Полная версия
The Bridesmaid and the Billionaire
“Don’t you think we should get to know each other better? I mean, we are going to be latched together for the wedding.”
That was her excuse and she was sticking to it. Her interest had nothing to do with the simmering attraction between them. Nothing to do with the way he studied her, or how watching him touch the silk petals had made her swallow, thinking of those same fingers against her own skin. Nothing to do with the way Kane Lennox had awakened something in her that she hadn’t expected.
He laid the silk flowers in his hand down on the table. “Is that all? Just trying to get to know the guy you’re going to be stuck with for a few hours at a reception?”
Nothing to do with the way looking at him made her wonder if she’d been missing out on something all these years. If Miss Responsibility should take a little vacation—before her vacation.
Susannah inhaled, and when she did she caught the citrus notes of his cologne. The quiet undertone of man. The low, unmistakable hum of sexual current. “Of course.”
Liar.
New York Times bestselling author Shirley Jump didn’t have the will-power to diet, nor the talent to master under-eye concealer, so she bowed out of a career in television and opted instead for a career where she could be paid to eat at her desk—writing. At first, seeking revenge on her children for their grocery store tantrums, she sold embarrassing essays about them to anthologies. However, it wasn’t enough to feed her growing addiction to writing funny. So she turned to the world of romance novels, where messes are (usually) cleaned up before The End. In the worlds Shirley gets to create and control, the children listen to their parents, the husbands always remember holidays, and the housework is magically done by elves. Though she’s thrilled to see her books in stores around the world, Shirley mostly writes because it gives her an excuse to avoid cleaning the toilets and helps feed her shoe habit. To learn more, visit her website at www.shirleyjump.com
Shirley Jump brings you
another sparkling romance
DOORSTEP DADDY in May
Dear Reader
In THE BRIDESMAID AND THE BILLIONAIRE, I’ve brought one of my favourite kinds of hero—the wealthy, troubled man—together with a quirky heroine and some of my absolutely favourite secondary characters: dogs. Anyone who regularly reads my blog (www.shirleyjump.blogspot.com) knows about my new little Havanese puppy, Sophie, and her adventures with my other two dogs. I had a lot of fun writing this book, and introducing some canine characters with personalities all their own!
I hope you enjoy this book, and thank you for being a regular reader of mine—and of Mills & Boon® Romance. Please write to me—either through my website, www.shirleyjump.com, or at PO Box 5126, Fort Wayne, IN 46895, USA—and tell me about your favourite Romance. Who knows? Maybe we’ve got a favourite book in common!
Happy reading
Shirley
THE BRIDESMAID AND THE BILLIONAIRE
BY
SHIRLEY JUMP
For Sherri, my own maid of honor and best friend, even though she got the part of the narrator in the fourth grade play. The best part about having her as a best friend is we’re never too grown up to have fun.
CHAPTER ONE
KANE Lennox’s bare feet sank into the new spring grass, his toes disappearing between the thick green blades like shy mice. He’d slept on mattresses that cost as much as a small sedan, walked on carpet that had been hand loomed in the Orient, and worn shoes made to order specifically for his feet by a cobbler in Italy. But those experiences paled in comparison to this one. Comfort slid through his veins, washing over him in a wave, lapping at the stress that normally constricted his heart, easing the emotion’s death grip on his arteries.
He halted midstep, tossing the conundrum around in his mind. How could something so simple, so basic, as walking barefoot on grass, feel so wonderful?
“What on earth do you think you’re doing?”
Kane whirled around at the sound of the woman’s voice. Tall and thin, her blond hair hanging in a long straight curtain to her waist, she stood with tight fists propped on her hips. Her features were delicate, classic, with wide green eyes and lush dark pink lips, but right now her face had been transformed by a mask of confusion and annoyance. In one hand she held a cell phone, her thumb over the send button, 9-1-1 just a push away.
Not that he could blame her. Even he had to admit what he was doing looked…odd. Out of place. Kane put up both hands. The “See, I’m okay, not carrying any lethal weapons” posture. “There’s a perfectly logical explanation for my behavior,” he said. “And my presence.”
