Barely Mistaken

Beth, nine weeks pregnant, grinned all over herself while she rubbed her tummy. “Well, there is that little matter.”

Olivia pulled out the satin-and-lace merry widow she’d mail-ordered on a whim. She unfolded the undergarment and held it up in front of Beth.

“Ooooeeee. Adam is a lucky man.” She plucked the sexy lingerie from Olivia and turned it one way and then another. “Hot. Definitely very hot. You go, baby.”

“You don’t think it’s too…” Olivia pursed her lips and pretended to evaluate the underwear “…let’s see, how did you describe my wardrobe earlier…oh, yes, prudish?” Actually, she still couldn’t quite see herself in such a sexy getup.

“This,” Beth dangled the satin and lace from one finger, “is a start. A step in the right direction.”

“A start? A step? How about a big flying leap?” Compared to her usual white cotton briefs and the occasional splurge for matching bra and panties, buying this qualified as a veritable walk on the wild side. She felt a little excited and a whole lot naughty just owning such a garment.

“We’ll talk flying leaps when you go crotchless.” Beth wagged her brows.

“Crotchless?” she squeaked. Olivia imagined herself stretched out on her bed next to Adam, the sheets folded back neatly. In her mind’s eye, Adam’s expression registered disgust rather than excitement when he noted her crotchless state. “I don’t think so. This is plenty wild for me.” Olivia toed the line between seductive and trashy, careful not to cross it.

“You’ve got the right idea in mind. But it seems a shame to waste this on Adam.”

Olivia opened her mouth to protest that Adam wouldn’t be viewing her underwear.

Beth, who always had to have the last word, laughed and cut her off. “Just kidding. I know you’re going to tell me he won’t see your underwear.”

Her sense of humor surfaced. Olivia smiled a secretive smile, sure to make Beth nuts. Also, just to counteract her predictability.

Worked like a charm. Beth popped off the bed like a spring-loaded action figure. “Are you holding out on me?”

Olivia laughed. “No. It’s just a feeling I have.”

“It could be gas.”

“Maybe it’s love.” She made a joke of it, in light of Beth’s earlier comments. But, just maybe she was on to something. Her feelings had developed into something more than friendship, and Adam had definitely sent similar signals. What kind of husband would he make?

“It’s more likely gas. You better go take your shower if you want me to help with the hair and makeup. What time is Adam coming by for you?”

“I’m meeting him at the country club around eight-thirty. I need to check on Pops before I go, and there’s no need to drag Adam out there with me.”

“Mr. High and Mighty too good to go out to the farm with you?” Beth asked, sniffing.

“No. He’s been before. And he was very nice.” Perhaps he’d laughed a bit too heartily, his air faintly patronizing, but her father was a far cry from his. Two beers shy of polishing off a twelve-pack, Pops had been feeling no pain as he’d subjected Adam to the farm tour in his rundown pickup. Actually, Adam had requested the tour. Pops maintained, drunk or sober, that it didn’t matter how much money was sitting in the bank or buried in the backyard, if a man owned land, he was wealthy beyond compare. Even if the screen door was held together with duct tape. She hadn’t invited Adam out again.

“He has a meeting late this afternoon. Something to do with policies regarding special deposits. He may be running a little late to the party.”

Beth shoved her toward the bathroom. “So will you, if we don’t get you ready. And don’t forget to shave your legs!”

LUKE RUTLEDGE PULLED INTO the garage next to the stables and killed the engine. He slid out of the driver’s seat and slammed the door. His parents’ his-’n’-her matching Cadillacs, his brother’s late-model BMW and Luke’s old pickup sporting the Rutledge & Klegman Construction logo along with more than a few dings and dents. Which one of these did not belong? He grinned at the joke only he found funny.

A pirate costume hanging in the back of Adam’s car caught his eye. His brother as a pirate? He didn’t think so. Adam was definitely the starched chinos and tasseled loafers type.

Luke crossed the manicured lawn of River Oaks to the back of the Greek Revival mansion. The return of the prodigal son to his ancestral home. He knew exactly how his father regarded him. The black sheep once again darkening the door.

He’d displayed a knack for finding trouble early on. At what age had he finally figured out that not everyone fell prey to the wildness that seized him at times? He couldn’t put an exact memory to the time he realized he was different from the rest of his family. But lines had become clearly drawn about the time he’d discovered they primarily cared about money and position and they figured out he didn’t give a damn what people thought.

