“I don’t believe it. You’re actually afraid that somehow I’ll fall for you.”

Marissa threw back her head and laughed.

“I don’t see what’s so damned funny,” Jack answered indignantly.

She stepped close to him and placed a hand on his arm. “Trust me, Jack. You have nothing to worry about. You are nothing like the man I intend to marry. At this point, I’m not even sure I like you very much.” Still laughing, she picked up her son and left the balcony.

Jack stared after her, wondering why it irritated him that a woman he hadn’t even known before two days ago was so certain she could never, ever fall for him….

Dear Reader,

Although the anniversary is over, Silhouette Romance is still celebrating our coming of age—we’ll soon be twenty-one! Be sure to join us each and every month for six emotional stories about the romantic journey from first time to forever.

And this month we’ve got a special Valentine’s treat for you! Three stories deal with the special holiday for true lovers. Karen Rose Smith gives us a man who asks an old friend to Be My Bride? Teresa Southwick’s latest title, Secret Ingredient: Love, brings back the delightful Marchetti family. And Carla Cassidy’s Just One Kiss shows how a confirmed bachelor is brought to his knees by a special woman.

Amusing, emotional and oh-so-captivating Carolyn Zane is at it again! Her latest BRUBAKER BRIDES story, Tex’s Exasperating Heiress, features a determined groom, a captivating heiress and the pig that brought them together. And popular author Arlene James tells of The Mesmerizing Mr. Carlyle, part of our AN OLDER MAN thematic miniseries. Readers will love the overwhelming attraction between this couple! Finally, The Runaway Princess marks Patricia Forsythe’s debut in the Romance line. But Patricia is no stranger to love stories, having written many as Patricia Knoll!

Next month, look for appealing stories by Raye Morgan, Susan Meier, Valerie Parv and other exciting authors. And be sure to return in March for a new installment of the popular ROYALLY WED tales!

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Just One Kiss
Carla Cassidy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CARLA CASSIDY

is an award-winning author who has written over thirty-five books for Silhouette. In 1995 she won Best Silhouette Romance from Romantic Times Magazine for Anything for Danny. In 1998 she also won a Career Achievement Award for Best Innovative Series from Romantic Times Magazine. Carla believes the only thing better than curling up with a good book to read is sitting down at the computer with a good story to write. She’s looking forward to writing many more books and bringing hours of pleasure to readers.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Prologue

“Aren’t they cute?” Samantha Curell pointed to the three toddlers playing in the day-care sandbox.

Samantha’s assistant, Marie, nodded. “They always play well together. And the way they chatter, it’s as if their gibberish is their very own language and they’re solving the world’s problems.”

Actually the three toddlers were not solving the world’s problems. Instead, the two little girls were bragging to the little boy.

“My daddy took me to the movies last night,” eighteen-month-old Claire boasted in the toddler language only other toddlers understood.

“So what?” Twenty-month-old Julie looked bored. “My daddy bought me a new doll and it hugs me when I squeeze its tummy.”

Both girls looked at two-year-old Nathaniel. He frowned. Sometimes he didn’t like girls at all, especially girls who had daddies and liked to brag.

He shoved a toy truck along the floor, trying to pretend he didn’t care about the fact that he didn’t have a father.

“My daddy is so strong, sometimes he lifts me up to touch the ceiling,” Claire continued.

“Well, my daddy is a policeman and he arrests bad people, so he’s really strong,” Julie said, refusing to be outdone.

Unable to resist, Nathaniel abandoned the toy truck. “I’m gonna get me a daddy and he’ll be the best daddy in the whole wide world.”

Claire laughed, her blue eyes disbelieving. At that moment Nathaniel decided that when he got married, he’d marry a woman with brown eyes. “Where are you going to get a daddy?” she asked.

“On vacation. My mom is taking me on a trip tomorrow. A vacation trip. When I get back, I’m gonna have a dad.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Julie asked.

Nathaniel frowned. “I’m not sure, but I’ll think of something.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Claire replied, her little nose in the air.

“You wait and see, I’m going to get me a great daddy,” Nathaniel vowed. He turned at the sound of his mother’s voice.

Marissa Criswell stood talking to Miss Samantha. They were talking grown-up talk and Nathaniel didn’t understand all the words. Just as the grown-ups didn’t understand when he talked to his friends.

“I gotta go,” Nathaniel said to the girls. He carefully climbed out of the sandbox. “I’ll see you when I get back and then you’ll see the daddy I bring home.”

Nathaniel ran to his mom, who opened her arms to welcome him. “Hi, sweetheart,” Marissa said as she picked him up and kissed his cheek. “Were you a good boy today?” Nathaniel snuggled against his mother, who always smelled so nice.

Marissa smiled at Miss Samantha. “Okay, then we’ll see you when we get back.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Miss Samantha replied. “Bye-bye, Nathaniel.” She wiggled her fingers and Nathaniel waved back.

As Marissa carried Nathaniel to their car parked in front of the Hickory Dickory Day Care, Nathaniel gave her neck an extra squeeze.

He knew she had no idea what he had planned. But a boy shouldn’t grow up without a dad. One way or another he was going to get one. And if he got himself a dad, that meant he’d be getting his mom a man—whether she liked it or not!

Excitement made him wiggle impatiently as his mom buckled him into his car seat. Oh, yes, he had a mission…and that mission was to get a daddy.

Chapter One

Sinful.

Decadent.

These words fluttered through Marissa Criswell’s mind as she stretched languidly against the sun-warmed towel. Mason Bridge Beach, Florida, in late June. Three glorious weeks of sun and sand. Three glorious weeks of no work and all play.

She cracked open one eye and raised her head to check on her son. He sat at her feet, shoveling sand across her toes. His blond hair glistened in the sunlight, and his little features were somber with concentration.

