“I’ll Pay You To Marry Me...” Letter to Reader Title Page MAUREEN CHILD Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Copyright

“I’ll Pay You To Marry Me...”

Jenny was getting desperate. “Five minutes. That’s all I ask. One little wedding. One hundred dollars? Two hundred?”

The stranger edged past her, gave her one last, regretful look and scurried away.

“Do I hear five?” a familiar deep, male voice asked.

Jenny spun around quickly and teetered precariously on her heels. Nick Tarrantelli grabbed her elbow and steadied her. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

“You do know you could be arrested for soliciting?” Nick said casually.

Jenny gasped in outrage. “Soliciting? I don’t see how. I’m not asking anyone for money. In fact, I’m offering to pay them.” Suddenly a tear slid down her cheek. Then another one.

Nick tried to calm her down, to make her stop crying. Nothing seemed to work. Desperate, he heard himself whisper, “I’ll marry you, Jenny.”

Dear Reader,

I know you’ve all been anxiously awaiting the next book from Mary Lynn Baxter—so wait no more. Here it is, the MAN OF THE MONTH, Tinght-Fittin’ Jeans. Mary Lynn’s books are known for their sexy heroes and sizzling sensuality...and this sure has both! Read and enjoy.

Every little girl dreams of marrying a handsome prince, but most women get to kiss a lot of toads before they find him. Read how three handsome princes find their very own princesses in Leanne Banks’s delightful new ministries HOW TO CATCH A PRINCESS. The fun begins this month with The Five-Minute Bride.

The other books this month are all so wonderful...you won’t want to miss any of them! If you like humor, don’t miss Maureen Child’s Have Bride, Need Groom. For blazing drama, there’s Sara Orwig’s A Baby for Mommy. Susan Crosby’s Wedding Fever provides a touch of dashing suspense. And Judith McWilliams’s Practice Husband is warmly emotional.

There is something for everyone here at Desire! I hope you enjoy each and every one of these love stories.

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

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

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

Have Bride, Need Groom

Maureen Child

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MAUREEN CHILD

was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.

An avid reader, she looks forward to those rare, rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. She is also an award-winning historical writer under the names Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.

To Susan Mallery,

the once and future goddess,

with my thanks

One

The bride wore polka dots.

Elvis was in sequins.

The bounty hunter wore jeans.

And the groom was in handcuffs.

Jenny Blake gripped the hard plastic handle on her complimentary paper gardenia bouquet a little tighter and stared at her would-be groom. So close, she thought. If that bounty hunter had been only five minutes later, she would have been safely married.

But there was no chance of that now. She shifted her gaze to the man who had introduced himself as Nick Tarantelli, bounty hunter. A tall, lean man with night-black hair and eyes that seemed even darker, he had her bridegroom in a grip that told Jenny he had no intention of letting go any time soon.

Overhead, a set of speakers, hidden behind oversize paintings of The King on black velvet, sent strains of “Hunka-Hunka-burnin’ love” into the tiny, air-conditioned chapel. The Reverend Elvis Throckmorton signaled wildly for his wife, Priscilla, to turn off the tape player.

Elvis Presley’s voice was cut off mid-verse and the small group of people gathered in the Love Me Tender Wedding Chapel stared at each other.

“Sorry, honey,” Jenny’s would-be groom finally said. “But I guess the wedding’s postponed.”

“For how long?” she heard herself ask.

“My guess...” The bounty hunter spoke up as he gripped the groom’s elbow. “About five to ten.”

“Years?” Jenny said, and stared into the black eyes.

“No,” he answered. “Minutes.”

She knew sarcasm when she heard it and ordinarily she would have tried for a quick comeback. But at the moment Jenny was much too busy feeling sorry for herself.

It was all her own fault, of course. As usual, she’d left everything for the last minute. If she’d taken care of things months ago, none of this would be happening. But who would have thought it would be so difficult to buy a husband?

“C’mon, T.,” the groom wheedled. “At least let me kiss ’er goodbye.”

Jenny took an instinctive half step back.

Tarantelli noticed and one black eyebrow lifted slightly. “I don’t think the lady’s interested, Jimmy.”

“Of course I don’t want to kiss him,” Jenny said shortly. “We only just met.”

Reverend Elvis shook his head slowly, clucking his tongue in disapproval.

The bounty hunter straightened, leaned one forearm casually on his prisoner’s shoulder and looked at Jenny. “You don’t know him?”

Her fingers plucked at the paper petals of her bouquet. Allowing her gaze to sweep quickly over the man she’d almost married, Jenny winced at the bright fuchsia sport coat covering the hot-pink shirt he wore unbuttoned practically to his navel. Five gold chains were caught up in the abundance of curly black hair that covered his chest like an old shag rug. There were three rhinestones missing from the pair of dice etched into his tarnished belt buckle.

Shifting her gaze to the groom’s thick, full lips and small green eyes, Jenny barely managed to suppress a shudder.

Know him? If she’d happened on the man in an alley, she would have hurled her purse at him and run screaming in the opposite direction. And she’d just come within minutes of marrying him.

“No,” she said finally. “I don’t know him.”

The bounty hunter tilted his head to one side and looked down at his prisoner. Shaking his head, he said, “Hell, Jimmy. I didn’t give you near enough credit. You’ve even got strangers wanting to marry you now. What is this? Wife number six?”

“Eight,” Jimmy corrected, tugging proudly at the lapels of his hideous coat.

“Eight?” Jenny echoed.

“Oh, yeah.” Nick Tarantelli glanced at her. “Jimmy’s what you might call a professional groom.”

“Oh, my.”

“The only problem is,” he continued, “Jimmy here doesn’t believe in divorce, do ya, Jimmy?” Tarantelli jerked the shorter man’s coat collar and Jimmy rose up on his toes.

