Tall, Dark And Temporary

“I Know That Some Nights You Dance Alone In Your Kitchen, Megan,” Letter to Reader Title Page About the Author Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Epilogue Copyright

“I Know That Some Nights You Dance Alone In Your Kitchen, Megan,”

Nick said, stepping closer. “That tells me you still have faith in your hopes and dreams. Let me in on them, sweet girl.”

Her hopes and dreams. Megan winced when she remembered that uppity speech she had delivered to Nick a decade ago about her hopes and dreams. How different her life had turned out.

“Nick, you just don’t understand.”

“No, I don’t,” he said. “But doesn’t it mean something to you that I want to?”

Then he closed his arms around her and rocked her gently in his embrace. Closing her eyes, she quietly acknowledged the truth to herself.

No one had ever held her like this. No one had ever made her feel so safe, yet so close to danger.

And it felt so good she never wanted to let go.

Dear Reader,

Hello’ For the past few months I’m sure you’ve noticed the new (but probably familiar) name at the bottom of this letter I was previously the senior editor of the Silhouette Romance line, and now, as senior editor of Silhouette Desire, I’m thrilled to bring you six sensuous, deeply emotional Silhouette Desire novels every month by some of the bestselling—and most beloved—authors in the genre.

January begins with The Cowboy Steals a Lady. January’s MAN OF THE MONTH title and the latest book in bestselling author Anne McAllister’s CODE OF THE WEST series. You should see the look on Shane Nichols’s handsome face when he realizes he’s stolen the wrong woman.. especially when she doesn’t mind being stolen or trapped with Mr. January one bit....

Wife for a Night by Carol Grace is a sexy tale of a woman who’d been too young for her handsome groom-to-be years ago, but is all grown up now.... And in Raye Morgan’s The Hand-Picked Bride, what’s a man to do when he craves the lady he’d hand-picked to be his brother’s bride?

Plus, we have Tall, Dark and Temporary by Susan Connell, the latest in THE GIRLS MOST LIKELY TO... miniseries; The Love Twin by ultrasensuous writer Patty Salier, and Judith McWilliams’s The Boss, the Beauty and the Bargain. All as irresistible as they sound!

I hope you enjoy January’s selections, and here’s to a very happy New Year (with promises of many more Silhouette Desire novels you won’t want to miss)!

Regards,

Melissa Senate

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., PO. Box 1325, Buffalo. NY 14269

Canadian. P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie. Ont. L2A 5X3

Tall, Dark And Temporary

Susan Connell

www.millsandboon.co.uk

SUSAN CONNELL

has a love of traveling that has taken her all over the world—Greece, Spain, Portugal, Central and South America, to name just 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.

Cindy Gerard and Leanne Banks—

Recently Voted: The Friends Most Likely To

Stay on My Speed-dial

Prologue

“Hey, girlfriend, who says you can’t go home again?”

Another warm wave of nostalgia washed over Megan Sloan at the spirited sound of her old high-school classmate. Megan was already smiling as she turned to face the woman walking toward her across the dimly lit dance floor.

“Unlike you, Rebecca, some of us never left,” Megan said, sharing a hug. “I’m so glad you made it back.”

“Me, too.” Rebecca Barnett reached out to run her hand through the curtain of crepe-paper streamers billowing behind them. “It’s hard to believe it’s been ten years since we graduated from this place.”

“Not if you squint a little. Try it. It’s like being back at the senior prom.”

Megan knew; she’d been stealing filtered looks back to the past since the first couple wandered out onto the dance floor over an hour ago. The silly thrill she experienced each time she did it was embarrassing. Or would have been if anyone knew what memories she was stirring up. But that’s what high-school reunions were all about. Reliving moments from another lifetime. At least, the good ones, she thought, glancing toward the red and white streamers.

She fidgeted with one of her earrings, then took a long, quiet breath before turning her attention back to Rebecca. The strikingly attractive brunette tilted her head and dutifully squinted for several seconds before turning a doubtful gaze to Megan.

