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Seduced
Metsy Hingle
Wanted: Wife and Mother Michael Grayson needed a wife.He had custody of his orphaned niece, but her rich, ruthless grandmother wanted the girl, and Michael was afraid he'd lose the child. Still, he wouldn't have to worry - if sensuous, beautiful Amanda Bennett would agree to become his instant bride, proving to the authorities that Michael could provide a stable home.But Amanda had been burned before. She knew all about men who pretended to offer love but only wanted a live-in housekeeper. While she'd grown fond of the little girl, she'd also fallen hard for the man - and she wouldn't be seduced into marriage unless he proved his intentions were honorable.
Seduced
Metsy Hingle
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
For Jim, my husband, my lover, my friend
Contents
Prologue (#u139c49c5-0fde-507a-baa0-599321a764f2)
One (#uabdf45ed-a437-546c-b692-d3bcfe5c7c26)
Two (#u59935516-fba1-5b0d-be8b-ef6e372e9042)
Three (#ud18de5f2-d516-5b70-b5bb-b20bda8ffe04)
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)
Prologue
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...”
Michael Grayson could barely make out the words of the muffled prayer as the priest’s voice broke and faded in the brisk January wind.
“We commend our sister to you, Lord...”
Sister. Michael swallowed as he caught the word. He stared at the coffin. Rose petals escaped from the floral wreath positioned nearby and scattered across the ivory casket, creating bright splotches of color in the bleak New Orleans cemetery.
“Now that she has passed from this life...”
He glanced down at his seven-year-old niece. Dressed in the navy blue wool coat and white leggings he’d purchased for her a few days earlier, Summer stood dry-eyed and silent beside him. A strong gust swept over the grave site and she shivered. Michael moved behind her to block the wind.
“May she live on in your presence, oh, Lord...”
Michael shifted his gaze to the waiting tomb...the dark, lifeless crypt where Sara’s body would soon rest.
Sara. His beautiful, free-spirited, younger sister. Michael squeezed his eyes shut. Images of Sara—laughing, painting, holding baby Summer in her arms—raced across his shuttered lids like frames from a movie projector. The pictures slowed, stopping on his last memory of Sara—her face filled with defiance and fear. She’d been afraid when she’d left. For Summer, for herself, for him.
After six long years she’d come home—in a coffin. And Summer... He opened his eyes and looked down at his niece. Summer had returned a stranger—to him and to the Western world.
“In your mercy and love, forgive whatever sins she may have committed...”
The attendants moved the granite slab away from the vault entrance. Michael took a deep breath. The ache that had taken root deep inside him when the call had come from India spread.
“Grant her eternal rest, oh, Lord...”
“Uncle Mike?”
At the tug on his hand, Michael looked down into a pair of familiar green eyes—eyes identical to those that had viewed him and his family with such coldness, eyes he’d learned to hate.
“Uncle Mike,” Summer whispered again.
Michael shook his head to clear the image. Guilt surged through him as he studied the pale, heart-shaped face of his niece. She’s a Grayson, he reminded himself, dropping down on one knee. “What is it, sweetheart?”
“Who’s that lady?” She pointed to a tall woman standing across from them. “She’s staring at me.”
Michael looked past the circle of mourners and sucked in an angry breath as his eyes locked with Martha Winthrop’s. Even with the dark fur hat shadowing her face, he recognized the avaricious gleam in Martha’s green eyes. Regal in her full-length ranch mink coat, she gave no indication of her sixty-eight years or the heart of ice she possessed.
“Nobody important,” Michael said, slanting a glance to the slender blond man standing beside Martha. He watched as Bradley Winthrop leaned closer and whispered something to his aunt.
“She looks important. Maybe she was a friend of my mother’s.”
“No,” Michael said, his voice sharper than he’d intended. “She’s not a friend.”
Moments later the service ended. After thanking the priest and small gathering of friends who had come to pay their respects, Michael looked one last time at the tomb. Turning away, he took Summer’s hand and headed toward the waiting limousine. When he reached the car, the chauffeur opened the rear door. “Give me a minute,” he told the dark-suited driver, and the man obediently retreated.
Stooping down, Michael brushed a tangle of dark curls behind Summer’s left ear. “Honey, you do understand that your mother’s...gone, don’t you?”
“You mean, she’s dead,” Summer said matter-of-factly.
“Yes.” Once again, he marveled at the child’s calm acceptance of her mother’s death.
“Michael.”
Michael stiffened at the sound of Martha Winthrop’s voice. Slowly he rose to his feet and drew Summer to his side.
“I was sorry to hear about Sara’s accident.”
“Were you?” Michael asked, making no attempt to hide his bitterness.
Martha’s lips tightened, etching deep lines at the corners of her mouth, but her voice was cool, controlled. “Despite what you believe, I never wished your sister any ill will.”
“No. Not as long as she stayed away from your precious son.”
“If you’ll recall, I did offer to help her before she ran off.”
“You mean you tried to buy her off! And when that didn’t work, you used threats. If I had known—”
“That’s enough, Grayson!” Bradley took a step toward Michael.
“Stop it,” Martha commanded. “You’ll frighten the child.”
Bradley stilled, but his eyes flashed dangerously. Michael could almost smell the other man’s anger.