“Divorce,” Jimmy protested, his voice strangled, “is the scourge of America. No one stays together anymore. I’m just doin’ my part, is all. Tryin’ to hold together the moral fabric of society.”

Tarantelli laughed.

“He’s a bigamist?” Jenny asked, stunned. Were there really that many women desperate to get married wandering around Las Vegas? She’d thought she was the only one.

“Among other things,” the bounty hunter said.

Without another word, Tarantelli turned and started for the arched doorway behind him, dragging a protesting Jimmy in his wake.

“That’ll be thirty-five dollars, young lady.”

Jenny tore her gaze from her retreating groom and glanced at the preacher.

Light flashed off the sequins on Reverend Throck-morton’s white jumpsuit as he held his right hand out, palm up.

“But there wasn’t a wedding.”

“Don’t matter to me,” he said, lifting his left hand to smooth the side of his slicked-back pompadour. “You’re payin’ for our time and the use of the chapel.”

There was a steely glint in Elvis’s eyes that Jenny was sure the real Elvis would never have approved of. Still, she didn’t have time to argue. Digging into her tiny, red vinyl purse, she came up with the right amount of money and slapped it into the reverend’s outstretched hand.

Before he could finish muttering “Thank ya vera much,” she was out the front door, hurrying after Nick Tarantelli and his prisoner.

A bounty hunter, she thought. Who would have guessed that such people really existed? The last time she’d heard the words bounty hunter spoken, she was watching a John Wayne movie.

Shaking his head, Nick opened the car door, helped a handcuffed Jimmy into the front seat, then closed the door, making sure it was locked. He’d already lost Jimmy once that day and he wasn’t about to do that again.

As he stepped around the back of his nondescript brown sedan, Nick heard the distinctive click of high heels approaching. Grimacing, he glanced at the watch on his left wrist—8:00 p.m. He’d been running all over Vegas since nine that morning looking for Jimmy “the Lip” Baldini, and he was tired. Too tired to have to listen to a jilted bride.

Especially one too dumb to know how lucky she was.

“Mr.,” she said, and Nick groaned,. “I’m sorry,” she went on. “I can’t remember your name.”

“Tarantelli,” he told her. “Nick Tarantelli.”

“Of course.”

She stopped right beside him and Nick looked down into her big blue eyes. Pretty, he thought absently. Too damned pretty to have to settle for a husband like Jimmy.

Even as that thought entered his mind, though, Nick backed off. It didn’t matter how pretty she was, he told himself. She was none of his concern and that was just the way it was going to stay.

“Lady,” he said, his voice gruff, “I’m tired, hungry and cranky.” Crossing his arms over his chest, he added, “And in no mood to listen to tales of the lovelorn.”

“Then how about listening to reason?”

Nick’s eyebrows lifted. She wasn’t easily put off, he would give her that Quickly his sharp gaze swept over her in assessment. About five foot six, he thought, and every inch nicely packed. She had the curves of a Vegas showgirl, even if she didn’t seem to have much taste in clothes.

Her red dress with its giant polka dots didn’t do much for her, in his opinion, but he did like the way it clung to her impressive breasts. The hem of the dress stopped at midthigh, giving him quite a view of her short but shapely legs. Then he noticed the teeteringly high heels she wore on her feet and mentally adjusted her height accordingly. Without those ridiculous shoes, she was probably no more than five-two, tops.

“Have you seen enough?” she asked.

He slowly lifted his gaze to hers. “For now.”

Her lips pursed briefly, then she seemed to gather herself together and a forced smile curved her mouth. “Mr. Tarantelli...” she began.

“Nick.”

“Nick.” She nodded then folded her hands together tightly at her waist. “If I could just explain.”

“Lady, you don’t need to explain yourself to me.” As a matter of fact, he hoped she wouldn’t. He didn’t want to know any more than he already did. Determinedly, he stepped around her and slid his key into the driver’s side lock. “None of my business why you’d want to marry Jimmy the Lip.”

“The Lip?”

A half laugh shot from his throat before he could stop it. “You really don’t know him, do ya?”

“I’ve already told you that.”

A hot desert wind suddenly whipped up around them, lifting her short skirt high enough to make Nick start counting backward from fifty just to keep himself focused on the job at hand.

“Mr.—I mean, Nick,” she corrected quickly. “What I want to explain to you is exactly why you have to allow Mr. Lip to marry me before you take him away.”

“What?” Her ridiculous statement shattered his concentration and he stared at her blankly. He couldn’t believe it. Even knowing that Jimmy was a bigamist wasn’t enough to throw her off course?

Nick watched the desert breeze lift the chin-length, honey-blond hair off her neck and swirl it around her face. She lifted one hand to push it out of her eyes and he couldn’t help noticing how graceful—and fragile—that hand looked.

Deliberately, he ignored the thought.

“Are you nuts, lady?”

“It’s Jenny. Jenny Blake.” She held out her right hand.

He took it instinctively and tried not to notice how his own grip seemed to swallow her much smaller hand. Nick released her quickly and shoved his hand into his pocket.

“Well, Jenny Blake,” he started, telling himself to keep his eyes safely away from the swell of her breasts and his mind off the fact that his right hand still tingled from her touch. “Instead of making such a stupid request, you ought to be thanking me for stopping that wedding.”

“You don’t understand.”

“No, Jenny Blake,” he countered, leaning one elbow on the dirty roof of his car, “you don’t understand.” Jerking his head toward the direction of the front seat, he said, “Ol’ Jimmy in there would’ve married you, stuck around for the wedding night and then been gone by first light, carrying anything of yours that was worth ten cents.”

She flushed and even in the half-light of a Vegas twilight, Nick saw the telltale red creeping up her neck and cheeks. Unbelievable. A woman who actually blushed! And she wanted to marry Jimmy of all people!