Love swelled in her heart and she sent a small prayer heavenward, a prayer of thanks that her grandmother had gifted her with this vacation. Three

weeks of quality time with her son—that was the best thing of all. No hospital for her, no day care for him.

In the distance she could see the ocean waves, see the growing crowd setting up umbrellas and blankets between the water and her and Nathaniel’s spot. It was still early, but before long the beach would be filled with people seeking relief from the heat with a day at the waterfront.

She rested her head back down and sighed with pleasure. This was the first vacation she’d had in years. Even when she’d been pregnant, she’d worked until the day before delivery, then had gone back to work two weeks after Nathaniel was born.

Her grandmother had made all the arrangements. She’d arranged for Marissa to have the time off from the hospital, gotten the plane tickets and the motel room, then had presented Marissa with a fait accompli. It was the absolute best present Marissa had ever received in her entire life.

Realizing she no longer felt Nathaniel spooning sand across her feet, she once again opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Nathaniel,” she called to the little boy, who now sat about fifty feet away from her. “Come back here, sweetie,” she said.

Nathaniel didn’t acknowledge her, but rather stood and walked several more feet away, then plopped down in the sand once again.

“Nathaniel!” Reluctantly Marissa pulled herself up and off the blanket, pausing a moment to swipe sand from her body.

When she looked back at her son, a cry choked in her throat. In a single instant she saw the runner, a man clad only in a pair of jogging pants, racing hell-bent for leather and apparently not seeing the fair-haired child in his path.

Marissa’s scream ripped from her throat, piercing the calm of the morning. At the same moment the jogger apparently saw Nathaniel. He attempted to veer, but the maneuver went awry when Nathaniel stood and appeared to grab at the man’s legs.

As if in slow motion, the man fell and Marissa heard the sickening snap of a bone breaking, then the hard whack of his hand connecting with a piece of driftwood. He yelled, the hoarse roar of agonizing pain.

Nathaniel pointed to the prone man and grinned.

“Oh, dear God.” Marissa raced to where the man lay, his right leg at an awkward angle that could only mean a break. “Somebody call 911,” she cried to the crowd, then crouched next to the man, who was attempting to sit up. “Lie still,” she said. “Help is on the way.”

His eyes were a startling blue against his dark tan. Ebony whiskers covered his cheeks and chin and, coupled with his wild, thick hair, gave him the fierce look of a man on the edge. She couldn’t be sure if it was pain or anger that glittered in his eyes, made the blue look icy cold and hard as nails.

“That kid tried to kill me,” he said between clenched teeth.

Anger, Marissa decided. Definitely anger. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” As she looked at the hand that had hit the driftwood, she suspected he had a couple of broken fingers as well as the broken leg.

Guilt tore through her. It was her fault. All her fault. She should have been watching Nathaniel more closely. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” she exclaimed.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled into a grimace of pain.

“It was my kid…my son.”

“What do you call him? The terminator?” he growled.

Marissa flushed, and knelt down. He roared again and she realized her knee was planted on his good hand. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She moved her knee off his hand and accidentally hit him in the ribs.

“Jeez, lady, just move back before you kill me,” he snarled.

Any further conversation was cut short as paramedics arrived on the scene. They loaded the man onto a stretcher and headed back toward the waiting ambulance.

Marissa grabbed her things, picked up Nathaniel and hurried after them. Moments later, in her rental car, she followed the ambulance to the local hospital.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered to herself as she tailed the big white vehicle. How had the morning that had started off so wonderful suddenly gone so wrong? At least they weren’t using a siren, which meant his injuries weren’t life threatening.

Nathaniel seemed completely unconcerned about the chaos he’d created. He jabbered to himself, smiling as if amused by the entire scene.

Marissa wasn’t amused. She was scared. What if it was worse than a broken leg? Although a broken leg was certainly bad enough! What if he decided to sue her? If push came to shove, he could probably take her for everything she was worth.

She smiled ruefully at this thought. Everything she owned wouldn’t add up to a hill of beans. She had a little over two hundred dollars in a Christmas fund account and maybe a hundred dollars in coins in Nathaniel’s piggy bank. She didn’t own a house and would be lucky if her old clunker car lasted another thousand miles.

Her rueful smile faded as she thought of his injuries. What if the man was a marathon runner training for the Olympics? It would be impossible for him to continue his training with a cast on his leg.

Or maybe he was a bouncer at one of the many local nightclubs in the area, she speculated as she thought of his broad shoulders. How would he tell people that he’d been annihilated by a two-year-old?

With a broken leg and broken fingers, no matter what he did for a living, he’d be more than inconvenienced by his injuries. He’d be incapacitated.

Guilt once again ripped through her. If only she’d been watching Nathaniel more carefully. If only she hadn’t closed her eyes, even for a brief moment.

The ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance of the hospital and Marissa quickly parked in the visitors’ lot. She paused only long enough to put on her bathing suit cover-up, then she grabbed Nathaniel and hurried into the hospital.

She was just in time to see the man being wheeled through the double doors and into what she assumed was an examination room.

Surprisingly, the waiting room was empty. She held Nathaniel in her lap and sank onto one of the plastic chairs. She wasn’t sure what she intended to do, but she had to make sure the man was okay, had to extend her apologies once again for the freak accident that had occurred.

She knew she should offer to pay his medical bills, and her heart sank at the very thought. She knew how expensive the bill would probably be. Emergency-room treatment never came cheap.

She’d have to somehow borrow the money. She hated to have to go to her grandmother, who had already been more than generous in giving her this vacation.

Rubbing a hand across her forehead, she tried not to think of what another bill would do to her financial status. As a single parent, she found finances were always a source of mild panic.

