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Ridge: The Avenger
Leanne Banks
Sons and Lovers "Groundbreaking! The Sons and Lovers series will enthrall you." - bestselling author Suzanne ForsterSHE WAS THE MARRYING KIND… Ridge Jackson's plan was simple: protect lovely Dara Seabrook and get revenge on her godfather at the same time. Ridge was a professional; he knew the dangers of mixing business with pleasure. How then had the voluptuous brunette gotten under his skin?BUT HE WASN'T ABOUT TO GET HOOKED!Dara's sultry blue eyes soon made Ridge forget all about revenge and remember how good a woman's love could be. But now Dara was dangerously close to stealing his heart - and about to discover how she figured in an old score he had vowed to settle… .SONS AND LOVERS: Three brothers denied a father's name, but granted the gift of love from three special women.
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#ube8e926f-5377-5e35-a226-c3b35f6b3108)
Excerpt (#ue2fb437c-a5cc-509c-806c-6d2a0d011e5e)
Dear Reader (#ud45a4a89-ced1-5ed0-a392-9a82f6a2c3d6)
Title Page (#u9c837e0a-f91c-535d-9673-6f59ad9207d7)
About The Author (#ub7cffff8-b408-5c39-9798-e2b032ba8ca3)
Acknowledgement (#uc1b94734-0271-55a5-8642-a22ae3f2cc2c)
Dedication (#u8429cab1-b1b4-55ad-86e5-ceb3e0b94945)
One (#ubcec97b6-3208-59d7-8a7a-d21bb703fe1b)
Two (#u71a02160-6090-56e0-9aa0-612047809fa1)
Three (#uc1d3ce67-3609-5c5c-a580-b10bc204e599)
Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“Good Morning,” Ridge Growled.
“Did You Sleep Well?”
Dara smiled. “Like a baby.”
Ridge scowled and turned away. “I’m glad one of us did.”
Her heart tightened, but she made herself remain calm. “You’re not going to give me one of those morning-after I-shouldn’t-have-given-in-to-my-carnal-urges speeches, are you?”
Ridge sighed and met her gaze. “No. I couldn’t regret last night, not one minute of it. But there are some things that last night can’t change—that nothing can change.”
“I wish you would tell me.”
“No,” he said firmly.
“Then tell me you’re not going to pretend that we didn’t make love. Or that you’re just my bodyguard. Or that I’m just another client….”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the wonderful world of Silhouette Desire! This month, look for six scintillating love stories. I know you’re going to enjoy them all. First up is The Beauty, the Beast and the Baby, a fabulous MAN OF THE MONTH from Dixie Browning. It’s also the second book in her TALL, DARK AND HANDSOME miniseries.
The exciting SONS AND LOVERS series also continues with Leanne Banks’s Ridge: The Avenger. This is Leanne’s first Silhouette Desire, but she certainly isn’t new to writing romance. This month, Desire has Husband: Optional, the next installment of Marie Ferrarella’s THE BABY OF THE MONTH CLUB. Don’t worry if you’ve missed earlier titles in this series, because this book “stands alone.” And it’s so charming and breezy you’re sure to just love it!
The WEDDING BELLES series by Carole Buck is completed with Zoe and the Best Man. This series just keeps getting better and better, and Gabriel Flynn is one scrumptious hero. Next is Kristin James’ Desire, The Last Groom on Earth, a delicious opposites-attract story written with Kristin’s trademark sensuality.
Rounding out the month is an amnesia story (one of my favorite story twists), Just a Memory Away, by award-winning author Helen R. Myers.
And next month, we’re beginning CELEBRATION 1000, a very exciting, ultraspecial three-month promotion celebrating the publication of the 1000th Silhouette Desire. During April, May and June, look for books by some of your most beloved writers, including Mary Lynn Baxter, Annette Broadrick, Joan Johnston, Cait London, Ann Major and Diana Palmer, who is actually writing book #1000! These will be months to remember, filled with “keepers.”
As always, I wish you the very best,
Lucia Macro
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
Ridge: The Avenger
Leanne Banks
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LEANNE BANKS
is a national number-one bestselling author of romance. Recognized for her sensual writing with a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times magazine, Leanne likes creating a story with a few grins, a generous kick of sensuality and characters that hang around after the book is finished. Leanne’s favorite hobbies include hugging her children, dancing with her husband in the privacy of their home and going out to dinner…any night will do.