Rutledges didn’t ride big, black motorcycles, sport tattoos, wear an earring, or make a living at something as menial as manual labor. It didn’t make a rat’s ass difference he’d earned a civil engineering degree, owned his own construction firm, and had more money sitting in the Colther Community Bank than he’d ever need. He’d tainted his success when he’d gone into business with Dave Klegman, a transplanted New Yorker.

Nope. Luke didn’t look like a Southern gentleman. He didn’t conduct himself like a Southern gentleman. He didn’t judge people by their last name or the amount of money they did or didn’t have. Luke didn’t measure up to Rutledge standards.

He paused at the mudroom that led to the kitchen and checked the thick soles of his scuffed work boots. Ruth would have a piece of him if he tracked mud in on her floors.

The familiar noise from the kitchen brought a smile to his face. Thunk-rolllll, thunk-rollll, thunkrollll. Ruth rolling out piecrust. An assortment of smells wafted out on the early evening air, evoking earlier years as clearly as a photo album. Chicken and dumplings, blackberry cobbler, crisp pickles, pungent turnip greens—some of his better boyhood memories. Ruth had cooked and run the house at River Oaks since before he’d been born.

Luke stepped into the kitchen. Ruth paused in midroll, a smile joining the other creases in her worn face. “Bless my soul, you’re a sight for sore eyes. We haven’t seen you in almost two months.”

“Been over in Mississippi on a big job for the last six weeks. We wrapped it up early.”

“Well, it’s good to have you home.” She shook her rolling pin in his direction. “Did you check your boots?”

“Clean as a whistle. And you’re still as pretty as a picture.” Luke wrapped an arm as far around her ample frame as possible and kissed her weathered cheek. Although her salt-and-pepper hair had lost its pepper and was a snowy white, Ruth’s blue eyes remained sharp. He glanced at the mountain of food on the sideboard. “Getting ready for Grandma Pearl’s big birthday bash tomorrow?”

“I’ve been cooking for three days now.” She leveled a stern gaze his way. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

“Would I miss a chance to be held close to the family bosom? Uncle Jack’ll be three sheets to the wind.” Uncle Jack managed to get wasted at every family function and generally invite disgrace. Luke liked the old reprobate. He and Uncle Jack shared a penchant for trouble. “And Grandma’ll be thumping her cane and threatening to disinherit everyone. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

His stomach issued a loud growl. “Any chance of me getting some of those leftover chicken and dumplings?”

“Guess you should’ve showed up at lunch like decent folk and then you could’ve had some.” Despite her fussing, Ruth spooned up a generous portion.

“Wouldn’t want to ruin my reputation by doing anything decent folks might.” He accepted a bowl of homemade heaven with a grin. “Actually, I was double-checking the supply list for the library’s new addition. Our crew starts work on Monday.”

“Olivia’s mighty excited. But then she’s worked real hard to raise the money.” Ruth and Olivia Cooper’s father claimed distant kin. Ruth resumed rolling her crusts.

“She must’ve busted her…butt. It’s a nice addition. A new ivory tower for her to lock herself away in her library castle. How is Lady Olivia? It’s been years since I’ve seen her.” Olivia. Just speaking her name knotted his gut. He’d known thirteen years ago, she was far too good for him. When she’d pulled away and run from him as if he’d tainted her, he’d vowed to stay away. He could live without that kind of rejection. Especially when so many other girls had been willing. He’d talked to the assistant librarian earlier today, but Olivia, with her solemn gray eyes and touch-me-not air, had been conspicuously absent.

Ruth lowered surprisingly delicate brows in her weathered face. “You’d be a far sight better off with someone like Olivia than those trashy women you’re too ashamed to bring home to meet your mama.”

Luke shrugged off Ruth’s rebuke as he spooned in a mouthful of dumplings. So, he liked women that ran as fast as his motorcycle. He wasn’t ashamed, just never interested or involved enough to bring them home to meet his mother. “I believe your dumplings get better every time I eat them.”

“Changing the subject ain’t gonna change the fact that you ought to stop chasing tramps.”

“Should I chase the fair Olivia?” He laughed but somehow the idea didn’t sound as ridiculous as it should have.