Sighing, she hugged Nathaniel and reminded herself that somehow she’d figure out some way to make things right with the man her son had mangled.

Jack Coffey grimaced as Dr. Edmund Hall splinted and wrapped the four broken fingers of his right hand. His leg was already encased in a plaster cast up to midthigh. He couldn’t believe this was happening. As usual, fate had given him a swift kick in the butt. He should be getting used to it by now.

“So, are you going to tell me how this happened?” Edmund asked as he finished up with Jack’s fingers.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Jack said dryly.

Edmund smiled. “You’d be surprised what I’d believe when it comes to you.” The two men had been friends for years. “Let me guess,” Edmund continued. “You were tailing some wicked wife for a client and she spied you and beat the heck out of you with her purse.”

Jack scowled. “Not even close.”

“Okay, you were drunk and didn’t remember that there’s a set of steps outside your house.”

“I don’t get drunk,” Jack countered.

Edmund snorted with disbelief. “You rarely stay sober.”

“A lot you know,” Jack returned irritably. “I’ve been clean and sober for the past year. And if you must know, I was jogging on the beach when this kid grabbed my legs. I fell and there was this piece of driftwood and here I am.”

“How old was the kid?”

Jack shrugged, then grimaced, realizing there wasn’t a place on his body that didn’t ache from the jarring fall. “He was a big kid…maybe five or six.” He felt heat rise to his cheeks.

He couldn’t very well tell Edmund that the kid had been no bigger than a peanut. “Are we done here?”

Edmund nodded. “You want a prescription for some pain pills?”

“No.”

“Jack, there’s no need to be a tough guy. You’re going to hurt.”

“I’ll be fine,” Jack replied, although his leg and fingers throbbed and every muscle he possessed ached, as well.

“You’re a stubborn cuss, Jack Coffey.” Edmund sighed. “I put on a walking cast, but you’re going to need crutches for the first few days. Let me get you a set, then you can be on your way.” Edmund left the small examining room.

Jack stared down at the cast on his leg. Terrific. This was just terrific. He had more cases to work now than ever in the history of his private investigative service. How could he stay inconspicuous with this enormous white elephant on his leg?

The entire accident had been weird. He would swear that the kid had actually grabbed his leg, as if meaning to intentionally trip him up.

A vision of the kid’s mother filled his head. Horrified green eyes, a cloud of blond curls and a trim little body in a blue bikini, she’d looked like an angel. And had a demon seed for a son, he thought irritably.

“Here we are.” Edmund returned with a set of crutches and handed them to Jack. “Want me to show you how to use those?”

“I think I can figure them out,” Jack replied with a touch of sarcasm. How hard could it be to use crutches?

“You know, you might want to get somebody to help you out, for a few days at least. Mobility is difficult with a broken leg. And you’re going to find that being one-handed is fairly difficult, as well. Is Maria still cleaning house for you?”

“Yeah, why?” The two men left the examining room, Jack stumbling slightly as he tried to get the hang of walking on two wooden sticks instead of two legs.

“Maybe you could get her to stay for a couple of days, make sure you’re surviving all right.”

“No way,” Jack replied. “Maria thinks I’m the devil incarnate. She only cleans for me because I pay her an obscene amount and she only does what she feels like doing. Besides, I don’t like her.”

Edmund laughed. “You don’t like anyone.” He grabbed his pager from his coat pocket. “I’ve got a call.” He clapped Jack on the back. “Make an appointment at my office in a couple of days and let me check you out.” Without waiting for a reply, Edmund turned and hurried down the hall back to the examining rooms.

Jack watched him go, then leaned for a moment against the wall. With every minute that passed, the pain in his leg and hand was increasing. He drew a deep breath, placed the pads of the crutches beneath his arms, then attempted to shove through the double doors that led to the exit.

He swallowed a mouthful of curses as it took him three tries to open the door and slide through.

He stopped short as he spied the woman and her kid. She rose at the sight of him and the little boy clapped his hands. Her eyes widened as she saw the cast on his leg, his bandaged hand and the areas of his shoulders where the sand had scraped him raw.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. As if she and her child hadn’t already done enough damage. The kid had downed him, then she’d moved in for the kill.

“I came to see what I can do to help. I’m so sorry about all this. Surely there’s something I can do…maybe pay your medical bills?” She winced, as if afraid he might agree to her offer.

“I’ve got insurance,” he said gruffly. Besides, she didn’t look as if she could afford to buy him a cup of water. Her sandals were old and worn, and the bathing suit cover-up she wore was faded from a multitude of washings.

She didn’t appear to be the typical tourist who occasionally stumbled upon the charm of the small town, strutting the beach in the latest finery, flashing diamonds that would feed a family of four for months.

Part of him assessed her as a private investigator would. The other part of him assessed her as a man. Her hair looked soft as silk and framed her delicate features. The cover-up did little to hide her lush curves. She was pretty, and looking at her made a strange ball of heat fire up in the pit of his stomach. That irritated him. At the moment, everything irritated him.

“Please…there must be something I can do to make this right, Mr. Coffey.”

He frowned. “How do you know my name?”

“One of the nurses told me.” She shifted the boy from one hip to the other. “I feel one hundred percent responsible for your injuries. You must let me do something to make this right.”

Anger welled up inside Jack. “Lady, you can’t make this right. If you’d been watching your kid, this would have never happened.” He took several awkward steps toward the outer door, aggravated as she hurriedly grabbed the door handle and yanked it open for him. He yelped as the door hit his good leg.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She gasped in horror.