“There isn’t going to be a wedding night,” she insisted.

“You’re damn right there isn’t.”

“Mr. Tarantelli, you don’t understand.”

“Right again, honey. I surely don’t.” He straightened, reached for the door handle and opened his car door. “Even better, I don’t want to understand.” Glancing back at her over his shoulder, he added, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to turn Jimmy over to the cops, then take myself home for some sleep.”

“But you can’t take him.”

Nick told himself it wasn’t any of his business. It wasn’t his fault that this crazy woman actually wanted to marry a louse like Jimmy. And it most certainly wasn’t his fault that the look on her face reminded him of all the desperate kids in every Lassie movie he’d ever seen.

Gritting his teeth, he deliberately looked away from her, climbed into the car and shut the door firmly. The sooner he got home, the better. Rolling down the window, he rested his left forearm on the door top and said quietly, “Goodbye, Jenny Blake.”

Then he slipped the gearshift into reverse, half turned to look over his shoulder and started backing up.

“Uh, T....” Jimmy said quietly.

“You shut up,” Nick told him. “If you hadn’t escaped from me this morning, none of this would be happening.”

“But T.—” the other man ventured again.

“Enough, Jimmy.” Nick shot a quick look at his prisoner. “God knows, I can’t figure out how you keep getting women to marry you, but I am not one of your fans. So stick a sock in it for a while, okay?”

Jimmy shrugged but kept quiet.

Nick sighed and finished backing out of the parking slot. Turning around, he slipped the gearshift into drive, looked through the windshield and cursed.

“I tried to tell you.” Jimmy laughed, but stopped quickly enough when Nick glared at him.

Slamming the shift into park, Nick threw the car door open wide and stepped out. The fast-idling engine rumbled dangerously, and Nick’s temper was boiling at the same rate. Balled fists at his hips, he stared down at the woman sprawled across the hood of his car.

Two

Jenny’s fingers curled around the windshield wiper as she held on tight. Her right hand was cupped over the front of the car, her fingers digging into the hood latch. Her back was arched over the hump in the hood and her head shook in time with the hot, vibrating engine beneath her.

She stared up at Nick Tarantelli and swallowed heavily. Even though his image wavered with her shaking head, he looked furious. Well, she told herself, this wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her evening, either.

“What in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he shouted.

“Stopping you.”

“way?”

“I have to get married!”

He didn’t answer right away and she chewed at her lip nervously. A thoughtful, almost sympathetic expression crept into his brown eyes. A flare of hope burst into life in Jenny’s chest. Perhaps everything would be all right after all. Maybe the bounty hunter wasn’t completely without a heart. Surely he could see how important this wedding was to her.

Oh, heaven knew Jimmy the Lip wasn’t anyone’s idea of a wonderful husband. But she was out of time and out of options.

Although, a voice in the back of her mind whispered, did a marriage to a bigamist count?

Jenny frowned and pushed the annoying voice aside. A marriage was a marriage. The rules didn’t say it had to be a good marriage.

Nick Tarantelli reached a decision then and walked back to the driver’s side of the car. A moment later the engine stopped and Jenny sighed in relief. She didn’t move, though, reluctant to give up the hold she had on his car until the bounty hunter promised not to drive away with her groom.

Then he was back, staring down at her, and Jenny felt her mouth go dry. Strange, she hadn’t noticed before just what a lovely shade of brown his eyes were. In the chapel they’d simply looked dark. But here, in the uncertain twilight, they looked more the color of fine brandy.

She shook her head and told herself she was being fanciful. It was probably nothing more than the weird desert light playing tricks. Besides, what difference did it make what color his eyes were?

“Why didn’t you say so?” he asked suddenly.

“Hmm?”

“You should have said something about the baby.”

“Baby?”

“Hell, you shouldn’t be crawling onto moving cars,” he said, and reached out to pull her off the hood. “You could get hurt.”

When her feet hit the gravel parking lot, she wobbled uncertainly for a moment. She grabbed his forearms to steady herself, then released him and straightened. He smelled of Old Spice and something else she couldn’t quite identify.

Old Spice. She’d always loved that scent but she hadn’t thought there were any men left who appreciated the old-fashioned cologne. Most men these days were more into buying French fragrances that battled with and usually overpowered ladies’ perfumes.

But the Old Spice seemed to suit Nick Tarantelli. Maybe it was just the brainwashing of those old commercials, but he reminded Jenny of the swashbuckling type of male she’d always associated with that cologne.

Now she was being fanciful, she told herself and dismissed her wayward thoughts.

“You probably shouldn’t be wearing those high heels, either,” Nick told her.

“Why not?” she asked, glancing down at the three-and-a-half-inch heeled sandals she’d bought the week before.

“The baby, of course. Everybody knows pregnant women should wear flats. That way they don’t lose their balance.”

How ridiculous, Jenny thought. As if footwear had anything at all to do with a pregnant woman’s health. Then her brain lurched, stopped and backed up.

Pregnant?

“What baby?” she asked.

“Yours.”

“Mine?” Jenny’s palm slapped against the open V of her neckline. “I’m not going to have a baby!”

“Of course you are.”

“I think I would know if I was pregnant, for heaven’s sake.”

“Then what was all that stuff about you have to get married?”

He loomed over her. Jenny’d never had occasion to use that word before, not even to herself. Yet there was no other way to describe what the tall, angry-looking bounty hunter was doing. But then, she decided, he probably couldn’t help looming. He was awfully tall.

She tilted her head back slightly in response, but didn’t lower her gaze one fraction. “I said I had to get married. I didn’t say it was because of a baby.”

“Well, why else?”

“Because of my grandmother.”

One second passed, then two, then three. Jenny waited.

Nick threw his hands high in the air in mock surrender. “Forget it, lady, I don’t want to know.”

“But you have to listen,” she said, and followed him as he started for the car door again.