“Nope.” Ruth plunked the rolling pin down on the counter. “Adam beat you to it. They’ve been seeing one another.” She sniffed in apparent disapproval.

Startled, Luke paused, his spoon in midair, his entire body taut with surprise and a gut full of instinctive protest. “Olivia and Adam?” He wasn’t a snob, but his family sure as hell was—it was one of the major differences that formed the chasm separating them. “Dating? When did this happen?”

“A little over a month and a half. Maybe two.”

“About the time I headed to Mississippi.”

“Um-hmm.” Ruth cut out the crusts with practiced economy and draped them over two pie plates mounded high with apples and cinnamon. Her nimble fingers tucked and shaped the pastry. “Can you imagine?”

Luke put the bowl on the counter, his appetite gone. Actually he could and that was the problem. Apparently Olivia hadn’t run like hell when respectable Adam kissed her. Thirteen years and her horrified flight from him still rankled. Thirteen years and he still remembered the sweet innocence of her lips, her brief flare of passion. “Can’t be very serious. They haven’t been seeing each other that long.”

Ruth slid the pies into the oven and straightened, sending him a dark look. “How long do you think it takes?”

For what? hovered on the tip of his tongue before he thought better of it. Never mind. It wasn’t his business and he really didn’t give a damn, even though the idea of Adam and Olivia nettled him, like a splinter beneath his skin.

Luke shoved away from the counter without comment. “I stopped by to see Mother. Any idea where she is?”

“Mrs. Rutledge headed down to the river. She’s been painting late in the afternoons. The Colonel’s in his study.”

They both knew she’d added his father’s whereabouts, not so Luke could seek him out, but as a warning. His mother might not understand him, but she loved him fiercely. The same could not be said of his father. “Thanks, Ruth. Great chicken and dumplings, as usual.”

“I’ve never known you to leave more than a bite of ’em in a bowl before.” A hint of speculation glimmered in her eyes. “I’ll save them for you.”

Without comment, Luke let himself out the back door of the kitchen and headed for the path that skirted the terrace and led downhill to the muddy banks of the Cohutta River. He pulled out a thin cheroot and paused beneath the broad arms of a river oak to light it.

“How much longer will you have to see that Cooper girl?” His father’s voice carried clearly from the open French doors of his study. Luke stilled the lighter, the unlit cheroot clenched in his teeth. Even though he couldn’t see the Colonel, the disdain in his voice clearly painted the sneer on his face.

“Only a little longer. She’s an ice princess, but she’ll come around. I’ll put a ring on her finger if I have to.” Adam laughed in derision.

People swore Adam and Luke sounded alike. His own mother often couldn’t tell them apart on the phone. Luke hoped he didn’t sound like a pompous ass. And he shouldn’t be so damn glad to hear Adam refer to Olivia as an ice princess. She might not run in the other direction when Adam kissed her, but it also sounded as if Adam hadn’t tapped into the passion Luke knew simmered beneath her surface.

“Good God, I hope it doesn’t come to that. But do what you have to do. There’s a lot at stake here.”

Well, well, well. Adam was dating Olivia because she could help him somehow? Luke rubbed his jaw.

“At the party tonight, I’ll invite her to Grandmother’s birthday celebration.”

What strings could she pull for a powerful Rutledge? Whatever was going on, it didn’t bode well for Olivia.

Luke leaned against the rough bark of the tree and squelched his inkling of protectiveness. Olivia was a big girl. She could take care of herself. Luke was nobody’s hero and it’d stay that way. He’d hate to ruin his reputation.

“What about—” The shrill of the phone, his father’s private business line, masked the name. “—Will he be there?”

Adam’s “Yes” coincided with another ring of the phone.

His father answered, held a brief conversation and hung up. “That was Boswell. You need to meet with his man tonight.”

“But what about the party? I’ve already got a pirate costume and everything.” The outfit in the car.

“Forget the party. You can get the final bid information later. Meeting Boswell’s man is more important.”

Boswell? Had he heard that name before? This was getting more interesting by the minute.

“But that’s a three-hour drive. I won’t get back here until two in the morning.”

“Put a sock in it, son. We’re so close now, I can smell the money. Take the farm truck. Your car draws too much attention and you don’t want that.”

Luke shook his head in disgust. Adam had always been something of a bootlicker, but when had he so thoroughly become his father’s puppet?