Jack shook his head, momentarily afraid to speak, and stepped out into the bright sunshine, the woman and her kid right next to him. “I’ve got a dozen reports to type up, which will be fun since I only have one working hand. I’m in the middle of cases that require me to be mobile. There’s nothing you can do to make this right unless you can lay hands on me and heal me instantly.” Each word shot out of him like a bullet into a bull’s-eye.

“I can type.”

He turned to glare at her and, unwavering, she held his gaze. “Good for you.” He hobbled down the sidewalk away from her.

“I could type up your reports.” Once again she fell into step beside him. She smelled pretty, like a sun-drenched flower, and again he felt a flutter of heat in the pit of his stomach.

“I don’t want you typing up my reports. You’d probably crash my computer.”

“How are you getting home?”

The question made him stop in his tracks. He’d been walking to get away from her, but now he contemplated her words. He’d jogged to the beach from his house, but there was no way he could now jog back. “I’ll call for a cab.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she replied. “I’ve got a car right here. I can take you home. Please.” She placed a hand on his arm, her eyes luminous with need. “Let me at least do that much for you.”

Suddenly Jack was too tired, too much in pain to argue. All he wanted to do was get home and put his aching body to bed. “Okay,” he agreed, then frowned at the boy in her arms. “As long as you keep that monster away from me for the duration of the drive.”

Her cheeks flushed a pretty pink and her arms tightened around the child. “He’s not a monster. He’s really a very good little boy.”

“Yeah, I hear that’s what they used to say about the Unabomber,” Jack retorted dryly.

Her blush deepened, and this time he thought it might be anger that colored her cheeks. She drew an audible breath, then pointed to the parking lot. “My car is over there. I’ll just go get it.”

Jack nodded and leaned wearily against the building, wondering if she could manage to get him home without any major catastrophes. He couldn’t help but feel a horrifying sense of impending doom.

Chapter Two

It took Marissa several minutes to rearrange the car to make room for Jack. She quickly moved the diaper bag to the floor at Nathaniel’s feet in the backseat. She then pushed the passenger seat back as far as it would go and reclined it. Jack Coffey was tall, and she knew he’d need as much leg room as he could get.

A moment later she pulled up against the curb where he stood waiting for her. She jumped out of the car to help him, but he waved her away. “Just take these,” he said as he held out the crutches. “I’d prefer to get into the car without your help. It’s safer.”

He eased down onto the seat, then groaned as he lifted the cast-encased leg into the car. Marissa placed the crutches between them, then got in behind the steering wheel.

“Are you okay?” she asked worriedly. Even with a scowl cutting into his forehead, the man was handsome as sin. His scent filled the interior of the car, a bold, masculine smell that was at once both attractive and disturbing.

“Just get me home,” he replied. His seat was reclined so far back, his head was almost even with Nathaniel. “He’s buckled in real tight, isn’t he?”

“Of course,” Marissa replied as she put the car into gear. “You’ll have to tell me how to get to your house.”

“Go out the hospital exit and turn left.” He closed his eyes.

“By the way, my name is Marissa. Marissa Criswell. And that big guy in the backseat is my son, Nathaniel.”

“I prefer to think of you and your son as my own personal nightmare,” he returned without opening his eyes.

Marissa flushed, but reminded herself that his rudeness was warranted and probably intensified by the fact that he was in pain. “Do you have a wife? Somebody who can take care of you?” she asked.

His eyes opened. “A wife would be my other personal nightmare. I’ve been by myself for the last five years and that’s the way I like it. Just get me home and I’ll be fine.”

So, he had no wife and apparently no significant other. Marissa frowned, wondering if he had any real concept of how a broken leg and a few broken fingers could complicate even the simplest things in life.

“You mentioned you have reports to type and cases to take care of. What kind of work do you do, Mr. Coffey?” she asked to break the stifling silence.

“I’m a ballet dancer. Think I’ll be able to get tights over this baby?” He banged the cast with the back of his good hand.

“You don’t have to get sarcastic,” she said softly.

He frowned and rubbed a hand across his forehead. “I’m a private investigator.”

“Really? Are you any good?”

His eyes glittered and a small smile curved the corners of his lips. Marissa felt the power of his devastating smile right down to her toes. She tightened her hands on the steering wheel and tried to ignore how that smile of his affected her on a distinctly female level.

“I’m the best,” he said. In the blink of his eye, the smile disappeared, replaced by a scowl so menacing, Marissa decided to let the subject drop.

For the next few minutes he spoke only to give her directions. As he pointed her down a narrow road with tall trees and heavy vegetation on either side, a small flutter of anxiety whispered through Marissa. She could see no houses, no indication of civilization anywhere. They passed a tree with a sign reading No Trespassers.

Was it possible he was bringing her out in the woods to strangle her? She knew nothing about him other than his name. Maybe he intended to break her leg, just to teach her a lesson or vent his ire.

She cast him a quick glance, then relaxed. She could outrun him. Even with Nathaniel in her arms, she knew she could run faster than an angry maniac with a cast. Besides, his face was sickly pale and he looked as if just getting out of the car would provide challenge enough.

The woodland on either side of the road disappeared and suddenly they were on what appeared to be a sheltered private beach, the ocean a huge expanse of blue on their left.

Jack pointed to the single house on the right, a glass-fronted structure that seemed to be clinging to the hillside. “That’s it.”

Marissa parked the car, slid out and grabbed the crutches, then hurried around to the passenger side to help him out.

“I’d like to say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t,” he said as he situated the crutch pads beneath his arms. He started toward the house, then paused, looking up at the set of steep stairs that led to the door.

“I’d better help you,” Marissa said. She checked Nathaniel, who was safely buckled in, then moved to Jack’s side and took one of his crutches. “You can lean on me, and that will make it easier.”

He hesitated a moment, obviously reluctant to accept her offer.

