed and loved and dreamed together so many times.

And the stones had played a part in the dream she was sure that Angus was sending her. In them, she always saw the same thing. A young woman with reddish curls dropping to her knees at the side of the arch and lifting a leather pouch out of a pile of loose stones. Inside, the young woman always found one of the earrings. Not the pair or the necklace.

Eleanor tightened her fingers around the pouch she held in her pocket. As she did, she heard Angus’s voice in her ear, just as clearly as she heard it in her dreams.

“Her name is Adair. She believes in the power of the stones enough to bury her own dreams and fantasies beneath them. You must hide one of the earrings in the stone arch for her to find. When she finds it, the Stuart Sapphires will begin to find their way home. You can finally rest easy. Trust me, Ellie—just as you did on the night we ran away.”

The rain had stopped, and a few stars had reappeared in the sky. With Angus’s words still in her mind, Eleanor stepped out of the arch and began to work some of the stones loose. And when the earring was safely buried and she returned to the castle, she slept peacefully.

1

Glen Loch, NY

Summer 2012

AN AFFAIR TO remember.

That had been the guarantee that Adair MacPherson had given to Rexie Maitland and her parents when they’d signed the contract to hold their daughter’s wedding and reception at Castle MacPherson.

And she intended to deliver. She had to. There were already two big X marks in the failure column of her life. She didn’t need a third one.

Adair pressed a firm hand to the nerves jittering in her stomach. The first step on her way to her goal, the wedding rehearsal scheduled for today, had gotten off to a rocky start. The high-strung bride had gone into a panic attack when the groom-to-be hadn’t arrived on time. But Adair’s aunt and business partner, Viola MacPherson, had warded off a full meltdown with a cup of herb tea. And the tardy Lawrence Banes, a suave, sort of George Clooney look-alike with a good fifteen years on the bride, had finally arrived, full of apologies.

Pulling off the Maitland/Banes wedding on Saturday was crucial to the launch of her new business plan, one that would establish the reputation of Castle MacPherson as a premier wedding destination in the heart of New York’s Adirondacks. Adair swept her gaze around the garden.

The setting was perfect. The gray stone castle she and her sisters had grown up in stood on a rocky promontory at the far eastern end of Glen Loch Lake. Three stories high and rectangular in shape, it sat tucked between two mountains, boasted spectacular views, and its gardens, thanks to her Aunt Vi, had graced the pages of several gardening magazines.

The Maitland/Banes wedding would take place beneath the stone arch her several-times-great-grandfather Angus One had built for the stolen bride he’d brought here from Scotland. Now the tardy Mr. Banes was standing beneath it flanked by the minister and his best man. The maid of honor and the flower girl had lined up just behind the arbor that marked the entrance to the gardens. The mother of the bride, Bunny Maitland, had taken her seat in the first row of chairs, and just in front of the stone arch, Aunt Vi sat, her bow poised over her cello, ready to play on signal.

Everything was perfect, except that the bride-to-be was holding Adair’s hand in a death grip.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Rexie whispered.

Ignoring her plummeting stomach, Adair took a deep breath and spoke in her calmest voice. “This is only a rehearsal. You have to save those nerves for Saturday.”

“I know.” Rexie, a pretty twenty-two-year-old blonde and heir to the Maitland fortune, smiled tremulously. “I can’t seem to help it. I need to know that I’m doing the right thing. I have to know that the legend will work.”

“It will.” The power of the legend and the stones was the one thing in her life that she still had absolute faith in. She might be a bit shaky on her ability to keep this wedding on track, but she had no doubt that the stone arch her ancestor Angus One had built for Eleanor Campbell MacPherson had the power to bring true loves together.

This was the young woman’s second go at matrimony. A little over a year ago, her first husband had left her to return to his family’s horse farm in Montana. Then Rexie had met Lawrence and six months ago, after reading an article on the history of the MacPhersons and the legend in the New York Times, she’d contacted Viola to ask about scheduling her ceremony and reception at the castle because she wanted a guarantee of success this time around.

