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Shadows Of The Past
Frances Housden
Ten years ago, a harrowing kidnapping had taught Maria Costello to be on her guard and trust no one. So when gorgeous entrepreneur Franc Jellic caught her eye, she should have run for cover. Instead, she yearned to lose herself in his masterful embrace, ready to risk her hard-won safety even as a terrifying new threat surfaced.She was the angel he'd been looking for all his life. One electrifying glance was all it took. But someone was stalking Maria…someone Franc was determined to stop, even if he had to kill the devil himself.Together, could a man and woman haunted by secrets turn the shadows of the past into the promise and passion of the future?
“Looking for someone?”
Maria turned in the direction of the rough-toned male voice and almost replied, “You. I’m looking for you. I have been all of my life.”
In a near daze, she dragged her eyes from his lopsided grin. She’d never thought to meet a man who could actually make her heart jump into her throat. But to happen tonight of all nights! Swallowing her instincts to flee, she answered, “Randy Searle. Is he here?”
Head cocked to one side, he gave her a once-over that was almost insolent in its laziness. “Too bad,” he drawled. “I’d hoped you were looking for me.”
“Is—is he here?” she stuttered, watching the only guy ever to make her mind crash come closer, moving with all the lethal grace of a male confident of his own attractions.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to another month of excitement and romance. Start your reading by letting Ruth Langan be your guide to DEVIL’S COVE in Cover-Up, the first title in her new miniseries set in a small town where secrets, scandal and seduction go hand in hand. The next three books will be coming out back to back, so be sure to catch every one of them.
Virginia Kantra tells a tale of Guilty Secrets as opposites Joe Reilly, a cynical reporter, and Nell Dolan, a softhearted do-gooder, can’t help but attract each other—with wonderfully romantic results. Jenna Mills will send Shock Waves through you as psychic Brenna Scott tries to convince federal prosecutor Ethan Carrington that he’s in danger. If she can’t get him to listen to her, his life—and her heart—will be lost.
Finish the month with a trip to the lands down under, Australia and New Zealand, as three of your favorite writers mix romance and suspense in equal—and irresistible—portions. Melissa James features another of her tough (and wonderful!) Nighthawk heroes in Dangerous Illusion, while Frances Housden’s heroine has to face down the Shadows of the Past in order to find her happily-ever-after. Finally, get set for high-seas adventure as Sienna Rivers meets Her Passionate Protector in Laurey Bright’s latest.
Don’t miss a single one—and be sure to come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romantic reading around, right here in Silhouette Intimate Moments.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Editor
Shadows of the Past
Frances Housden
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
FRANCES HOUSDEN
has always been a voracious reader, but she never thought of being a writer until a teacher gave her the encouragement she needed to put pen to paper. As a result, Frances was a finalist in the 1998 Clendon Award and won the award in 1999, which led to the sale of her first book for Silhouette, The Man for Maggie.
Frances’s marriage to a navy man took her from her birthplace in Scotland all the way to the ends of the earth in New Zealand. Now that he’s a landlubber, they try to do most of their traveling together. They live on a ten-acre bush block in the heart of Auckland’s Wine District. She has two large sons, two small grandsons and a tiny granddaughter who can twist her around her finger, as well as a wheaten terrier who thinks she’s boss. Thanks to one teacher’s dedication, Frances now gets to write about the kind of heroes a woman would travel to the ends of the earth for. Frances loves to hear from readers. Write to her at P.O. Box 18-240, Glenn Innes, Auckland 1130, New Zealand.
I’d like to dedicate this book with love to my mother, Annie Gibb, as well as the late Frank Gibb, my father, and to his father, John Gibb, who used to make up stories just for me. And to thank Barbara and Peter Clendon, who sponsor The Clendon Award, aka Finish the Damn Book. The win sent my work to the right place to get published.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 1
“Vanity, thy name is woman,” Maria Costello told herself, even as she snapped the clasp of her evening purse closed over her glasses and ditched the last particle of her normal librarian look. If there was one thing she didn’t need tonight it was anything that smacked of timidity.