“Or you can do it yourself and risk the possibility of falling, in which case you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself,” she said with a touch of impatience.

“And if I fall with you helping me, then I get to blame you?”

“Exactly,” she replied dryly. He nodded and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She placed a hand on his back to steady him. His skin was pleasantly warm, and as he leaned into her she smelled the faint scent of a spicy cologne.

It had been a very long time since she’d been this close to a man who was so overwhelmingly masculine. Despite her concern about him, pleasure winged through her at the tactile contact between her hand and his broad, muscled back.

“Aren’t you afraid Baby-Face Nelson will steal the car while you’re helping me?” he asked gruffly as they carefully maneuvered the first two steps.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she scoffed. “Nathaniel is just barely two, and he’s certainly not a hardened criminal.” They went up two more stairs.

“Ah, the mother is always the last to admit there’s a problem.”

Marissa halted their forward progress. “Mr. Coffey, you don’t strike me as a stupid man. But it’s incredibly stupid to malign a woman’s child when said woman is helping you up a very steep set of stairs.”

He turned and looked at her in surprise. “Touché.” The hint of a grudging smile glittered in his eyes. Marissa’s breath caught in her chest.

She had a feeling that beneath the scratchy whiskers and without the lines of pain that tightened his features, Jack Coffey had the kind of face that could steal more than a heart.

With the curve of his lips, he could make a woman think of silky sheets and hot nights and arms and legs tangled in desire. She frowned, wondering if perhaps she’d suffered a touch of sunstroke. Surely that was the only explanation for her crazy, out-of-character thoughts.

Once again they continued the arduous climb up the remainder of the stairs. When they reached the top, Marissa handed him back his crutch and released her hold on him. “Are you sure you’re going to be all right?” she asked worriedly.

Once again his face was unnaturally pale and a light sheen of perspiration shone on his forehead. “I told you, I’ll be fine.” He turned and entered the house and shut the door in her face.

Marissa fought the impulse to bang on the door and tell him he was a rude jerk. Instead she reminded herself that pain often made people extremely ill-tempered.

As a nurse’s aide, she’d seen pain transform rational, intelligent, nice people into cursing, screaming creatures who hardly resembled human beings.

She turned, went down the stairs and got back into the car, smiling at her son in the rearview mirror. “Well, sweetie, I offered to help him, but he declined. I guess that’s the end of our responsibility.”

Nathaniel laughed, the childish giggle that always wound itself around Marissa’s heart. As she started the car and drove away from Jack Coffey’s place, she wondered if Bill ever thought of her, ever wondered about his son. She wondered if he realized how much he’d given up when he’d chosen to walk away from them both.

As she drove to the motel that she and Nathaniel were calling home for the duration of their vacation, she filed thoughts of Bill away.

She hadn’t realized at the time they were dating just how immature and selfish he was. She hadn’t realized that until she’d gotten pregnant and he’d run for the hills. She didn’t need a scared boy in her life, and Nathaniel certainly didn’t need a scared boy for a father.

Better to have no father figure in Nathaniel’s life than a bad one. She’d grown up with a father who’d been immature and unwilling to accept responsibility.

He’d drifted in and out of her life on his whims, bearing expensive gifts she didn’t need, taking her to restaurants she didn’t care about, giving her tangible things when all she wanted and needed was his love.

He’d been filed away with Bill in her “not worth thinking about” file. And now she had a third man to add. Jack Coffey.

But Jack simply refused to stay filed away. As she and Nathaniel ate dinner in a restaurant near her motel room, she wondered what Jack was eating for supper. With his splinted and bandaged hand, even making a sandwich could prove difficult.

Not my problem, she reminded herself. She’d offered to help and he’d declined. From her brief encounter with him, she had a feeling Jack Coffey was a man who would have difficulty asking for help under any circumstances.

Much later, tucked into bed with Nathaniel sleeping next to her in the crib the motel had provided, the scent of his baby sweetness surrounding her, she once again worried about Jack.

She couldn’t help feeling responsible for him and his injuries. What if he tried to maneuver down those steep stairs on his own? As isolated as his house was, he could fall and hurt himself badly and it might be days before anyone would find him.

When she finally fell asleep, her dreams were nightmares of Jack Coffey chasing her down the beach, only in her dreams it was her leg that was encased in heavy plaster. Nathaniel sat on the sand, clapping his hands and laughing with glee each time Jack tried to grab her.

She awoke with a start just after dawn, grateful to leave the nightmares behind. But the night of restless dreams had made her realize she couldn’t just go on her merry vacation knowing a man was suffering because of her and her son’s actions. Her conscience simply wouldn’t allow it.

By eight, she and Nathaniel were dressed and on their way back to Jack’s house. In a sack in the backseat she had all the makings of a good, old-fashioned, home-cooked breakfast. She didn’t know a man alive who would say no to biscuits and gravy, thick slabs of ham and fresh eggs.

When she pulled up outside Jack’s house, she was surprised to see an old, beat-up station wagon. She sat for a moment, wondering if she should go up or not. After all, the station wagon indicated he wasn’t alone.

As she was trying to make up her mind what to do, the front door flew open and an older, heavyset, gray-haired woman exited. She went halfway down the stairs, then turned back as Jack appeared in the doorway.

“Don’t come back, Maria. You’re fired!” Jack bellowed, causing several seagulls who’d been walking the beach to squawk and take flight.

“Okay.” Maria nodded and smiled. “I’m fired.” She continued down the stairs as Jack slammed the door. As Maria hurried to the station wagon, she offered Marissa a wide grin. “Be careful. He’s very cranky this morning.”