She raised a dubious brow, but looked a bit worried, even apprehensive. “A total stranger. Barefoot. On my sister’s lawn. In the middle of the day. Uh-huh. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for that.” She turned, casting a hand over her eyes, shading them from the sun. “Either there’s some cameraman waiting to jump out of the shrubbery with a ‘Surprise, you’re on Candid Camera’ announcement, or you’re here on some loony-bin field trip.”
He laughed. “I assure you, I’m not crazy.”
Though the last few weeks had driven him nearly to insanity. Which had pushed him to this point. To the small town of Chapel Ridge, in the middle of Indiana. To—
Being barefoot on, as she had said, her sister’s lawn in the middle of a bright April day. Okay, so it was mildly crazy.
“That leaves the Candid Camera option, which I’m definitely not in the mood for, or…trespassing.” She held up the phone like a barrier against a vampire. “Either way, I’m calling the cops.”
“Wait.” He took a step forward, thought better of it and backed up. As his gaze swept over her a second time, he realized she looked familiar, and now knew why. “You must be…” He racked his brain. Usually he was so good at names. But this time, he couldn’t come up with hers. “The sister of the bride. Jackie’s sister.”
“I get it. You’re a detective who does his best thinking in his bare feet, is that it?” She gave him a sardonic grin. “Must have been tough, putting all the puzzle pieces together, what with the Congratulations Jackie and Paul sign out front, the paper wedding bells hanging on the mailbox. Oh, and the happiness emanating from the house like cheap perfume.” She paused midtirade. “Wait. How do you know who I am?”
Kane gave her an assessing glance, avoiding the question. “What’s made you so disagreeable?”
She sighed and lowered the phone. “I’ve had a rough day. A rough life and—” She cut herself off again. “How do you do that? I’m not telling you a single thing about me.”
“Listen, I’ll just get out of here and leave you to your day. I’ve clearly come at a bad time.” He bent over, picked up his designer Italian leather dress shoes and started to leave.
“Wait.” She let out a gust.
He turned back and for a second, Kane swore he heard a spark of himself—of the last few months, the days that had driven him to this town, to this crazy idea—in that sound. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, and the spark of distrust had returned.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re barefoot on the lawn in the middle of the day.”
Kane’s jaw hardened. “We’re back to that again?”
“When did we ever leave that topic?” She parked her fists back on her hips, the cell phone dangling between two fingers.
Telling her why he was here, and what he was doing, involved getting into far too many personal details. If he started opening up about his problems, he’d have all of Chapel Ridge—all 4,910 residents, as it were—knowing his identity, and there’d go his plan to enjoy some much-needed R & R.
He had no intentions of telling anyone anything. Particularly Jackie’s sister.
Susannah Wilson. That was her name. Suzie-Q, Paul called her, like the packaged dessert.
Before she could question him further, he headed over to his little blue rental car, a cheap American model, light-years away from the silver convertible Bentley Azure he usually drove. The rental was nondescript, plain. Like something anyone else in the world would be driving. And perfect.
Susannah followed him. Not one to give up easily, that was clear. “You still didn’t answer my question. Who are you? And why are you here?”
“That’s two questions. And I don’t have to tell you anything, either. It’s a free country.”
He could almost hear her internal scream of frustration. Oh, this was going to be fun.
She scowled. “Trespassing is a crime, you know.”
He grinned. When he’d booked this trip, he’d had no idea there’d be a fringe benefit of this little fireball. “Only if you’re not invited. And I was invited.” He paused a beat, watching her eyes widen in surprise at the word invited, waiting to deliver the last punch of surprise. “I’m the best man, after all.”
“You have the worst taste in friends.”
Paul Hurst, Jackie’s fiancé, laughed. “Suzie-Q, you need to give Kane the benefit of the doubt. He’s not so bad. And he had his reasons for what he was doing, I’m sure.”
“Where did you meet him anyway? Prison?”
“College. He had the room next door to mine, and we had a few classes together. And he’s—” Paul cut himself off. “He’s a good guy. Just trust me on that.”