“I don’t know, Meggie,” Rebecca said, a teasing reprimand in her tone. “As the person in charge of this reunion, you did one heck of a good job. But that’s not exactly Prom Night, Part Two going on out there.”

“And what’s not working for you?” Megan asked, pretending disbelief. “The fake French café? The golden oldies?”

Rebecca stepped closer. “John Canfield and Freddie Wagner,” she whispered behind the curled fingers of one hand.

Leave it to Rebecca to make her feel as if they were standing by their lockers exchanging high-school gossip once again. “What about them?” Megan asked, while somehow managing not to move her lips.

“Their hair,” Rebecca whispered. “How could they have lost so much of it in just one decade?”

Biting back a laugh, Megan managed to shrug. “You’ve been away a long time.”

“And while I’m dishing,” Rebecca said, leaning closer to deliver her critical, if not downright comical commentary, “what’s with Michelle Barante’s dress? It’s not exactly the purple satin slip thing she wore without a bra to the prom. She looks puffy tonight.”

“Well, you would, too, if you were dressing for three. She’s expecting twins.”

Rebecca delivered a deadpan stare, along with a slow and solemn nod. “That would explain it.”

“Let’s get Jade in on this.”

“Good idea,” Rebecca said as they reached out to close their hands around the wrist of the pretty redhead walking by them.

The faraway look in Jade Macleod’s eyes suddenly focused on Rebecca and then Megan. She ran a nervous hand over the waist of her black velvet cocktail dress. “Hi, you two. What’s happening?”

“We’re trying to time travel back to the prom, but reality keeps tripping us up.”

“Help us out here, Jade.”

After stealing a glance at her escort standing several yards away, Jade gave them a bewildered look. “Why would we want to do that? We’re doing exactly the same thing we did at the prom.”

Megan and Rebecca looked at each other and then at Jade.

“What are we doing?” they both asked.

Jade gave an exaggerated shiver. “We’re standing on the edge of the dance floor. Alone. Again. Without men.”

Shaking her head, Rebecca gave in to a lively burst of laughter. “She’s right, Meggie. We are back at the prom.” Jutting her chin toward a couple standing several yards away from them, she added, “Listen to that. Lily Magnusson is still arguing with her date.”

“I think that’s her fourth husband, Reb,” Jade said as the couple’s arguing got louder, “but my mother told me it’s impolite to count them after the second divorce.”

As Jade and Rebecca continued the high-spirited repartee, Megan blew softly through her lips as another memory wedged itself into the moment.

When she and Andy used to fight like that, she lived in constant fear that they would be overheard. Even though she’d been widowed over five years ago, she could still recite their arguments line for line. Closing her eyes, she pulled in a deep breath, then swallowed hard. She had looked forward to this reunion for months, and she wasn’t going to allow the memory of Andy Sloan to ruin it now that it was here.

“Hey, you two, I have some very good memories of prom night,” Megan said.

“You do?” Jade smiled encouragingly as she moved to face her. “We’re listening.”

“We dare you,” Rebecca said, folding her arms across her midriff. “Tell us something that will make us go all gooey.”

“Hold on.” Megan waggled a finger, as if to stir up a memory. But the memory was already there. Complete, intact, and still shimmering with promised pleasures. “Rory Buchanan almost didn’t come because she broke up with her boyfriend the day before. At the last minute, her cousin Nick volunteered to bring her.”

Jade shook her head. “Give the lady a ribbon, Reb. I’m actually feeling gooey inside.”

“Nick Buchanan,” Rebecca said. “Did that guy look great in a rented tux or what?”

“He looked great,” Megan said, her heart thumping hard against the inside of her rib cage. She looked out at the crowded dance floor. He smelled great, too. And when he took my hand and led me behind the curtain of crepe-paper streamers, I began to understand what temptation was all about.