“No, I don’t. And don’t try crawling back up on the damned car. This time, I might just take off anyway.”

Hurrying in those heels was a mistake. Jenny realized it just before her foot caught in a hole and she pitched forward to land on the hot, dirty asphalt. She managed to break her fall with her hands instead of her face, but sharp, stinging pains stabbed at her knees and palms.

“Oh, for...”

She felt rather than saw him move. Then his hands were at her waist and he was lifting her up from the parking lot and setting her on her feet again. He didn’t release her immediately and Jenny deliberately ignored the warmth soaking into her body from the press of his fingertips at her waist.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I think so.” She took a step back from him, glanced down at her knees and groaned. Through the torn, black, diamond-patterned stockings, she saw that her flesh was scraped raw and bloody. Bits of gravel clung to her knees and the palms of her hands looked no better.

Before she knew it a sheen of tears had welled up in her eyes. She blinked furiously, trying to keep them at bay. Nothing was going right. Absolutely nothing. And it was all her own fault.

Nick sighed and asked, “Where’s your car?”

“I don’t have one,” she answered, rubbing the back of her hand across the tip of her nose.

“Perfect.” He paused, then asked, “Where are you staying? I’ll get you a cab.”

“I don’t want a cab. I want to get married.” Her knees were beginning to throb and the palms of her hands felt as though she’d taken a cheese grater to them.

“Your groom has other plans,” he answered. “What hotel are you in?”

She sniffed, bent over and plucked at her ruined stockings, pulling them away from her battered knees. “Sinbad’s.”

“Jeez!”

Jenny straightened abruptly. “What is it now?”

“You want to marry Jimmy Baldini and you’re staying at Sinbad’s?” He shook his head slowly. “Lady, you’re asking for trouble.” Grabbing her elbow firmly, he dragged her to the rear door on the driver’s side, muttering to himself with every step. “I ought to just let you go on back to that dive. Take your chances. None of my business where you stay-Hell, I don’t even know you!”

Jenny winced as pain stabbed at her knees.

“But then I’d probably see you on the news tonight,” he went on, still talking to himself. “‘Tourist with scraped knees murdered in her bed at Sinbad’s Sin Shop.’ Nope. Can’t let you do it.” Nick shrugged. “Guilt would keep me awake all night and I already told you—I’m tired.”

Yanking at the latch, he pulled the door open and gestured for her to get into the back seat.

“Sinbad’s Sin Shop?” Jenny asked, standing her ground, however wobbly it felt.

“Worst place in Vegas,” he told her solemnly.

“It looked perfectly respectable to me this morning.”

“Sure it did. Cockroaches come out at night.” He jerked his head toward the car. “Just look at ol’ Jimmy here.”

“Hey!” A clearly insulted, disembodied voice floated out to them.

“You shut up,” Nick snapped.

Jenny looked up at him and watched as the desert wind ruffled his dark hair. In his U.N.L.V. T-shirt, blue jeans and battered cowboy boots, he looked completely at ease.

A sharp stab of envy sliced through her as she realized that she’d never once felt that comfortable in her surroundings.

Maybe, she told herself, she should simply give up on the wedding. At least for tonight A quick glance at her still-bleeding knees reminded her that things didn’t seem to be going her way at the moment.

Still, a small voice in the back of her mind whispered. Would you be any safer getting into a car with a total stranger?

Humph! Only half an hour ago, she was going to marry a total stranger. And Nick Tarantelli certainly looked more trustworthy than Jimmy the Lip Baldini!

“Well?” he said impatiently. “Are you going to get in? Or would you prefer to ride on the hood?”

“Shouldn’t your prisoner be in the back seat?”

“I was here first,” Jimmy reminded her hotly.

“Nah,” Nick said, ignoring the other man. “He’s harmless. Besides, I want him where I can reach out and grab him if he decides to make a run for it.”

“I never run,” the prisoner snapped.

She held on to the car door tightly. “Where are you taking me?”

A soft glimmer in his eyes told her that he understood her hesitation.

“Don’t worry, Jenny Blake,” he said, a smile briefly touching his face. “I’m taking you to the best volunteer nurse in Las Vegas.”

“A nurse?”

“Are you hungry?” he asked as Jenny slid into the back seat. “She’s a helluva cook, too.”

After dropping Jenny’s erstwhile groom off at the local police station, Nick steered his car back onto the crowded “Strip.” In the bumper-to-bumper traffic, they were forced to move slowly, which gave Jenny plenty of time to take in the sights. As twilight deepened into night, the casinos lining the street seemed to leap into life. In daylight they were nothing more than ignominious buildings crouched behind busy sidewalks. But at night their neon souls exploded into the darkness, banishing shadows and lighting up the sky like some electrified rainbow.

Jenny stared openmouthed through the car windows at the throngs of people crowding the sidewalks. As the traffic shifted and moved, she caught her breath several times as pedestrians bailed off the curb without so much as a glance at the oncoming cars. Coin cups clutched in their fingers, their gazes locked on the next casino, they crossed the street, darting between cars and trusting luck to see them safely to the other side.

Shaking her head, Jenny tried to ignore the people and concentrate instead on the incredible casino hotels they passed. From Caesar’s Rome to a man-made volcano to a pirate ship complete with firing cannons, Las Vegas was a living, breathing amusement park for grown-ups.

“First time in Vegas?”

Jenny’s gaze snapped to him. “How did you know?”

He laughed quietly. “A wild guess.”

A few minutes later Nick turned the car off the main road onto a darker, quieter side street. Here the businesses were well lit but without all the garish displays the big casinos boasted.

When he pulled into a driveway, Jenny stared at the huge, two-storied structure in front of them. Designed to look like an old Victorian mansion, the restaurant’s parking lot was nearly full. But it wasn’t the beauty of the place that caught her attention. It was the simple white sign hanging over the latticework archway leading to the front door. The sign read Tarantelli’s Terrace.