Susannah got to her feet, gathering the mess of dishes on the coffee table. The collection of plates and glasses had grown over the day, multiplying like bunnies in her absence. Jackie and Paul didn’t move from their positions in the living room of the old Victorian-style house. Paul had his feet up on the scarred maple coffee table—a garage sale find of Susannah’s from last summer—and Jackie was curled up beside him, the remote control in her hands. Across the room, a detective show played on the big-screen TV, an early wedding gift from Susannah and the bridesmaids, who had chipped in on the electronic extravagance. “The last time I trusted you, you stole my sister’s heart.”
Paul laughed. He wrapped an arm around Jackie and drew her to him. The leather sofa, a replacement for the plaid one that had sat in this room for nearly twenty years, creaked beneath his weight. “Just think of it as gaining a brother.”
Jackie leaned into the brown-haired man she had dated for the better part of three years and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “A very handsome brother.”
Susannah grinned. “Santa must not have heard me when I said I wanted a pony.”
She headed out of the room, the dishes in her hands, and loaded them into the sink. She ran hot water over them, added dish soap, then started washing. She had stood at this sink for nearly all her life, looked out this same window at the same yard, washing dishes ever since she’d been old enough to stand on the small wooden stepstool and reach into the deep-bottomed stainless steel sink. Back then, she’d washed while her mother dried, the two of them falling into a natural rhythm, working along with the radio in the background, and the sunny yellow kitchen seemed to beam back the sunshine in her mother’s voice.
But those days were gone, the radio had broken years ago, and the kitchen’s paint had faded. And now the dishes had become a chore.
“You don’t have to do that,” Jackie said. She leaned against the refrigerator, filing her nails with an emery board.
“If you let them sit—”
“They won’t break,” Jackie cut in. “Leave the dishes for later. Or even better, don’t do them at all.”
If Susannah didn’t do them, they’d never get done. Neither Jackie nor Paul was much for housework, despite their protests to the contrary. In exchange for living with the two of them for a nominal rent to help pay down the mortgage, Susannah had agreed to do the majority of the housework and even though the deal had worked out so that she ended up doing all the chores, most days the arrangement suited her just fine. It helped her save money, which went to her ultimate goal.
Freedom.
One week. Just one more week, and she’d be out of here. Out of this house. Out of this town. On her way to the life she had dreamed of for so long it seemed like she had been born with the dream. Susannah’s gaze drifted to the stained-glass Eiffel Tower hanging in the kitchen window. Gold and orange glints bounced off the countertops as the sun’s afternoon’s rays streamed through the tiny glass shards.
I’ve never been here, her mother had said, that last Christmas when she’d given Susannah the small reproduction of Paris’s famous landmark, but I hope someday you can go, sweet Susannah. See the world I never got to see.
Susannah would. No matter what it took.
“I’ll just get these few before I go to work,” Susannah said.
“But you just got home. I thought you were done for the day.”
“I had a couple late appointments. Every appointment is another dollar, you know.” She gave Jackie a smile.
“You work too hard.” Jackie held her hands out, checked all ten fingers, deemed them perfect and tucked the file into her back pocket.
“All for the ultimate goal, sis. All for the ultimate goal.”
“A discreet way of saying you hate living with us.” Jackie laughed, showing Susannah no offense was taken, then gave her sister a quick hug. “Oh, when you go out, do you mind doing me a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Can you stop by and pick up the centerpieces? I have a fitting tonight and then…”
“The party.”
The bachelorette party. The same one that Susannah had planned, as maid of honor, but wasn’t attending. She’d never known Jackie’s friends very well, and as the date had approached, felt herself less and less inclined to spend the evening with the other bridesmaids. Women who had always been Jackie’s friends and included Susannah only as an afterthought, like adding one more fern to an already perfect floral arrangement.
“You can still come. You are one of the bridesmaids, after all. The bachelorette party is one of the perks.” Jackie grinned.
“I’m cool, Jackie. Really.” She ran the sponge over a plate, scrubbing at the center until the stoneware gleamed. “I’m not much for parties anyway.”
“You’re just avoiding, like you always do.”
“No, I’m not. I have to work.”