Megan closed her eyes, her insides tingling at the memory of Nick Buchanan’s body pressed against hers and moving seductively to a song that was now a decade old. Maybe it was rubbing up against his bad-boy reputation that still held the power to stir her and her imagination. But was there really any harm in a hardworking widow who was raising her child alone indulging in a sexy fantasy now and then? She pressed her lips together. It wasn’t as if Nick was around to tempt her. He had roared out of town on his motorcycle shortly after the prom. She had never seen him again, except in her fantasies.

“Meggie?” Jade asked softly.

Megan opened her eyes to see Jade and Rebecca quietly watching her.

“Are you thinking about Andy?” Rebecca asked.

Megan plastered a smile on her face. A well-practiced smile that she knew would never betray the mixed emotions she felt toward her dead husband. “I’m thinking about when we believed that every dream could become a reality, if we just tried hard enough.”

“They still can, Meggie.” Jade turned to look at Rebecca. “Don’t you agree?” she asked a bit too earnestly.

“Maybe,” Rebecca said as she turned a soft smile toward Megan. “If you’re willing to be a little flexible with them.” A few seconds later her thoughtful expression changed as she looked past Megan. “Look who’s coming over. It’s Rory.”

“We were just talking about you and your gorgeous cousin, Nick,” Rebecca said as they welcomed her into their circle. “What ever happened to him?”

Megan held her breath. Her head was suddenly pounding and a wave of panic was threatening to turn nostalgia to nausea. She didn’t need to know what happened to Nick. She didn’t want to know that he’d probably settled down, gotten married and was developing a paunch while raising his two-point-five children in a heavily mortgaged one-and-three-quarter-bath split-level somewhere in suburbia. Selfish as it sounded, she preferred to remember him as the bad boy who dared to whisper naughty suggestions in her ear while he danced with her in a stolen moment of make-believe.

“Nick moved out to California, but he’s never there. His work keeps him on the road.”

“That must be hard on his wife and kids,” Jade said.

“Nick? Married?” Rory rolled her eyes.

And Megan sighed with relief. At least she didn’t have to feel guilty fantasizing about a married man. The last thing she wanted was a dose of reality interfering with one of the few pleasures she had. She still could allow herself the occasional luxury of an innocuous fantasy.

“You know, it’s so strange that you asked about Nick though,” Rory said. “I had a Christmas card from him last week. He said he’s coming back to town next year.”

Rebecca shook her head. “So Follett River’s bad boy is finally coming home.”

“Imagine that,” said Jade.

Megan stared at all three women, wanting desperately to echo a comparable sentiment. But the breath had left her lungs at the mention of Nick’s return.

One

“You married who?!‘”

Nick Buchanan’s casual glance down Main Street careened back to his old friend. The pretty brunette gave him her trademark smile, a mischievous lopsided grin, and the sultry August night was suddenly buzzing.

Rebecca was teasing.

She had to be.

He shook his head. “Reb, you really had me going there for a second. But you always could pull off a good practical joke when anyone least—” He broke off as she lifted her left hand and wriggled her fingers. Her diamond engagement ring and studded wedding band glittered under the street lamp.

“I married Raleigh Hanlon.”

Since arriving in the small New Jersey town that afternoon, Nick had been happily connecting present-day reality with scattered memories. Even after a ten-year absence most of the images were dovetailing easily. This one was decidedly more challenging.

“You married your senior-class history teacher?” He blinked twice. “You married Show-No-Mercy Hanlon?”

She nodded.

“How? When?”

“Earlier this year. I came back for the high-school reunion, and well, things started happening.” A faraway look came into her eyes, accompanied by a smile of satisfaction he could only wonder about.

“Well, congratulations,” he said with a sincere nod. “You look happy, Reb. That must have been one hell of a reunion.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, it was. Remember Jade Macleod? She showed up with a stranger she met on her way there. They’re getting married next month. And come to think of it, someone even brought up your name that night.” Shaking her finger at him and laughing, Reb leaned closer. “You’d better watch yourself, Nick Buchanan. Coming back to Follett River after all these years could change your life, too.”

He gave a playful shudder. “Warning taken.”