Acknowledgments to Commonwealth Confidential
Investigations and the Virginia Democratic
Headquarters. Special thanks to my incredibly
talented collaborators Cindy Gerard and
Susan Connell. And to the editor who pulled it all
together, what can I say? Lucia for president!
This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever held
a grudge, and experienced the power and
freedom of letting it go.
One (#ulink_1e663e2c-6422-51ec-ab56-cec77b0f390d)
The irony of this situation was sweet.
So was Dara Seabrook’s smile, Ridge Jackson thought as he observed the crowd of university students surrounding her. Presidential candidate Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter was seducing the younger vote with phenomenal success.
Her unswerving enthusiasm and optimism captured the demographic group that until recently had eluded Montgomery. Both the press and the camera were at her feet. In other words, Dara was pure gold. And like Fort Knox, she had to be protected.
College women admired her independent and intelligent image. And her hairstyle, Ridge added wryly, recalling that Dara’s picture had recently appeared on the cover of a national newsmagazine.
Ridge knew the young studs weren’t admiring her intelligence, however. They were getting lost in her intent blue-eyed gaze and wondering about the curve of her sweet smile. The more daring ones would skip the appeal of her face and concentrate on her body. A body, Ridge suspected, that would look a helluva lot better laid bare on a rumpled bed than wrapped in a classy but demure dress.
She turned, and beneath the brunette fringe of bangs on her forehead, he spotted the white bandage. That white bandage was the reason he was here. For the briefest moment Ridge wondered, as he always did at the beginning of a job, if protecting this person would cost his own life. In the next moment he dismissed the thought, and considered again the irony. He would protect Dara Seabrook with his life, and she would give him what he needed to make Harrison Montgomery pay.
Regional campaign coordinator Clarence Merriman fussed over Dara as they made their way to the limo. “You had no business coming out here today. You should have stayed in bed and rested. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. Your face looks like chalk.”
Dara did feel woozy, but she would die before she admitted it. She deliberately misinterpreted his concern and kept walking, the heels of her black pumps sinking into the campus lawn. “Stop worrying. The picture they took for the paper will probably be in black and white, so no one will notice.”
“I’m noticing,” Clarence huffed indignantly. He made a tsking sound and put his hand at her elbow for support. “Your face looks like paste.”
“Paste or chalk?” Dara smiled at the crotchety man she’d dubbed her baby-sitter. “Your declarations of my beauty are going to my head, but my stomach is complaining. Why don’t we get a burger on the way to the hotel? Then you can tuck me into my room, and I can get out of these clothes, and—”
Dara’s voice trailed off as her gaze collided with a tall stranger studying her as he stood beside the limo. With unusual golden brown eyes, he gave her a once-over that seemed to catalog her height, weight and birthmarks within a matter of seconds.
His navy suit didn’t conceal the impressive breadth of his shoulders, his dark hair touched the edge of his collar, and she might have been fooled into believing he was just another handsome man if she had missed the determined set of his jaw.
He gave the impression of masculine power, not the fake-it-till-you-make-it kind she observed in many of the political hopefuls she met every day. This had more to do with a personal power than with the make of a man’s suit or who his daddy was. She admired the rare quality at the same time she felt intimidated by it.
She was accustomed to being watched, but not with this level of intensity. Uncomfortable, she looked at Clarence. He was fumbling through his notebook.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clarence said as the autumn breeze fluttered the pages. “You must be Mr. Jackson with…with—” Clarence frowned at his notes.
“Sterling Security,” the man finished in a voice that managed to mix steel and velvet, and turned his gaze back to Dara. “I’m here for Miss Seabrook.”
Dara’s stomach took a dive.
He pulled out his ID for Clarence and her to glance at, then opened the limo door. “I understand she has a busy schedule this evening, so I thought we could brief each other on the way to the hotel.”
Looking everywhere but at Dara, Clarence cleared his throat. “Well, of course.”