Jackie sighed but let the subject drop. She placed a hand on Susannah’s shoulder. “I appreciate you picking the centerpieces up. You’re really saving me. Again.”
Not that Susannah had the time. She had three dogs to bathe tonight, and a million errands of her own. “What about Paul?”
“Nothing against my future husband, but I don’t think he’d know a centerpiece from a centrifuge.” She laughed.
Susannah increased the water temperature, filling a casserole dish that had been used for nachos or cheese dip, or something equally hardened and stubborn about giving up its baked-on grip. “When were you planning on assembling them?”
“Assembling them?” Jackie paused, then smacked her temples. “Damn. I totally forgot about that part. Maybe tomorrow afternoon.” She thought a second. “No, wait. That’s the meeting with the minister to go over the rest of the ceremony details. Umm…tomorrow night? No, not then, either. Paul and I have plans with the Fitzgeralds. Remember them? They used to be Mom and Dad’s friends. I don’t know how long we’ll be at their house. You know how they can talk. And then on Thursday night we have the reh—”
“Basically, you have a million other things to do,” Susannah finished.
As usual. Jackie’s list was filled with social engagements and outings and very few responsibilities. At twenty-six, Susannah was four years older than Jackie and had always run her life down the opposite track. She bit back a breath of annoyance. Soon Jackie would be married, and she’d have to be responsible. Because Susannah wouldn’t be here anymore to carry the load.
“It’s a wonder I have time to go to work with all that, huh?” Jackie said, laughing. “Believe me, if Paul and I didn’t need the money, I’d be calling in sick every day. Gosh, how on earth am I ever going to find time to do everything for the wedding? It’s like the clock is running out. Jerry said we could set up early at the hotel, because they have nothing else scheduled there this weekend, but I don’t even have time to…”
Her voice trailed off and then that hopeful smile took over her face. The one Susannah knew as well as she knew every square inch of this house. Jackie leaned against the counter and met Susannah’s gaze. “Hey, what are you doing tonight, sis?”
Susannah pulled the drain on the sink. “No way, Jackie. I’ve got—”
“Please, Suzie-Q. Please?” Jackie put her hands together, and gave Susannah a pleading-puppy-dog look. “Just this one more favor, and then, I swear, I’ll never ask for another. I swear.”
And Susannah said yes. Just like always.
CHAPTER TWO
KANE could run a multi-billion-dollar, fourth-generation, international gem import company. Negotiate million-dollar deals. Understand the most complicated of financial reports. Surely he could do something as simple as light a fire. The flame on the match met the log, sputtered briefly, then poof, disappeared.
Apparently not.
He’d rented the cabin on the outskirts of town, ordered a quarter-cord of wood, picked up some matches at the store downtown, and thought the whole process would be as simple as striking a match to a box, then holding it against a stick.
Uh…not exactly.
Kane let out a curse as his sixth attempt fizzled and died, then stalked outside. He drew in several deep breaths of fresh, country air. An hour ago, he’d been loving the whole experience. Now he was ready to call his chauffeur, have him hurry the hell out here with the limo and drive him straight to the private Lennox Gem Corporation jet.
No. He’d do this. He needed to do this.
He stepped back and appraised the situation with logic, thinking back over movies he’d seen and the books about camping he’d skimmed on the plane when he’d taken this impromptu escape from reality. Too many large, thick logs. Not enough skinny sticks. What he needed was more kindling. Not more thinking.
Kane headed outside, blew some warm air on his cold hands, then started picking up sticks from the ground. As he did, his hands brushed against the bare dirt, pushing soil under his nails when he dug into the earth to loosen a stubborn piece. He pulled his hand back and marveled at the sight of the dirt.
Such a simple thing, and yet, he’d never done this. Never had soil beneath his nails. Never cleaned mud from his uncalloused palms. Kane kneeled down and pressed both hands into the soft dark brown earth, squeezing the thick clumps. A burst of rich, earthy scent filled his nostrils. Then the dirt broke apart, slipping through his fingers and hitting the ground again with a soft patter, like fat raindrops.