“Good,” she said, glancing at her watch then backing away. “Look, I have to see a man about installing a pool heater, but I’ll call you soon. You’re staying at the Hotel Maxwell. Right?”

“Yes,” he said, before lifting his chin and stilling her steps. “Hold on a second. Whatever happened to that pretty blond friend of yours? You know. The one who’d planned out her whole life. She was dating Andy Sloan, I think.” He scratched at the side of his head. “What was her name? Maggie?” he asked, knowing it wasn’t.

“Meggie? You mean Megan?”

He nodded. “That’s it.”

Rebecca studied him for a few seconds, then beamed him a smile. “Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s over at Bailey’s. Except it’s not Bailey’s anymore. It’s the Chocolate Chip Café now.”

Rebecca Hanlon stepped into the street and around to her car door. “Meggie bought the business and turned it into a kind of coffee bar.”

Nick felt his eyebrows lift in surprise. The night he left Follett River Megan had told him a lot of things, but planning to own a coffee bar wasn’t one of them.

“Did she ever—?”

“Gotta run, Nick,” Reb said, cutting him off as she got into her car. “Oh. Ignore the Closed sign on the door. This time of night Meggie’s in the back baking. Just go on in and surprise her. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

Love to see me? He waved as Rebecca drove off. I wouldn’t be too sure about that. Besides, he really didn’t have time for personal visits tonight. Running into Rebecca had been a fluke, and the minutes he’d taken reminiscing with her were already cutting into the hour he’d set aside to study zoning ordinances. Then he thought about the promotion he was being considered for. What he ought to be doing was cutting across the town square to the hotel, instead of thinking about looking up a pretty blonde he hadn’t seen in a decade.

Running his tongue along the inside of his cheek, he couldn’t help but smile at the memory of the last time he saw Megan. She was standing beside his motorcycle, glaring at him while turning down his offer to relieve her of her virginity.

“I want a life, Nick. Not just one wild moment I’m sure I’ll regret. And, please,” she said primly, “don’t tell me again what I’ll be missing. It’s what you’ll be missing that should concern you. A safe, secure and respectable life right here in Follett River.”

She took a step closer and wrapped her fingers around the bike’s handlebar. “Nick, I want it to be someone who cares enough to offer me his last name. Not a forwarding address.”

Back then, Nick had recognized the budding signs of Megan’s sensual nature even if she hadn’t, but at age twenty the last thing he wanted was a white picket fence defining the parameters of his young life. Playing his bad-boy image to the hilt, he’d pulled her into his arms, closed his mouth over hers and begun the hottest, deepest, wettest kiss of his life. When he felt her beginning to respond, he eased away, gave her a “whatever” shrug, then rode off.

He thought about how cavalier, if not downright insensitive he’d acted that night. She was barely eighteen then, and as innocent as they came. He rubbed at his chin, surprised, after all this time, by the trace of guilt still niggling at him. Letting his breath out slowly, he looked toward her café. Hesitation resonated within him.

“Get over it,” he murmured, heading up the street. He was thirty years old, not thirteen. She had most likely forgotten the incident. Besides, he thought as he stared at the doorknob, they were bound to run into each other anyway, since he would be in town for the next several months. What would it hurt to stop by and say hello?

The first thing that struck him as he walked inside the shadowed interior was the aroma of coffee and spice and the sense of orderliness about the place. But what had he expected? The lingering smell of greasy French fries? Cola syrup sticking to the bottoms of his shoes? Those No Loitering signs thumbtacked to the walls? Not likely, with Megan in charge.

As he headed for the rectangle of light at the back of the place, he took in the brass-framed posters of European cafés adorning the walls, the ornate cappuccino machine behind the counter and the lavishly decorated desserts in the display case.

This definitely wasn’t Bailey’s hangout anymore. He stopped at the open door, looked into the brightly lit kitchen and smiled. Not Bailey’s by a mile.