No, if she was to face up to her bête noire, then she had to look as if all the power was in her hands, whether it was true or not. She took a deep breath, tilting her chin, and stared after the lights of her departing cab. Without her glasses they were just two fuzzy red balls zooming into the deep blue of a New Zealand summer twilight.
On any other day, the soles of her feet would have itched to dance to the music pouring out of the early New Zealand colonial edifice that housed the Point restaurant, but tonight nothing could distract her. Not even the song rocking off the overhanging verandas that sheltered sidewalk diners. Tonight the tables were empty. All the action was taking place inside at the party she intended gate-crashing.
Of course, if Mamma knew what she was about to do, she would think Maria’s sense of proportion had gone haywire. An opinion that would be voiced in a mixture of English and Italian, the exact mix dependent on the level of her excitement.
Somehow, Maria was positive tonight it would be Italian all the way. One look and Mamma would know she’d gone over the top with her plum-colored dress. Its nunlike high neckline and long sleeves fooled everyone until she turned around.
She’d needed a confidence boost and this was the first time since buying the dress she’d hauled it out of the wardrobe and worn it outside her bedroom.
All her best glamour products, and for what? For the sake of turning the tables on the man she believed was stalking her.
Some people might think she was taking a gamble denouncing him with no more proof than he’d been the only person she’d recognized when the sensation prickled up her neck. But it hadn’t started until just after she’d been called to reception at Tech-Re-Search and Randy Searle had handed her some documents from Stanhope Electronics. Nearly every time she turned around quickly, she’d caught him dodging out of sight.
She shuddered, switching her thoughts back to her mother before fear could sneak in a low blow and turn her away from her goal.
The way Maria looked at it, in this life you either had to laugh or cry and she was done crying and ready to do battle.
Clenching her back teeth so hard it hurt she walked into the pool of light spilling from the restaurant door. The happening inside was the Christmas party of Stanhope Electronics, the firm that employed Randy Searle. She’d convinced herself that by confronting him face-to-face, even if he tried to bluster his way out of it, people would know, and in future he’d leave her alone.
Her shoulder-length hair, caught up in butterfly clips, tugged as her scalp prickled, the way it did when she felt him around.
Watching.
No! No more letting her mind take that track.
One more indrawn breath, one more step, and she crossed the threshold into a world of pure sound.
A quick sidestep helped avoid a collision with the couple leaving. Laughing over their shoulders, they waved goodbye, calling out, “See you next year.”
At the last moment they noticed her. “Oops, sorry.” The tall blonde’s blue-eyed gaze held hers with the soft bleariness of someone who’d had just enough to drink.
“No harm done,” said Maria, standing to the side to let them exit, hoping the smile on her face hid her apprehension.
The male half of the couple endowed her with a sloppy grin, and just when she thought she was safe, shouted, “Hey, Franc, hang about, we’ve got a live one here.”
A live one? What kind of party was this?
As she hesitated, he said, “Go right on in. Better late than never, it’s one hell of a party.”
His blond companion tugged at his sleeve, snagging his attention. “And it can only get better.”
A look passed between the two. A look of naked need and desire that pinched at Maria as she watched him practically carry the blonde down to the street in their haste to be alone.
Distracted, she wondered what it felt like to want someone so badly you didn’t care who knew.
Mentally reproving herself to get back to the task at hand, she let her eyes adjust to the soft glare of candles reflected in the old-fashioned white-and-black tiles that had first adorned the walls when it was a butcher’s shop.
“Looking for someone?”
Maria turned in the direction of the rough-honed male voice and almost replied, “You. I’m looking for you. I have been all of my life.”
Uh-oh, was her mouth gaping? She shut it with a snap. In a near daze, she dragged her eyes from the guy’s lopsided grin. A grin she’d thought exclusive to her favorite movie hero. Now she knew better. And for worse.
It was as if someone had played a sick joke on her. She’d never thought to meet a man who could actually make her heart jump into her throat. Truth be known, she’d hadn’t been sure if she wanted to. But to happen tonight of all nights! Swallowing her instincts to flee, she answered, “Randy. Randy Searle, is he still here?”
Head cocked to the side, he gave her a once-over that was almost insolent in its laziness. “Too bad,” he drawled. “I’d hoped you were looking for me.”