“Of all the rotten timing. I spent a lot of money on my pirate outfit.” Maybe Adam would like some cheese to go with that whine.

“Shut up about your pirate costume. Dress up in the goddamned thing when you get back home,” the Colonel snapped. “You’ve got to leave within the hour. Meet me back here and I’ll have the money ready.”

Inside, a door opened and closed.

Luke pushed away from the oak and backtracked to the garage. He’d see his mother tomorrow at Grandma Pearl’s party. What the hell were his brother and father up to? Walking in and demanding answers would get him nowhere. Who, other than Olivia, had Adam planned to meet tonight at the party and what information did he need? And why would Adam willingly engage himself to a woman he referred to as an “ice princess”?

And what difference did any of it make? He could just walk away and pretend he’d never overheard that particular conversation. He’d head back home. Maybe stop off at Cecil’s Bar and Grill and throw some darts.

A full moon waited, heavy and ripe in the eastern sky, even as the sun edged toward the horizon. A familiar restlessness gripped him. He stepped into the cool dark of the garage and flipped on the lights.

Glimmering metal caught his eye. The scabbard housing the sword in Adam’s back seat, part of the pirate costume. Is this how pirates felt. Edgy? Restless? Seeking a treasure or excitement? Unsure of what they wanted, but knowing they wanted something? He’d felt this way all of his life. And it usually got him in trouble.

The eyepatch beckoned him. The scabbard flashed her beguiling jewels. The dark wig was about the same length as his own shoulder-length hair. They entreated him, calling to the always-lurking wildness in his soul. A slow smile edged his mouth as an idea took hold.

The car. The costume. The country club. The companion. Opportunity knocked and Luke answered. Could he pull it off? He and Adam sounded alike, and they were about the same build. Luke was darker than Adam, but with low lighting and a costume, if he could figure out who the mystery contact was, he might get some answers. Perhaps a dance or two with Olivia. Then, if he dropped some information her way, it shouldn’t be misconstrued as some misguided attempt at chivalry. It would constitute a leveling of the playing field.

Why the hell not? What could be more befitting of a pirate? And what could go wrong in a couple of hours out of one night?

2

“OLIVIA? OLIVIA COOPER? Is that you?”

Olivia forced herself not to squint, although she couldn’t see. Against her better judgment, she had surrendered to folly and abandoned her tortoiseshell specs in her car. The ballroom’s lighting consisted primarily of candles. She could barely see. Actually, being half blind lent her Dutch courage. She’d mixed and mingled and already raised more money for her beloved library expansion.

The man stepped close enough for her to identify him.

“Hi, Jeff.” An ambitious manager at Adam’s bank who resembled a rodent, Jeff looked much better as an obscure blur.

“Where’s Adam tonight?” he asked, eager for a suck-up opportunity, no doubt.

Blurred vision or not, she still saw Jeff ogling her cleavage. Olivia forced herself not to check herself out as well. Amazing. She actually had cleavage. That merry widow had done impressive things to her small breasts. They not only appeared fuller, they felt fuller as they strained against what had once been a modest neckline. The bra’s stiff lace teased her nipples. Further emboldened by a cat’s-eye mask and her upswept hair, Olivia felt sexy and terribly provocative. It was a heady sensation.

“Adam? He had a meeting late this afternoon and thought it might run late.” The party was in full swing and still no Adam. She bit back her disappointment.

“When you see him, tell him I’m looking for him.” With a final glance at her chest, Jeff took off to suck up to someone else.

Outwardly, she hoped she appeared her usual calm, composed self. Inside she was strung as tight as a crossbow. Good thing she didn’t drink, or she’d be tempted to knock back a few shots of Marty’s Wild Turkey. Instead, she slipped through a side door and stepped out into the crisp autumn night. The moon, a golden orb swollen with promise, hung suspended above the semi-dressed branches of water oaks and pines.

Olivia steadied herself against the rail of the wraparound porch. How many times had she listened to other girls chatter about their dates at country club soirees? Now she was one of them. Or she would be once Adam arrived.

As if her thoughts had conjured him up, headlights flashed down the azalea-lined driveway. Olivia recognized the hum of the BMW’s engine. A sudden case of nerves had her tucking hairpins more securely and plucking at her mask. What would Adam think of her costume?