“Thanks,” Marissa replied, surprised by the woman’s friendliness. She got Nathaniel from his car seat, grabbed the sack of groceries and the diaper bag, then stared up the staircase. “Very cranky,” she repeated beneath her breath. “He wasn’t exactly Mr. Sunshine yesterday. How much worse can it be?”

She climbed the stairs and set the sack of groceries down, then knocked on the door.

“Go away.” Jack’s voice came from somewhere inside the house. “I said you were fired.”

Marissa drew a deep breath, then cracked open the door. “Mr. Coffey? It’s me, Marissa.” The door jerked out of her hand and she found herself face-to-face with the man himself.

“What in the hell are you doing here?”

It was apparent that he’d had a rough night. His hair stood askew and the stubble that darkened his cheeks and chin was thicker. His eyes were midnight-blue, with dark, bruiselike circles beneath. His appearance provoked a renewed burst of heartfelt guilt to seep through Marissa.

“I’ve come to make you some breakfast,” she said. He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. She grabbed the sack. “I—I brought everything I need.”

Nathaniel wiggled in her arms and pointed to Jack, who scowled irritably. “What did you bring?” he asked grudgingly.

“Ham and eggs, biscuits and milk to make gravy.”

He hesitated a moment, then stumbled away from the door. “Knock yourself out.”

Marissa entered the house and caught her breath. The first thing that stole her breath away was the view. The living room had one wall of glass, offering a splendid panorama of the beach and the ocean.

The second thing that made her catch her breath was the utter chaos that reigned in the room. The surface of the coffee table was covered with old newspapers, empty soda cans and a variety of fast-food wrappers.

The computer workstation in one corner of the room appeared to be an extension of the coffee table. More fast-food wrappers, empty cans and bottles of juice and stacks of paperwork covered the entire area. The carpeting needed vacuuming and what little wood she saw needed polishing.

“Don’t mind the mess,” he said as he sank onto the sofa where a bed pillow and a blanket awaited him. “I just fired my housekeeper.”

“I think I met her on the way in,” Marissa replied.

“She was supposed to work for me today, but stopped by to tell me there was an important bingo game and her sister the psychic told her today was her lucky day.”

“I wouldn’t consider getting fired particularly lucky,” Marissa exclaimed. “But she didn’t look too upset about losing her job.”

Jack sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Hell no, she wasn’t upset. She intentionally aggravates me so I’ll fire her because she knows I’ll call her to come back and she’ll decline and I’ll offer her a raise and she’ll come back.”

He might be cranky, but at least he was more talkative this morning than he’d been yesterday, Marissa thought.

“I see you brought the death squad with you,” he said. “Don’t you have a husband to watch him while you pursue your mission of mercy?”

“No, I don’t.” Marissa wasn’t about to get into a conversation about her personal life. She decided to take immediate control of the situation. “Why don’t you just lie down and rest and I’ll have a good breakfast for you in a little while.”

He nodded, eased himself into a prone position, then pointed to the doorway behind her. “The kitchen is that way.”

Marissa stifled a groan of dismay as she entered the kitchen. Although it was a large, homey room, at the moment it was a little too homey. The sink was filled with dirty dishes and the counters were cluttered with the leftovers of several meals.

The man was a pig, Marissa thought. This mess wasn’t the result of a man with a broken leg and fingers trying to feed himself. This mess hadn’t made itself in the past twenty-four hours. It had taken at least three to four days to achieve this maximum sloppy condition.

She placed Nathaniel on the floor and gave him several of his favorite toys that she’d brought along. With him happily entertained, she got to work.

Jack had just spent the most miserable night of his life. He’d never been good at illness. Edmund had once told him he was the most miserable patient on the face of the earth.

Jack couldn’t help it. He hated feeling weak, helpless. He closed his eyes, the sound of activity coming from the kitchen oddly comforting.

His first inclination when Marissa had arrived had been to send her packing. He knew it was guilt that drove her to come here. She should feel guilty.

Hell, that kid of hers had intentionally tripped him up. Jack didn’t particularly want to assuage her guilt, nor did he want anything whatsoever to do with her and her child.

But that first impulse to send her packing had changed the moment she’d mentioned breakfast. He hadn’t eaten at all when he’d returned home yesterday and this morning he was starving.

No husband, she’d said. So where was the kid’s father? Not that he cared. Not that he really wanted to know. He eyed the kitchen doorway. Maybe he should go in there and sort of supervise.

Decision made, he pulled himself up from the sofa and with his crutches hobbled into the kitchen where Marissa was cleaning off a stack of dirty dishes and the kid was sitting on the floor, probably thinking about his next victim.

Marissa turned at the sound of his approach. She flashed him a quick smile. “Afraid I’m after the Coffey silver?”

“Hardly,” he replied as he sank into one of the chairs at the table. “If you’re looking for silver or china, you’ve come to the wrong place. I figured I’d better sit in here and watch to make sure Dennis the Menace doesn’t set the room on fire while you aren’t looking.”

He frowned as the kid banged the bottom of an empty pot with a wooden spoon. He hit it several times, then smiled up at Jack, as if awaiting a compliment on his rhythmic skills.

Jack averted his gaze, and within seconds the kid lost interest in the pot and instead played with a set of plastic measuring spoons. Jack focused on the woman busily cleaning up the mess he’d assumed Maria would be cleaning today.

“You don’t have to clean up the whole place just to make breakfast,” he said.

She turned and smiled once again. “I don’t mind. I don’t work well in chaos. Besides, I feel partially responsible for you firing your housekeeper this morning.”

“Why do you feel responsible?”

Leaning against the counter, she shrugged. “You probably wouldn’t have fired her if you hadn’t been particularly cranky this morning from your injuries.”