She shot Nick a quick look. “Yours?”

He shook his head. “The family’s.” Then he pulled into a parking slot near the back of the building and helped her out.

Nick took her around to the rear entrance of the restaurant, his hand firmly clutching her elbow. Even with his assistance, Jenny had to pick her way carefully across the pebble-strewn drive. It was the last time, she promised herself, that she would wear three-and-a-half-inch heels to her wedding.

When Nick pulled open the kitchen door, waves of delicious aromas escaped the hot room and wafted around Jenny, teasing her stomach into low rumbles of appreciation. And the moment she stepped inside Tarantelli’s Terrace, she identified the mystery scent that seemed to cling to Nick. It was the delicate blend of Italian spices that flavored the air in his family’s restaurant.

“Just because it’s Italian doesn’t mean it has to stink of garlic!” A female voice rose above the clatter of pots and pans.

Beside her, Jenny heard Nick chuckle.

“I am the chef here, madam.” The imperious male voice was easy to locate. Jenny found him in seconds. A tall man with a barrel chest, a truck tire stomach and a high, white chefs hat, was waving a wooden spoon at a much shorter woman.

“But you’re using my recipes,” the woman retorted. Her black hair, liberally streaked with gray, was pulled away from her face into a tight knot at the base of her neck. Her huge brown eyes seemed to take up most of her face and despite her battle stance, the lines etched into her features spoke more of laughter than of temper.

What seemed like dozens of kitchen workers bustled around the two combatants, paying no attention at all to their argument. Jenny jumped out of someone’s way and slammed into Nick’s broad chest. He lifted his hands to her shoulders to steady her.

“Hey, Ma!” he shouted above the noise. Jenny watched the woman turn away from the chef quickly. A wide, brilliant smile flashed briefly across her features.

“Nicky!”

Jenny slanted a quick look up at him, expecting to see a wince of embarrassment. Instead, all she saw was an answering grin. She blinked at the transformation. With that smile in place, Nick Tarantelli was handsome enough to steal a woman’s breath away.

“No garlic,” the woman shouted at the chef, then scurried away without giving the tall man a chance to argue further. Hurrying to them, the slightly round woman clapped her hands, then reached up to cup her son’s face. “Nicky! I wasn’t expecting you tonight.”

“Hi, Ma,” he whispered, bending to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Marianna Tarantelli, this is Jenny Blake and she—”

“Call me Mama,” Marianna interrupted with a smile. “Everybody does. What happened?” She broke away from her son and let her gaze sweep over Jenny.

“I fell.” Jenny shrugged helplessly.

“Oh.” Mama clucked her tongue sympathetically. “How did that happen?” A fierce look crossed her face briefly. “Somebody push you?”

“No.” Jenny sighed. “Actually, I was chasing your son.”

The older woman spun around and poked Nick in the chest with her forefinger. “What are you doin’, making a sweet girl like this chase you?”

“I didn’t tell her to chase me.” Nick held both hands up in mock surrender. “Besides, how do you know she’s a sweet girl?”

“Humph!” Mama sneered at him and turned back to Jenny. Cupping the younger woman’s chin in one hand, she said, “I see it in her eyes. You can’t see that, Nicky?”

Jenny looked up at him and saw the stubborn frown on his face before she lowered her gaze again.

“So!” Mama commanded, letting go of Jenny’s chin only to grab hold of her elbow. “You come with Mama, now, young lady. I got just the thing to take care of you. And you can tell me all about what my son did while I fix your knees, okay?” As she began to drag her away, the older woman called over her shoulder, “Nicky! Go upstairs and get some of your sister’s things for Jenny to wear. They look about the same size.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary,” Jenny said quickly.

“Sure it’s necessary,” Mama argued, patting her hand. “You can’t wear a torn-up dress and holey stockings all night.”

Jenny only had time for a quick look back over her shoulder. But Nick wasn’t standing by the door anymore. He’d already hustled off to follow his mother’s instructions. Jenny knew just how he felt. She’d only known Mama Tarantelli a matter of moments, but she couldn’t imagine anyone ignoring one of the older woman’s commands.

Nick didn’t waste time in Gina’s room. No matter what his mother said, he wasn’t about to go rooting through his younger sister’s closet. Besides, from what he’d seen of Jenny Blake’s figure, Gina’s clothes would be too small up top and too big on the bottom-His mother must be blind, he told himself as he snatched Gina’s bathrobe from the hook on the back of her bedroom door.

As he walked down the long hall of the family living quarters toward the stairs that led to the restaurant, Nick wondered if he’d done the right thing, bringing Jenny to his mother. Sure he had, he told himself. His mother had taken care of more strays than Mother Teresa. Besides, he hadn’t had a lot of time to come up with an alternate plan.

Nick’s boot heels thumped against the worn carpet runner and he clutched the bathrobe tightly in one fist. He couldn’t very well have taken her to her room at Sinbad’s, could he? Lord, just thinking about her in that short, tight dress, with her wide, innocent eyes, strolling through the parking lot at Sinbad’s gave him cold chills.

How in the bell had she managed to find the one hotel in the whole city of Vegas that had more human slugs per square inch than anywhere else in the world? Instinct? Nick shuddered. She had been about to marry Jimmy, after all.

And what was all that nonsense about having to get married? He stopped short at the top of the stairs and told himself to forget about the odd sense of relief he’d felt when she’d admitted she wasn’t pregnant. Why the devil did he care if she was expecting or not? Hell, he didn’t even know her!

Grumbling under his breath, he started down the stairs, still clutching the bathrobe. Something told him that he’d be a lot better off if he didn’t get to know her, either. All he wanted now was to have dinner, go back to his own place, and leave Jenny Blake in his mother’s capable hands.