A long-legged blonde, leaning over the work surface, was sprinkling powdered sugar across a tray of pastries. Salsa music blared at top volume from a radio just inside the door. Each shake of the sugar can coincided with the beat of the music, while her hips kept time with the rhythm. Firm, curvy, shorts-covered hips. Short shorts. When the music suddenly broke into a conga, she reached to lift her sun-streaked blond hair off her neck. Flexing her knees, she managed an enticing series of bumps and grinds while shimmying her shoulders.

Nick repositioned the pager attached to his belt, then leaned against the doorjamb as the woman continued to do amazing things to his libido. He pictured himself curving his hands around her hips to feel them moving. Or to hold them still. He cleared his throat noisily.

“Can I cut in? Or don’t you need a partner for that?”

The instant he spoke, the spirited show ended in an arcing cloud of powdered sugar as she whipped around to face him. She lost her grip on the can, sending it flying across the room. He momentarily lost her in the white swirl.

When the air began to clear, Nick barely noticed the white powder on his shoes; he was too busy admiring the way it was settling on her. From those high cheekbones, all the way to her lightly tanned thighs, she looked as if she’d been hit with a miniature blizzard. Her grape-colored cropped top had moved upward with her jerky movements, revealing a sugar-filled belly button surrounded by flawless porcelain skin.

She squinted under the bright lights, then turned to snatch a cream puff from the tray.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, raising the pastry high as if it were a hand grenade. More powdered sugar drifted through the air, but she waved it away.

“I’ll give you a hint,” he said, taking a step inside the kitchen. He turned down the volume on the radio, then raised his hands in mock surrender. “It’s not Elvis.”

Her green eyes widened. And those full, soft and lusciously kissable lips parted. The last time he saw her, she had the same expression on her face. He smiled with purely masculine satisfaction, knowing that he could still elicit the same response. And this time, he hadn’t even stolen a kiss from her.

“Remember me, Megan?”

“Nick?” she whispered, lowering the cream puff. “Nick Buchanan?” Her disbelieving stare continued for several more enjoyable seconds. Then she laughed.

He remembered her laugh. Flustered and hesitant, the breathy exhalation sounded the same as it had a decade ago when he’d held her in his arms and danced with her at her prom. And right or wrong, for better or worse, he knew why she was the first person he’d asked about on his return. He knew it from the way her laughter still echoed through him.

She shifted her backside against the edge of the table, then nervously licked at the corner of her mouth. A rosy blush continued creeping over her cheeks.

“You surprised me,” she said as she tried and failed to maintain eye contact with him. “I—I was just—”

“You certainly were,” he said, referring to the sexy dance he’d caught her performing. “And doing a damn fine job of it, too.”

When she brushed her fingers across her face and under her chin, he looked for a ring and saw none. Good, he thought, pleased beyond measure to know another man’s wife wasn’t having this stirring effect on him.

In the shared and silent stares that followed, the only sounds came from the hum of the refrigerator, punctuated by the occasional crackle from the bug zapper outside in the alley. The moment shimmered with the almost painful pleasure of knowing he hadn’t been wrong all those years ago. Maybe it was revealed at night and only in her kitchen, but Megan’s budding sensuality had definitely blossomed.

“You cut your hair.”

“You let yours grow.”

This time they laughed together and he knew he could easily spend the rest of the night in that kitchen exchanging banalities with her. What did he care about the paperwork waiting for him in his hotel room? Or the dozen or so calls he had to make before his meeting tomorrow night? He’d stumbled on his own welcome-home party and he wasn’t planning to leave anytime soon.

“You look good, Megan.”

“So do you.”

Smiling at her whispered reply, he picked up the can of sugar, took it across the room and set it next to the tray. When he turned to face her, he realized he was close enough to brush the sugar from her forehead... or lick it from her cheek. The thought made his mouth go dry. He leaned his hip against the edge of the table and pointed at the cream puff.

“You have a license to use that, lady?”

“What?” She looked at the pastry in her right hand, then rolled her eyes as she replaced it on the tray.

“So what are you doing here?” he asked, pretending Rebecca hadn’t already told him. “Besides making cream puffs to lob at your old friends.”