He stared at her, surprised at her audacity in claiming he was cranky. “That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I’m not more cranky this morning than I ever am. Besides, this is the sixth time I’ve fired Maria in the last three years. She irritates me on a regular basis. Most people irritate me.”

“I still feel partially responsible,” she repeated, then turned back around. She poured him a cup of freshly brewed coffee and placed it on the table before him. “Here, maybe coffee will improve your disposition.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my disposition,” he retorted. “I like being cranky.”

“Cwanky.” The kid beamed up at Jack, rounded blue eyes sparkling with merriment. Sure, the kid was happy. His leg wasn’t broken.

Jack sipped his coffee and watched Marissa work. She was clad in a pair of faded cutoffs and a navy short-sleeved blouse. The deep darkness of the blouse accentuated the fairness of her short, curly hair. With the sunlight streaming in through the window and playing on her pale strands, her hair looked like a golden halo.

Yeah, right. An angel of mercy with the kid from hell at her side. Still, he had to admit, the child didn’t make an attempt to get into anything, didn’t pull open cabinets or climb on the furniture like most toddlers. He seemed perfectly content to sit on the floor and play with the various cooking utensils his mother had given him.

“You live around here?” he asked. Mason Bridge was a relatively small town. Jack thought he knew, at least by sight, most of the natives.

“No. We’re here on vacation. We’re from Kansas City.” She didn’t stop her work as she spoke. “We just arrived yesterday morning.”

“Why here? Most vacationers don’t even know about Mason Bridge and instead go straight to Miami or one of the other more popular Florida beaches.”

“My grandmother visited a friend here once and was charmed by the place. Anyway, we’d just gotten settled on the beach when you had your accident.”

“You mean when your kid tried to kill me.”

This got her full attention. She turned to face him and her green eyes sparked with a hint of irritation of her own. “His name is Nathaniel. He isn’t ‘the kid’ or ‘the monster’ or ‘Dennis the Menace.’ He’s Nathaniel Criswell. And it’s childish of you to make a two-year-old personally accountable for what was nothing more than an accident.”

She looked exceptionally pretty, with her eyes flashing and her cheeks flushed with color. He wondered if her eyes would flash like that when he kissed her. He sat up straighter in his chair, wondering where that particular thought had come from.

He had no intention of kissing Marissa. He had no intention of kissing anyone. He liked his life just fine without complications…and women inevitably became complications.

Still, even though he didn’t intend to kiss her, he couldn’t help but admire her backside as she worked. She had long, shapely legs and a rounded behind that wiggled provocatively as she whipped eggs in a mixing bowl, then poured them into a waiting skillet.

“Nathaniel? What kind of a name is that?” he asked. Someplace in the back of his mind, he was aware that he might be picking a fight. But he was comfortable with exasperation. He wasn’t comfortable with the stir of desire that had momentarily fluttered through him.

“It’s a good name,” she replied as she placed a plate in front of him. She smiled, not rising to his obvious baiting. “I named him after Nathaniel Hawthorne.” Her smile remained in place, although her eyes glittered with a hint of challenge. “At least it shows a little more imagination than Jack. What kind of name is that?”

He laughed, surprising himself with the rusty-sounding verbalization.

“Now, stop being cantankerous and eat before it gets cold,” she exclaimed. She poured him more coffee, then grabbed her son from the floor and put him on the chair next to Jack. “I hope you don’t mind if I feed him. He’s a social guy. If anyone in the room is eating, he thinks he should eat, too.”

Jack shrugged and watched as she took a sash from the sack she’d brought and tied it around the back of the chair, effectively creating a seat belt for the little boy. She handed him half a piece of toast, then poured herself a cup of coffee and joined them at the table.

Jack focused on the food on his plate, awkwardly handling the fork with his left hand. He’d often thought it would be nice to be ambidextrous, but at no time more than now.

He relaxed slightly as he realized she wasn’t watching him, but instead was feeding Nathaniel a serving of biscuits and gravy.

For a few minutes the only sound in the room was the little boy’s chatter between bites. Jack kept his attention studiously focused away from the boy. However, he did find his gaze going again and again to Marissa.

Her round face was wreathed in a smile as she fed her son. Jack was close enough to her to smell her scent, a fresh fragrance of blooming flowers. Freckles danced across the top of her nose and gave her face a lively quality that was both arresting and girlish.

She was not his type at all. Although he had to admit, it had been so long since he’d been with a woman, he wasn’t sure he remembered what his type was.

Still, it intrigued him that his scowls and growls didn’t seem to bother her a bit. In fact, she was the only person, other than Edmund, who seemed not only able to take what he gave, but to fling it right back at him.

“So, what do you do back in Kansas City?” He figured the least he could do was offer a little small talk in exchange for the wonderful breakfast.

“You mean between the care and feeding of the monster child?” Her eyes twinkled with good humor. “I’m a nurse’s aide.”

A nurse’s aide. He shook his head ruefully, remembering how she’d knelt on his hand, then kneed him in the ribs while he’d been lying helpless on the beach. He pitied the patients she worked with.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushing a pretty pink. “And I’m very good at what I do.” She raised her chin a notch and eyed him defiantly.

“I’ll say one thing, you’re a terrific cook.” He shoved his plate away with a sigh of contentment.

“Thank you. I enjoy cooking. I don’t do it very often just for me and Nathaniel.”

“So, how long you been divorced?” Jack asked as she wiped Nathaniel’s mouth with a napkin.

“I’m not divorced.”

“Oh, a widow…I’m sorry.”

Her cheeks were becoming a darker shade of pink. “I’ve never been married.”

“Oh, I just assumed…” Jack was embarrassed by his assumption.