“So you have to be married by when?”

Jenny’s breath hissed from between her teeth as Mama Tarantelli dabbed iodine on the raw flesh of her knees. “Four days,” she said finally.

“Hmm.” Mama held a cotton ball against the open top of the iodine bottle and tipped it. When she was finished, she reached for Jenny’s other knee. Dabbing the dark brown liquid onto the scrapes, she said, “And you say Nicky arrested your young man?”

Jenny’s fingers curled around the lip of the bathroom sink she was perched on and she winced as the iodine met her flesh. Of course it wasn’t really accurate to say that Jimmy Baldini was her “young man.” But Nick certainly had arrested him.

“Yes.”

“A nice girl like you shouldn’t be marrying men who are getting arrested.” Mama shook her head slowly as she straightened and reached for one of Jenny’s hands.

“I didn’t know he was a bigamist,” Jenny said in her own defense. “In fact, I didn’t know him at all.”

“Then why in hell were you about to marry him?” a male voice asked.

Jenny turned and saw Nick leaning against the doorjamb, his arms crossed over the robe pressed to his broad chest.

“As I was just telling your mother,” she started to explain, then jerked her hand instinctively back from a splash of iodine. But Mama was as strong as she looked and didn’t release her. “I’ve run out of time. I have to be married and I only have four days to do it in.”

“What’s the rush?” he asked even as he told himself silently to butt the hell out.

“If I’m not married in four days—” Jenny’s gaze met his and he saw the shimmer of tears clouding her deep blue eyes “—my grandmother will die.”

Three

Why wasn’t he surprised? Nick wondered. Looking down into those deep blue eyes of hers, he could see that she believed every word of what she was saying. And a quick glance at his mother told him that Jenny had convinced her, as well. But then, his mother also believed in the evil eye and that she could shorten storms by smacking two sticks together.

Oh, he could see that Jenny and his mother were going to get on famously.

Somehow he knew he’d regret asking, but he heard himself ask anyway. “What does your being married have to do with your grandmother staying alive or not?”

“It’s a family curse,” Jenny said solemnly.

Mama nodded and held up her right hand, two middle fingers and her thumb folded into the palm. Already, Marianna Tarantelli was warding off the evil eye.

Nick sighed. A curse. Naturally, he thought. On the other hand, why shouldn’t he believe in curses? Look at how his own day had gone so far.

“My grandmother is my only family. I have to protect her,” Jenny said quietly.

He frowned, unfolded his arms and tossed the bathrobe he still held to Jenny. “Okay, forget the curse for a minute. Would you mind telling me how you ended up with Jimmy the Lip?”

Even Mama looked interested in that.

Jenny shrugged and draped the robe across her lap, being careful to keep it from touching the fresh iodine on her knees. “I spoke to the manager at my hotel and explained my situation. He gave me several names to call and Mr. Lip was the first man to agree.”

Nick stared at her in disbelief. If Jimmy the Lip was on the manager’s prospective groom list, he shuddered to think who else she might have hooked up with. Jimmy was pretty much a lousy human being, but at least he wasn’t dangerous. Jenny was damned lucky it had been him who’d agreed to marry her.

She turned her gaze up to his, and Nick felt a sudden blow to his middle, as though someone had thrown a punch designed to knock the wind out of him. She must have been crying while he was upstairs, he thought. Her big blue eyes were red streaked and there were small black mascara trails on her cheeks. Lord, was he glad he’d missed her crying jag. There was absolutely nothing in the world that made him feel as helpless as seeing a woman cry. Cliché, perhaps. But true.

His gaze moved over her quickly. Her hair was tangled and windblown, the hem of her dress was torn and her hands and knees were splotched with iodine. And still, she was far too pretty for Nick’s peace of mind. Obviously the other “husband candidates” she’d spoken with hadn’t seen her in person. Nick couldn’t imagine any man turning down a marriage proposal from Jenny Blake.

Except, of course, himself.

One failed marriage was more than enough for Nick Tarantelli.

“Don’t you worry,” Mama said as she twisted the lid on the iodine bottle and stashed it inside the medicine cabinet. Patting Jenny’s shoulder, the older woman went on firmly, “My Nicky will take care of this.”

“What?” He pushed away from the door frame and stared at his mother. The glare he gave her had been known to freeze fugitives in their tracks. His mother, however, planted her feet and glared right back at him.

“You heard me,” she said. “It’s your fault that Jenny isn’t married. Now you have to fix it.”

“My fault? She ought to thank me for stopping that wedding!” This whole situation was nuts, he told himself. Things had started out bad enough, but they seemed to be on a downhill slide and picking up speed.

“Thank you?” Mama chided. “For what? Getting her grandmother killed?” One hand flat against her massive bosom, she shook her head. “Is this what being the police is to you, Nicky? Killing old women?”

“What?” Nick had been in the middle of dramatic scenes like this his whole life. And he’d learned early on that the only way to fight fire was with fire. “First off, Ma,” he noted, “I’m not on the force anymore, and you know it.”

She waved one hand at him, dismissing irrelevant facts.

“Second, if I was going to kill off older women—” he straightened, forcing his mother to tilt her head far back on her neck to see him “—I wouldn’t start with a stranger!”

Mama glared at him.

“Excuse me...” Jenny tried to speak up, but the other two people in the bathroom ignored her.

“Thank God, your father-heaven rest him—” Mama muttered, crossing herself quickly, “isn’t here to listen to you!”

“Pop would be saying the same thing.”

“Pardon me...” Jenny tried again, with the same results.

“That my own son would turn his back on a woman who comes to him for help.” Mama shook her head slowly, clearly disgusted.

Nick felt that hill he was sliding down steepen considerably.

“She didn’t come to me for help, Ma,” he said. “I arrested her bridegroom!”