Kane chuckled. Imagine that. One of the richest men in the world, amused at something so basic as communing with Mother Nature.
Something shivered the bushes beside him. Kane jerked to attention, grabbing his kindling as he did. He thrust his right hand forward, then realized his sapling ammunition made him about as dangerous as a sunflower. “Who’s there?”
Or rather, what was there?
When he’d made the decision two days ago to come here for more than just Paul’s wedding, he’d done a quick research overview of the location, right down to the last lack of amenities, but hadn’t thought to look up “wild indigenous animals.” For God’s sake, the thing rustling around five feet from him could be a bear.
The rustling grew louder, the leaves shaking like can-can dancers. Kane took a step back. Should he head for the cabin? Stand his ground? He could just see the headline now: Idiot CEO Billionaire Dies: Money No Match For Bear In Woods.
The press would have a field day with that one. He’d be the butt of jokes for generations to come.
Then, out of the woods, a bundle of fur came bounding right for him, and Kane started to turn and run back inside, until he realized the bundle was—
A dog.
The mutt, a small barrel of brown-and-white fur and floppy ears, barked at him, then leapt at his legs, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Oh, God, it was on him now. Shedding. Kane had no experience with pets. Not unless he counted the one week his mother thought it would be cute to have a pocket pooch, then changed her mind once she realized live dogs actually peed and pooped—and gave the dog to the maid.
This thing was as friendly as a second-place politician desperate for every last vote. Kane took a step back, hands up, his sticks like finger extensions. “Whoa, there, buddy. Get down. Please.”
Undaunted, the dog kept coming, launching himself at Kane in another greeting. Kane reached out a tentative hand, and gave the dog an awkward pat on the head. “There you go. Now go on home.”
The dog barked, plopped his butt on the ground and swished a semicircle into the ground with his tail.
“Go home.”
The dog’s tail widened the dirt semicircle, creating a tiny cloud of dust. He barked disagreement. Stubborn.
“Well, if you won’t, I will.” Kane pivoted, and headed into the cabin. Before he could shut the door—hands impeded by the load of kindling—the dog was there.
Inside.
With him.
“Oh, no, you don’t. Shoo.” Kane waved out the door. The dog stayed put, staring at him. Expectant. “Go home.”
The dog barked some more. This time it sounded like a feed-me bark. Not that Kane would know, of course, but the way the dog was looking at him, he seemed kind of hungry.
“I don’t have any dog food. In fact—”
He didn’t have any people food, either. For a man who lived his life by a schedule and a plan, he’d done a pretty lousy job of planning this one.
It was that woman. She’d gotten him all turned around this morning. Set him off-kilter. If he hadn’t met her, he wouldn’t have forgotten to buy food. Or thoroughly check out his surroundings. Or gather kindling. And then he wouldn’t have this…this creature staring at him.
A creature he needed to get rid of. Kane opened the door, but the dog stayed put. Clearly, reasoning with the animal wasn’t going to work. The dog wore no collar, so Kane couldn’t call his owner. And he certainly couldn’t keep the thing here. So he did the only other thing he knew to do—delegate.
He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in the number for the woman who had rented him the cabin. “Mrs. Maxwell, do you own a dog?”
Angela Maxwell, an older woman with gray hair and a friendly smile, and most of all, a tendency not to ask any questions once she had a valid credit-card number in hand, laughed on the other end of the phone. “No, dear, I don’t. But there are lots of stray dogs around the cabins. Sometimes they get separated from their owners who are on vacation. And we don’t have much of a leash law ’round here. People kind of just let their dogs go, it being a small town and all. Most everybody knows most everybody else’s dogs.”
“Do you know this one? It’s brown and white. Short. Stubborn.” Kane glared at the dog. It swished its tail and, he swore, grinned at him.
“Well, no, can’t say that I do, but I know who would know. You take that pooch on down to The Sudsy Dog. The owner there, she runs a sort of pet rescue thing. She’ll help you out.”
“The Sudsy Dog?”
“It’s a hot dog wash.” Mrs. Maxwell laughed at the pun. “Just off of Main Street. You can’t miss it. On the sign you’ll see—”