Martha glared openly at both men before turning toward Summer. “Don’t pay any attention to them, dear,” she said gently. “I’m Martha Winthrop and you must be Summer.” She held out her gloved hand.
Summer hesitated. She looked from Martha to Michael and back again. Tentatively, she shook Martha’s hand. “You were staring at me,” she said.
A flicker of surprise crossed Martha’s face. “Yes. I suppose I was.”
“Why?”
“Probably because I was so glad to see you again.” Martha stooped down in front of Summer and touched her cheek. “You were such a little thing the last time I saw you. You’re even prettier now than I remembered.”
“You know me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know my mother, too?”
“Yes, dear.” Martha smiled. “I knew both of your parents.”
She shot Michael a triumphant look and he fought the urge to strangle the woman.
“I’m hoping now that you’ve come home, you and I can become friends. Would you like that?”
Anger and the beginnings of fear raced through Michael. He grabbed Summer’s hand. “Come on, Summer. We have to go.” He ushered her inside the car and shut the door, then turned back to Martha. “I’m warning you. Stay away from her. There’s no place in Summer’s life for you or any Winthrop.”
“I have rights, Michael,” she whispered. Her voice dropped lower. “Or need I remind you that she’s my—”
“She’s a Grayson.” Michael took a menacing step toward her. “You may have been able to frighten my sister, but I don’t scare so easily. If you come within so much as a mile of her...” He shot a glance at Bradley. “Either of you—I swear, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.”
Before she could respond, Michael marched over to the other side of the car and jerked open the door. He slid onto the seat beside Summer. As they pulled away from the cemetery, he looked in the side-view mirror. He recognized the determination in Martha’s expression.
Gradually the figures grew smaller in the distance as the car moved slowly down the road. Curling his hands into fists, Michael looked over at his silent niece. Don’t worry, Sara. I’ll never let her have Summer. Never.
One
How did the kid do it? Michael wondered as he stepped inside the reception area of Saint Margaret’s Grade School. How could one pint-size little girl manage to get into so much trouble?
Quickly he took in the familiar surroundings—the wall lined with file cabinets, bulletin boards crammed with colored bits of paper, an ever-changing assortment of parents and students waiting to meet with counselors and teachers. He glanced over at the closed doors leading to the offices of the principal and the school’s administrative staff.
Bracing himself, he moved across the worn, beige tile and tried to ignore the annoying hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.
The silver-haired receptionist greeted him with a smile. “Can I help you?” she asked in a voice as thick and sweet as molasses.
“I’m Michael Grayson. Sister Mary Grace is expecting me.”
“I thought I recognized you, Mr. Grayson. You were here last week to see Sister Mary Grace, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was.” The truth was, he’d been to the principal’s office four times in the six weeks since he had enrolled Summer.
“I thought so,” she said, obviously pleased at her recognitive ability. “You’re little Summer’s father.”
“Uncle,” he corrected. Impatient, he looked at the closed door to the principal’s office again. “I’d appreciate your letting Sister know that I’m here.”
“Of course, but I’m afraid she’s running a bit behind schedule today. She shouldn’t be too much longer, though. You can have a seat if you’d like.” She gestured toward the row of metal chairs positioned along the wall. Two chairs were occupied by students who looked a bit green around the gills. A third seat was taken by a woman resembling Florence Henderson on the old “Brady Bunch” sitcom who was busily chatting with a pregnant brunette.
Michael eyed the two remaining seats. They looked small and uncomfortable. “Thanks, but I think I’ll just stand,” he said, feeling extremely large and decidedly out of place.
“I guess you’re here because of Summer’s problem in Mrs. Green’s class this morning,” the receptionist said.
Michael snapped to attention. “What problem?”
Amanda Bennett winced at the edge in his voice as she watched the exchange from the doorway.
So this is Michael Grayson.
Amanda took in the crop of dark hair, the navy jacket that spanned his wide shoulders, the large hands braced on the reception desk. One of the younger teachers had described him as a “hunk... Six foot plus of muscle and sex appeal.” Seeing him for the first time, she could understand the other woman’s reaction.
“Oh, my.” The receptionist’s face turned a bright pink. “I assumed Sister Mary Grace had told you...”
“Told me what?” he demanded.
Obviously, the “hunk” had a temper, Amanda thought, frowning. She studied the stiff lines of his body, his thunderous expression. And Gracie expected her to persuade him to allow his niece to participate in the school’s counseling program?
“I mean, I thought that was the reason you were here...because of what happened.”
He loomed over the desk and glared at the receptionist; the woman paled under his ferocious scowl.
No, Amanda decided. Michael Grayson definitely didn’t look like the kind of man one “persuaded” to do anything. In fact, she suspected he did exactly what he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it.
“Why don’t you just tell me exactly what happened,” he commanded.
“I—”
“Mrs. Evans,” Amanda said, stepping forward. “I believe Sister Mary Grace can see Mr. Grayson now.”
The other woman’s shoulders slumped in obvious relief as Michael Grayson swung his angry gaze from the nervous Mrs. Evans to her. At the sight of those flashing blue eyes, Amanda immediately wondered at her wisdom in rescuing the older woman.