“If you’ll both let me talk...” Jenny’s voice was drowned out by Mama’s quick retort.

“And this you’re proud of?”

“Damn right,” her son snapped.

“Please!” Jenny shouted, and both people turned to stare at her. While she had their attention, she spoke quickly. “Mrs.—” She broke off and corrected quickly. “Mama. This isn’t your son’s problem.”

“Exactly.” Nick threw his hands wide and let them fall to his sides.

Mama sent him one long, withering look before patting Jenny again. “Of course, it is. Nicky will find you a husband.”

“Now wait a minute, Ma.”

“There isn’t time.”

“Four days,” Mama reminded her with a smile. “That’s plenty of time for Nicky. He knows lots of nice boys, don’t you?”

Nice boys. Nick groaned silently. He wondered how his former fellow officers at the police department would feel about being called “nice boys,” and then dismissed the thought. His mother was way off base on this one. “Most of my friends are already married, Ma,” he said quickly in a last-ditch hope to end the discussion. “And the ones that aren’t, don’t want to be.”

“Nonsense!” Mama waved one hand at him again. “All men want to get married. As soon as we tell them so.”

“Ma...”

He felt it. Nick felt control of the situation slipping further and further from his grasp and he was helpless to do anything about it. He looked down into Mama Tarantelli’s big brown eyes and knew that he would lose this battle. As he’d lost every argument he’d ever had with her.

Hell, he couldn’t remember a single time when his late father, his brothers and sister or he had come out on top of Mama in a fight. Even those few times when someone had backed her into a corner, Mama had always triumphed. Maybe it was because she was so tenacious. He’d never known her to give in or give up.

For one brief moment Nick wished that the others were there. If Gina and his brothers, Tony and Dino, were around that minute, they would at least have Mama outnumbered.

But Gina was in New York visiting family, Dino was at the casino where he worked squiring celebrities around town. Nick frowned slightly. And no one knew where Tony was.

“I can do this myself, Mama.” Jenny’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

Despite his own unwillingness to get any more involved, Nick couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Oh, sure you can. You’ve done a helluva job so far.”

Jenny turned a hurt look on him and Nick clamped his mouth shut. It wasn’t her fault that he was going to war with his mother. Well, actually it was, he corrected mentally. But it didn’t matter. The Tarantelli family went to war more often than any Medieval Crusaders ever had. And, Nick thought wryly, the Tarantelli’s were better at it, too.

Slipping off the edge of the bathroom sink, Jenny stood up straight to face him. But in her bare feet, she didn’t make much of an impression. The top of her head barely reached the middle of his chest.

Still, he had to give her credit. She pulled her shoulders back and stared up at him evenly. “I’ll remind you, Mr. Taraptelli, that if not for you, I would already be married.”

An unreasonable flicker of relief trickled through him and Nick refused to admit to it. What the hell difference did it make to him if she got married or not? None, he told himself. Absolutely none at all. Although, he thought as he stared into her eyes and watched flecks of green shimmer in their clear blue depths, looking into her eyes could get to be a habit.

A habit he didn’t want, Nick thought with hardened determination.

When he tore his gaze from hers, he saw Jenny shake herself as if she were coming out of a trance. He knew just how she felt.

“I—” Jenny started, stopped, then spoke again. “Thank you both for everything, but I’d like to go back to my hotel now.”

Mama clucked her tongue and took Jenny’s arm firmly in her grasp. “No such thing. You’re staying here.”

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Jenny said, and futilely tried to pull free.

Nick didn’t say a word. He’d been expecting this. And more than that, he agreed with it. He wasn’t about to take a woman like Jenny back to Sinbad’s, of all places.

“Sure you can,” Mama went on as she headed for the stairs, pulling Jenny along behind her. “You’ll stay in my son Tony’s room.”

“I can’t put your son out of his bed,” Jenny protested, and threw a wild glance at Nick, looking for help.

He ignored her silent plea and went to his mother’s side. The older woman had stopped short at the foot of the stairs and she was staring into nothingness. But Nick knew what memory she was looking at. He knew because he saw it himself, often. He knew because the pain his mother was experiencing at that moment was all his fault.

Instinctively, he went up to the older woman, draped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze before bending to drop a kiss on top of her head. Then he glanced at Jenny. “Tony’s not here. You can stay in his room as long as you like. Isn’t that right, Ma?”

“Yes.” Mama sniffed, straightened her shoulders and reached up to pat Nick’s hand before she nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

“But it’s not necessary...” Jenny tried again. “I can do this myself, Mama.”

“No need for that My Nicky is happy to help.” His mother turned and fixed him with a look he hadn’t seen since he was ten years old and had smashed the restaurant window with a home run. Amazing, he thought, that it still had such power over him. His mother paused for a long moment before asking much too sweetly, “Aren’t you, Nicky?”

Warm, fed and freshly showered, the pain in her knees faded to no more than an unpleasant reminder of a shattered plan. Jenny curled up in a worn armchair by the window. Staring out at the night, she tried to tell herself that everything would be all right. That things had a way of working out.

But her mind wasn’t listening.

Over and over again, her brain counted down the days. Four, three, two, one. She had to find a husband. A mental image of her grandmother’s smiling face only strengthened her determination. Jenny wouldn’t risk losing the only family she had left.

Letting her head fall against the back of the chair, Jenny’s gaze focused on a single bright star. If only she had taken care of this sooner. If only she had more time.

More time? her mind shouted. In four days, you’ll be twenty-seven. How much more time is required, for heaven’s sake?

Even if she didn’t count the years before she turned twenty, that still left seven long years in which she should have found a husband.

And she could have, if she hadn’t been waiting for the lightning.