She watched as he pulled up and relinquished his car to the club’s valet. Her breath caught in her throat, as her pulse pounded.

Wow! Blurred vision or not, there was no denying the pirate outfit tripled Adam’s sex appeal. Was it the eye-patch or the Errol Flynn shirt or the wig and tight breeches that lent a sexy swagger to his stride? Something primitive awakened and responded to his saunter. For one brief, disruptive second Luke Rutledge came to mind—doubtless conjured up by Beth’s earlier chatter. She brushed the thought of him away, much as she might a pesky mosquito. Luke was a pompous ass.

Instead she concentrated on Adam.

She gathered her wits as he climbed the broad stairs. “Adam,” she called to him, her voice a disgusting squeak. “Adam,” she tried again, this time sounding more like herself instead of a mouse on steroids.

After the slightest hesitation, he turned in her direction. “Yes?” His steps slowed as he walked toward her. A tall, dark, mysterious stranger.

“I wondered when you were coming.” Her voice came out low and husky.

“Olivia.”

How many times had he spoken her name in the past several weeks? Countless. Yet it had never slid off of his tongue like a caress. She didn’t need clear vision to feel the heat of his gaze as it flicked over her. He stopped before her.

Adam usually wore a trendy cologne she found somewhat cloying, but tonight he’d abandoned it. His clean, masculine scent, mingled with the sharp, cold, autumn air, aroused her.

Mercurial, quicksilver heat spread through her. Alarmed her. The staid, practical librarian demanded retreat. She stepped back and the darkness engulfed her. The distance didn’t diffuse the awareness that shimmered and danced between them.

Adam followed her into the shadows, the broad expanse of his shoulders silhouetted against the moon. “You’re beautiful. You take my breath away, Lady Olivia.”

Oh my. She checked the urge to make sure he wasn’t talking to someone else and decided to try something new—gracious acceptance. “Thank you.”

“We should go inside. It’s cold out here.”

His low-timbered voice shivered against her skin. His words said one thing, his body language said something else as he dipped his head toward her.

“Yes. We should…” Instead, she stepped closer, drawn to him regardless of her will.

“…go inside.” Even as he finished her sentence, he cupped her shoulders and drew her forward.

She braced her hands against the smooth texture of his shirt, the spring of male hair beneath tantalizing. Evocative. Unnerving. “Tell me why again,” she murmured.

“It’s cold.”

Every inch of her body responded to him. The black velvet mask pressed sensually against her face while the night air’s cool fingers brushed against her heated skin. “Is it?”

She’d accepted Adam’s kisses before. Now, for the first time, she craved his kiss.

“Olivia?”

Her insides melted at the rich roll of her name on his lips—an auditory aphrodisiac. The night and her vision—or lack of—blurred reality, yet intensified her other senses. The steady rhythm of his breathing whispered a melody to the background accompaniment of the party’s muted sounds. His scent evoked an awareness deep within her.

Her breath mingled with his. As inevitable as the rise of the moon or the rustle of the wind through the dry leaves, her lips welcomed his.

And her world turned upside down.

Passion, long dormant and unacknowledged, awakened with an almost frightening intensity. Had she ever felt this way before? A ghost of a memory danced in her head, but wrapped in the feel and taste of him, Olivia gave it no credence.

Was it the full moon? Maybe the mask? Or simply because it felt so undeniably good? She didn’t stop to delve into motives. Instead, uncharacteristically, she abandoned herself to the situation and the sensations flooding her. She leaned into him and deepened their kiss.

Thus far in their relationship, Adam hadn’t been very physical. On the odd occasion when he was, his touch verged on platonic. Although he’d hesitated for the briefest moment, there was nothing platonic in the way he slanted his mouth over hers.

Olivia grasped his shoulders more firmly, as much to support herself as to enjoy the play of hard muscles beneath her hands. She silently apologized to Adam for previously thinking him a bit on the soft side. He was deliciously muscular and firm.

And his kissing had come a long way since the last time. They both came up for air. Olivia slumped against the brick wall for support. Adam braced himself against the same wall, his hands on either side of her. How was she supposed to catch her breath and recover from that kiss with his breath warming her face, his body mere inches from hers?

A few feet away, a window scraped open. Laughter and music spilled onto the porch, shattering their cocoon of intimacy. “It’s hot in here,” a woman’s complaint drifted out.