“It’s a natural assumption.” She smiled, that sunny smile that shot a wave of warmth through Jack. “I’m not particularly proud of the fact that I’m not married. But I’m not ashamed, either. I got pregnant. I assumed my boyfriend would be thrilled, and instead, the thought of fatherhood sent him running for the woods.”

There was no trace of bitterness in her voice, but bitterness swept through Jack with a vengeance. There was nothing he hated more than men who ran from their responsibilities as parents…unless it was women who kept men from shouldering those responsibilities and relishing the joys of fatherhood.

He studiously shoved away thoughts of a little boy not much older than Nathaniel…a little boy with dark brown hair and big brown eyes…a little boy Jack hadn’t seen for five long years. He couldn’t afford to think about him, couldn’t stand the pain such thoughts brought with them.

Instead he focused his attention once again on Marissa. Smiling Marissa with the dancing freckles. “So, I suppose your experience with your boyfriend has made you hate all men. Isn’t that the way it usually goes?”

She laughed, a musical chime that awakened desire in him. “I don’t know how it usually goes, but no, I haven’t become a man hater.” She untied the sash that held Nathaniel, kissed his forehead and sat him on the floor.

When she once again gazed at Jack, her eyes were the lush green of spring, the promise of summer warmth and verdant meadows. “I’m an eternal optimist and I believe in true love and promises kept and vows of forever. All I’m waiting for is to find the right man.”

Jack smiled cynically. He believed in none of those things. Not anymore. “And what are you going to do if you don’t find Mr. Right?”

She stood and started clearing off the dishes from the table. “But I will find him. Or he’ll find me. And we’ll know in an instant of our gazes meeting, our fingers touching, that we’re meant for each other.” The color of her eyes deepened and a wistful smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

Jack snorted derisively, uncomfortable with how utterly appealing she looked. “You don’t really believe that bull, do you?”

“Oh, but I do,” she replied. She placed the dishes in the sink, then turned back to face him. “And what does Jack Coffey believe in?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Jack was aware of the hollowness of his voice and suddenly he was overwhelmed with weariness. He pushed his chair away from the table, grabbed his crutches and stood. “I’m going to lie down. You and Nate can let yourselves out. Thanks for the breakfast.”

He started to take a step toward the living room, but was halted by Nathaniel, who launched himself at Jack and wrapped his chubby arms around his leg cast. Marissa had her back to them, filling the sink with soapy water.

Jack looked down at the little boy who momentarily held him captive. “Let go, kid.”

Nathaniel grinned, displaying pearly white teeth, but didn’t release his hold. Although he wasn’t causing Jack any additional pain, Jack was afraid to try to take a step with Nathaniel clinging to him like a burr on a dog.

“Let go,” Jack repeated sternly, and scowled down at the little boy. Nathaniel laughed and drew his fuzzy light brows together in a mock imitation of Jack.

Marissa turned from the sink and gasped. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” She hurried to them. “Nathaniel, sweetie, let go of Mr. Coffey.”

“No.” Nathaniel smiled at his mother and pushed his little body tight against the cast. “Daddy,” he said, and patted the plaster.

The word, uttered in sweet baby talk, sent a spiraling shaft of pain through Jack. He fought the pain and instead summoned the anger that had always shielded him. “Would you get this kid off me?”

“I’m trying,” Marissa said with an embarrassed laugh. She was attempting to peel his arms away from Jack’s cast, but Nathaniel was having none of it. He gazed up at Jack with that wide, toothy grin.

“Maybe if you’d try to pick him up,” Marissa finally said.

“Up,” Nathaniel said, as if agreeing with his mother.

Jack didn’t want to pick him up. He didn’t want to feel the little boy’s snuggly warmth, didn’t want to smell that innocent sweetness of childhood. But he also didn’t want to spend the rest of his natural life trapped in the kitchen in the clutches of a two-year-old.

With a deep sigh, Jack bent and grabbed the boy, wincing as he tried to use his broken fingers. Nathaniel came willingly into his arms, instantly releasing his hold around Jack’s cast and replacing it with a stranglehold around his neck.

Jack tried not to feel, not wanting to experience any of the sensations that came with holding a small child. But it was impossible not to smell the baby scent that wafted from Nathaniel, impossible not to be warmed by the chubby body so close to his heart.

“Take him,” Jack demanded of Marissa. “Take him and go.”

“But the dishes…” Marissa protested as she worked to take the wailing Nathaniel from him. Marissa stood so close to Jack he could once again smell the sweet scent of her. If he wanted, he could lean forward and kiss her freckles. If he wanted, he could capture her luscious mouth with his. But of course, that was the last thing he wanted.

“Look, you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. I’ll manage the rest of the cleanup. Just go.” He wanted her gone. He especially wanted the kid gone. Jack had no room in his life for do-gooders with sweet smiles and illusory idealism.

Something about Marissa made him think of deep kisses and warm flesh. Something about Marissa and her child made him recall old hopes, half-remembered dreams.

“You’ll be all right?” She raised her voice to be heard over Nathaniel’s cries of displeasure.

“I’ll be fine,” Jack assured her. “I’m going to take a nice long nap and I’ll call Maria and hire her back. Trust me. I’ll be okay.”

She picked up her purse and fished her car keys out of the bottom. She walked to the front door, then turned back to him. “I’m staying at the Mason Bridge Motel, if you need anything. Please don’t hesitate to call if there’s anything I can do to make things easier for you.”

He nodded. The easiest thing she could do for him was to disappear from his life. “Goodbye, Marissa. Have a nice life.”

The moment she was gone, Jack was able to breathe easier. “Good riddance,” he muttered. He made his way back into the kitchen for a fresh cup of coffee, and that was when he saw it. Nathaniel’s diaper bag. The multicolored plastic bag sat on the counter, an indication that she’d be back.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.