Her hands fisted tightly round the strap of her purse until her nails dug into her palm. Real life intruded on her fairy-tale moment and let loose the beast to steal her peace of mind. Hopefully a crowded place would keep her safe.
“Am I too late?”
He turned his wrist to check. Dark hairs showed above a gold watch where the cuffs of his white silk shirt folded back. “Not that late, nine-thirty.”
“Is…is he still here?” she stuttered, watching the only guy to ever make her mind crash come closer, moving with all the lethal grace of a male confident of his own attractions.
His glance caught hers. Brown like her own, but more intense in color—bitter chocolate—his eyes held hers until she forced herself to look away.
Franc had never seen eyes quite that color before, never been one to play favorites, but then…times change. Dark brown washed with violet, they were almost the color of her dress.
And if her eyes had stolen his breath, her mouth stopped his heart, the full top and bottom lips pouted naturally as if shaped by a kiss. Immediately the thought my kiss was born. A tiny black mole enhanced the top right-hand corner and definitely required closer investigation.
“Randy?” he replied slowly, snatching time to think of something other than how her mouth would taste, and stop him cursing that Randy had supped there first.
“Do you know him?”
“Sure. Just give me a minute to think where I last saw him.” Which would make at least two minutes since he’d watched her halt in the doorway. One glimpse had sent him hurrying between the tables lining the miniature dance floor, praying she wasn’t a trick of his imagination, brought about by a period of abstinence that had ceased to bother him, until now.
“Hmm, maybe he went upstairs, there are a couple of quieter rooms up there by the bar…” His words trailed off as he realized he had seen Randy heading in that direction, but he hadn’t been alone. Kathy Gilbertson from the experimental electronics lab had been with him, and Franc wouldn’t have laid bets on which of them was in the most hurry to reach the scattering of sofas in the secluded upstairs bar.
“Okay, I could be wrong. Randy is more likely to be in the courtyard out back where all the action is.”
“Thanks. I guess I’ll try there.”
Her words lacked enthusiasm, and at the sight of one of her white teeth nipping at her bottom lip he decided to give her an out. “Then again that might not be a good idea unless you’re wearing insect repellent. I heard some of the ladies complaining about mosquitoes. I’d hate you to get bitten.”
By anyone but me.
He’d wanted to touch that honeyed satin skin bare from neck to waist from the moment she’d turned her back to let Hailey and Joel pass. At that moment he wouldn’t have given a damn if the rest of her hadn’t lived up to his fantasy that a goddess had come calling.
Two days early, Santa, but who was he to complain?
Her hair was as dark as his, but no butterfly could ever look half that good on him. She sported at least ten that seemed to flit around her head. Fists bunched, he held back from trying to capture one, but knew his resistance was almost shot.
Hell, what was a guy to do when he that knew up close and personal was never gonna be enough?
From the moment she’d turned to face him, Franc had known he’d been deluding himself. No woman so beautiful, fabulous eyes, generous mouth, not to mention that mole, could possibly be here without a partner.
Soon as she’d proved him correct he’d wished the words unsaid. Randy Searle? The guy was the last person he’d have predicted. And he’d say the goddess standing before him was the last person Randy expected since he’d bet any money the sales rep was more interested in Kathy at the moment. Maybe he could save both of them from an embarrassing situation and do himself and the goddess a favor at the same time.
Her grateful smile almost floored him as she said, “Then that’s no problem, I never get bitten. Guess I’m the wrong blood group or something.”
“Good for you, let me lead the way through the crush. How about I get you something to drink on the way out?” he asked, hoping delay would give him time to formulate plans.
Hell, Randy was in a jam. The least Franc could do was help him out of it. Too bad he couldn’t claim his motives were entirely altruistic.
“Yes, I’d like that.”
He got the distinct impression his goddess was just as eager to put off the meeting, and a spark of hope blossomed that all wasn’t well in the house of Searle. “Okay, red or white?”
She rubbed the tip of her tongue over the spot her tooth had nibbled, his mouth watered for a taste of raspberries. What other flavor could lips that color be?
“A merlot would be nice, if it’s not too much trouble.”