The Times article had created quite a buzz because it had dug up all the rumors that had circulated over the years about the missing sapphires that Eleanor MacPherson had worn in her wedding portrait. The writer had even reprinted an image of Mary Stuart wearing a similar necklace and earrings at her coronation and posed the theory that Eleanor’s dowry of jewels had been given to her by the Queen of Scots.

Adair could have kissed the Times writer for stirring everything up and giving her the idea for a new business plan.

She took Rexie’s other hand in hers. “You are not going to fail this time.”

That was the mantra Adair recited to herself each morning. Not that she’d ever failed at marriage—she hadn’t had the chance. Six months ago she’d come home to Aunt Vi and the castle to lick her wounds, and they were still fresh. The five-year plan she’d so carefully crafted when she’d finished her MBA had gone south. One day she’d been on the fast track, and the next, the company she’d worked for had downsized and derailed her. Her pink slip had been quickly followed by an email from her boyfriend, Baxter DuBois, terminating their personal relationship, as well.

That’s when she’d moved back to the castle. Now with her aunt’s help and the power of Angus One’s stone arch, she was determined to turn her family home into the wedding destination spot in upstate New York.

And the success of Rexie’s wedding was key. Mr. and Mrs. Winston Maitland III resided on Long Island but also owned homes in Boca Raton, Florida, and Vail, Colorado. They had the kind of social contacts that could make the reputation of Castle MacPherson.

Or break it.

“I’ve seen proof of the stones’ power in my own father’s life,” Adair said. “He’s kissed two women beneath the stone arch, and if he were here, he’d tell you it was the stones that gave him two chances of finding his true loves. He considers himself a very fortunate man.”

Adair held back a little on the details. Her father had taken the loss of her mother so hard that even after he fell in love with Professor Beth Sutherland, it had been a dozen years before he married her. But seven years ago she and her sisters, along with Beth’s three triplet sons, had stood beneath the arch while her father, A.D., and Beth had exchanged vows.

“And your father’s happy?” Rexie asked.

“Yes. There’s real power in the stones. When we were growing up, my sisters and I believed in it so much that we used to write down our dreams and goals and bury them in a metal box beneath some of the loose stones. It was my mother’s old jewelry box so it had three different compartments and we all used different colors of paper.”

She’d nearly forgotten about that box, Adair realized. On the night of her father’s wedding, she’d even written down a particularly erotic fantasy involving Cam Sutherland and buried that, too. She hadn’t thought of it in years. And she hadn’t seen Cam or his brothers since the wedding. They’d been finishing college that year and each had been focused on career plans that kept them very busy. Last she’d heard, Cam was working overseas for the CIA. For an instant his image flashed brightly into her mind and she could see him just as he’d looked that day—the dark, unruly hair, the blue eyes that had always held a dare.

And Cam Sutherland was the last thing she needed to be thinking about right now. If she didn’t get this wedding rehearsal on track, an “affair to remember” was going to take on a whole new, horrible meaning.

She focused on the hint of panic in Rexie’s eyes. And a solution suddenly occurred to her. “Look, why don’t we tap into the power of the legend right now?”

“How?”

“This is just a rehearsal and you won’t actually say your vows, but why don’t you kiss Lawrence? If you do that today while you’re beneath the stone arch, then you should be all set. In the legend, it’s the kiss that does the trick.”

“Really?” Rexie shifted her gaze to where her groom-to-be waited. He was on his cell phone.

“It’s guaranteed,” Adair assured her. “Why don’t we start? Everyone is in place.”

“Except for my father,” Rexie said, her lip trembling. “He’s taking another call on his cell.”

“Mr. Maitland?” Adair spoke in a low tone, but she kept Rexie’s hand firmly gripped in hers.