Jenny groaned, lifted her head and frowned. That’s where she’d made her mistake. She’d really believed her grandmother’s tales of true love and soul mates. How many times, Jenny wondered, had her grandmother told her about the lightning bolt? About how the women in her family, when first kissed by their true soul mate, would feel an arc of lightning shoot down their spines and into their hearts.

And how many men had Jenny kissed hopefully, waiting for that bolt to strike?

All right, she admitted silently. Not all that many.

But still, if she hadn’t been waiting for her grandmother’s tall tale to come true, who knew? She might already have a family and her grandmother’s life wouldn’t be in danger.

A knock at the door shattered her thoughts and Jenny turned. “Yes?”

“It’s me, Nick.”

Jenny ignored the tiny ripple of awareness that sent goose bumps racing along her flesh. Muttering under her breath about stress and a lack of sleep, she rose, crossed the room and opened the door.

He looked taller, somehow, backlit by the overhead lamp in the hallway.

“I went to Sinbad’s and got your suitcase.”

“Oh!” She stepped back and allowed him to walk past her. “Thank you.” Even though the oversize shirt she’d borrowed from his absent brother Tony was comfortable, Jenny was glad to have her things with her.

Nick plopped the bag onto the bed and the mattress sagged.

“Weighs a ton,” he said absently.

She had always overpacked, but Jenny didn’t feel the need to confess that fault to him.

“You never did say...” Nick went on, turning to face her. “How the hell did you pick a place like Sinbad’s? Stick a pin in a city map?”

Jenny sensed his gaze move over her and suddenly felt as though the old shirt she wore was transparent. Glancing quickly around the room, she spied an afghan at the foot of the bed. Hurrying past Nick, she snatched it up and swung it over her shoulders like a shawl. Feeling a bit less at a disadvantage, she answered his question. “It was the nicest hotel without a casino that I saw.”

One black eyebrow lifted high on his forehead. “You disapprove of gambling?”

“Not for everyone else,” she answered, though she really couldn’t understand the fascination other people had for throwing money into a machine that only rarely spit any of it back. “But I never have been very lucky.”

He laughed.

At least, Jenny thought it was a laugh. It was so choked and short, it could have been a bark, but why would Nick Tarantelli be barking? “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“You.” Shaking his head, Nick sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her as though her head were on fire. “You’re not lucky at gambling so you don’t do it.”

“That’s right.”

“But you’re willing to gamble on Jimmy the Lip as a husband?”

“That’s different,” she protested, though his analogy did make her feel a bit ridiculous. “Besides, I don’t have a choice.”

“Oh,” he nodded slowly. “That’s right. The curse.”

“Yes.”

He pushed one hand through his hair and told himself one more time that this was none of his business. Then he heard himself say. “So you picked Sinbad’s because there was no casino.”

“Well, that and there seemed to be a lot of women staying there.”

His head dropped to his chest and another strangled bark-laugh shot from his throat. When he looked up at her, there was a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. Naturally, it hadn’t occurred to her that the other women staying at Sinbad’s were hookers.

“You’re amazing, Jenny Blake.”

“Thank you, I think.”

He stood and walked to the door. He had to get out of there...before she started making sense.

“Nick,” she asked, “I had unpacked some of my things at the hotel. Did you—”

He cut her off. “I collected your...stuff, and packed it.”

In the half-light, she looked as though she was blushing again, but he couldn’t be sore. Although, he thought, remembering the filmy lingerie he’d plucked out of the seedy hotel’s nightstand, she probably was. And who could blame her?

Hell, those bits and pieces of silk and lace had damn near scorched his fingers. Even the memory was enough to stir his body and make breathing just a bit more difficult

“I do appreciate your help,” she said softly.

Though he knew it was a mistake, he let his gaze sweep over her one more time. Her tousled hair, wide blue eyes and bare, iodine-smeared legs combined to start a groan building in his chest. How in the hell, he wondered, did Jenny manage to make one of Tony’s old flannel shirts look sexier than a black teddy from Victoria’s Secret?

Run! his brain screamed: Run fast and far and whatever you do, don’t look back!

Nick knew good advice when he heard it. Without another word, he turned, sprinted for the door and made his escape.

Four

“She went where?” Nick leapt back out of the chefs way and ducked his head to avoid a low-hanging copper pot

“To the chapel,” Mama said, and paused in stirring her spaghetti sauce only long enough to thought- fully tap one finger against her chin. “The Tender Spot?” She shook her head. “Hug Me Something? No, that isn’t it.”

“Love Me Tender?” Nick asked and knew the answer even before his mother nodded.

“That’s the one.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Mama reached for the jar of cinnamon and gave it a shake, layering a fine dust of the rich-smelling spice over the top of her sauce.

Nick pushed away from the cooking island and walked to his mother’s side. “Why did she go back to the chapel, damn it?”

Mama gasped, glared up at her oldest son and slapped one hand against her chest. “That you would curse at your own mother!”

“Ma...”

“Don’t you ‘Ma’ me. Jenny went to find a husband and it’s all your fault!”

“My fault?”

“Who else?” She shook her head, smacked the wooden spoon against the lip of the pan, then set it down on a tile trivet. Turning to Nick, she planted both hands on her hips and leaned toward him. “Three days she’s been here and did you bring by one of your police friends to marry her?”

“Of course not!”

“There! You admit it!” Mama threw her hands high in the air and shrugged dramatically. “You don’t help her, she has to help herself.”

Nick watched his mother bustle off, muttering fiercely in a combination of Italian and English as she threaded her way through the crowded kitchen. He told himself it was a good thing he’d never bothered to learn to speak Italian. He was better off not knowing exactly what she was saying.

Bus people, cooks and waiters streamed through the room in an odd sort of orchestrated dance. Bobbing and weaving around each other in a silent symphony of movement, none of them paid the slightest attention to their employer and her son. After all, it was just another Tarantelli war. They were used to them.

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