It finally dawned on Dara that she’d just been assigned another baby-sitter, one she was quite sure she didn’t want. “Just one minute.” She glared at Clarence. “I thought we discussed this last night,” she began. “I thought—”
“It’s out of Mr. Merriman’s hands, Miss Seabrook. Mr. Montgomery arranged for my services.”
Clarence shot her a look of apology and shrugged helplessly. “I’ll sit in the front while you two fill each other in.”
“Fill each other in on what?” Dara’s head was beginning to pound. She stared mutinously at the security man and crossed her arms over her chest. If truth were told, all the campaign publicity was beginning to wear on her. She had four more weeks of heavy exposure to the public eye, and it would take all her resources to tamp down her growing impatience with the press’s superficial obsession with her hairstyle, clothing, and manicure. She felt lonely and a little disconnected. A bodyguard at her elbow every minute would likely send her straight over the edge. “Your presence really isn’t necessary,” she said crisply, because she suspected a diplomatic approach wouldn’t work with this man.
Mr. Jackson lifted an eyebrow. “What about the beer bottle one of Montgomery’s detractors threw at you?”
Dara resisted the urge to touch the bandage and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It was a random incident. A few stitches,” she fudged.
“It’s my job to make that kind of random incident nonexistent, and I understand it was fifteen stitches.”
Dara chafed at the invasion to her privacy. Someone at campaign headquarters had probably filled this stranger in on all the details about the “incident.” She shook her head. “This is silly. I’m not in any danger. I don’t need a bodyguard.”
There wasn’t an ounce of give in his stance, but she thought she saw the faintest sliver of understanding pass through his eyes. “It’s out of your hands.”
Frustration rolled through her, but she knew she couldn’t cause a scene. She’d learned the press was everywhere. Dara got into the car, dropped her head back against the leather upholstery, and resolved to call her godfather as soon as she got back to her room. Feeling the man sit across from her as the limo pulled forward, she closed her eyes to block out his presence, but it didn’t work. “I didn’t get a good look at that ID you flashed. You’re not connected with the Secret Service, are you, Mr. Jackson?” she finally asked after a few moments’ silence.
“No. Since you’re technically not a member of Mr. Montgomery’s family, you’re not covered under government protection.” He pressed his ID into her hand. “Call me Ridge.”
Dara’s eyes popped open. She didn’t want to call him anything. “I’m not going to know you long enough to call you Ridge.”
The leather holder was warm from the heat of his body, and his gaze said he knew she was trying to ignore him. And not succeeding. She appraised him again. He was big enough to be threatening, but lean enough to be able to move fast. She wouldn’t want to meet him in an alley.
“We’ll see.” Ridge glanced out the window and narrowed his eyes. “This wasn’t the planned route I discussed with the chauffeur.”
Dara spotted the familiar sight of golden arches and felt an impertinent dart of joy. “Clarence is trying to appease me with comfort food.” The limo pulled into the take-out lane for the fast-food restaurant. Her sense of humor resurfaced, and she smiled broadly. “What do you want on your hamburger?”
Back at her hotel suite, Dara’s eyes glazed over at the list of rules, directions, and precautions Ridge Jackson delivered during the next hour. Her reactions ranged from mild disinterest, to impatience, to an overwhelming urge to tell the man to chill out. She was just about to give in to that urge when sudden, blissful silence filled the room.
“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” Ridge tried, but failed to keep the impatience from his voice. It amazed him that such a charming woman could elicit such exasperation.
Dara shook her head and stood. “Oh, no. I heard the first fifteen minutes. After that, I was sure I’d been brought to some sort of Nazi torture room, so I started fantasizing about the sixty-minute bath I’d planned to take. At the moment, the only thing I want is to get rid of my campaign clothes, sink into a hot tub, and let my bath oil take me away.”
The picture she drew with her voice taunted his imagination. It was easy to envision Dara Seabrook naked and wet. During the last thirty minutes she’d slipped off her leather shoes and shimmied out of her jacket, all the while nibbling on the straw of her diet cola. Her lipstick was gone, and Ridge couldn’t decide which way her mouth looked better: lined with a provocative red lipstick, or just plain bare. He brushed aside the thought. “You can have your bath in a few minutes. We need to work out a special password for—”