The bride-to-be’s father held up one finger, but he never stopped talking into his phone. Winston Maitland, a tall stocky man with thinning gray hair, had pretty much had his cell glued to his ear since he’d arrived. So had the groom-to-be for that matter. The jerks. Adair wanted to shake both of them.

That was when she heard it. Just the whisper of thunder. Damn. Keeping Rexie’s hand in a death grip, she angled her head just enough to catch sight of a cluster of dark clouds at the far end of the lake.

A quick glance around told her that so far she was the only one who’d noticed. The sky overhead was bright blue, the garden bathed in sunlight. She sent up a quick prayer that the storm would stay put.

Alba, the white whippet mix her aunt Vi had recently brought home from a shelter, rose from where she’d plopped herself a few feet away on a patch of sun-drenched grass. She shot a look out over the lake, and whined. Adair followed the direction of the dog’s gaze and so did Rexie. The clouds were rolling closer.

“Look. It’s going to rain,” Rexie said. “That’s not a good sign. Maybe we should postpone this.”

Adair tightened her grip on Rexie’s hand. “No. It’s still quite a ways off. We just have to get started.”

Alba whined again, then made a beeline in the direction of the castle, the bell around her neck emphasizing her departure.

Not a good sign.

Though Alba was deaf, her other senses were spot-on, and Adair was willing to bet she could sense the approaching storm. So could the mother of the bride, Bunny Maitland, who sent her a worried look.

Adair tried for a serene smile. The clouds were still a good distance away, she assured herself. Time enough to panic once the lightning started. She waved to get her aunt’s attention.

Viola MacPherson had moved to the castle after Adair’s mom, Marianne, had died. She’d been four, her sisters three and one. Their father had buried himself in his painting, so it was their aunt who’d raised them. She’d given up her job at the nearby college and devoted her life to creating a home for them while providing a haven where their father could continue with his landscape painting.

Now in her late fifties, Viola looked and projected the energy of a much younger woman. Adair had inherited her aunt’s tiny stature as well as the curse of naturally curly red hair. Viola’s cascade of ringlets was gray now, and she managed them by pulling them back from her face. She favored long skirts or wide-leg pants and tunics that went with her gypsy look.

At a signal from Adair, Vi began to play Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy.”

Thunder sounded faintly in the distance.

Refusing to look out over the lake again, Adair directed the flower girl to start down the short path that led from the rose garden to the stone arch. When the little girl was halfway there, Adair gestured to the maid of honor.

“Daddy’s still on his phone,” Rexie whispered.

“Mr. Maitland.” Adair spoke in a low tone.

Frowning at Adair, the man stuffed his cell in a pocket and moved to his daughter’s side. “That was an important call.”

Adair smiled at him. “And this is a very important moment for your daughter. Go.”

Thunder rumbled—closer this time.

Rexie and her father were halfway to the minister when the dark clouds settled like a lid over the garden with such speed and finality she wondered they hadn’t heard a loud clang.

Lightning flashed behind her just as Rexie and her dad made it to the shelter of the stone arch. Adair hurried up the path, grabbing Bunny’s arm on the way. Together they power-walked to join the rest of the wedding party.

Cello in hand, Aunt Vi was the last to make it before the next crack of thunder sounded. Then for a moment, no one spoke as they huddled shoulder to shoulder and watched nature put on a powerful show. Lightning crisscrossed the sky at times so bright Adair found herself blinking. The intermittent explosions of thunder made her wonder if this was what it might be like to be trapped in a bunker during an attack.

And her mind flashed back to the night of her father’s wedding. There’d been a storm like this that night, also. The Sutherland boys, Reid, Cam and Duncan, had flown in just for the wedding and then gone back to their colleges right after the ceremony. She and her sisters hadn’t seen them since that long-ago summer when the boys’ mother, Beth, had been a visiting professor at nearby Huntleigh College and she’d gotten her father’s permission to use the library at the castle for the research she was doing for a historical novel she was writing on the MacPherson clan.