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Barely Mistaken
JENNIFER LABRECQUE
MéNAGE À TROIS?Librarian Olivia Cooper, daughter of the town drunk, will do almost anything to gain respectability–even marry wealthy, but oh-so-dull, Adam Rutledge. But the night of the local costume party, Adam's anything but dull. Suddenly her would-be fiancé is daring, dangerous…and very, very sexy. Only, Olivia never guesses that the right chemistry will lead her into the wrong bed.… Rebel Luke Rutledge thinks he's only saving Olivia from his brother's greedy machinations when he takes Adam's place at the party. But once Olivia is in his arms, Luke can't think at all! The attraction is immediate, the sex explosive…and the truth disastrous. Olivia might have wanted Adam–but she can't keep her hands off Luke. So what else can this bad boy do but seduce her into saying yes?
She felt exposed, yet safe. It was an intoxicating combination.
The sharp sound of crunching gravel nearby roused Olivia. She froze, acutely aware of her semidressed state. A woman’s voice cut through the night air. “It’s cold out here. Let’s go back inside.” A man murmured something intelligible and the sound of retreating footsteps left Olivia alone with Adam once again.
Olivia had no intention of squandering even a minute of this night. She smoothed her palms over Adam’s chest, and rising on tiptoe, she whispered in his ear, “I don’t think it’s cold at all. In fact, I think it’s very, very hot.”
“Honey, you’re killing me.” Adam’s low murmur stirred her hair and her feminine self-esteem.
Her thighs quivered and clenched in response to the need in his voice. She reached between them and touched him. “We could go to my house.”
“Are you propositioning me, Olivia?” Was that a hopeful note underlying his incredulity?
She knew she’d stepped—make that leapt—beyond her self-imposed boundaries. But it was just for one night. Hopefully one incredible night. She drew a fortifying breath. “Yes, I believe I am.”
“Thank God,” he whispered roughly, just before he crushed her lips with his.
Dear Reader,
I’ve had the time of my life writing my first book for Temptation. Especially since it offered me the chance to combine two of my favorite things—sizzling sensuality and humor. After all, it’s not every day a girl finds herself in the wrong bed. Or, in this case, the right bed. With the wrong brother. Or is he?
Olivia Cooper, daughter of the town drunk, has spent a lifetime trying to rise above her inherited reputation. She’s carved a respectable niche for herself as the local librarian and head of the literacy council. And as long as she manages to control her occasional reckless impulses, all is right with her world. But not for long….
Luke Rutledge is the black sheep of his family and the local bad boy. As a rule, the lofty Rutledges don’t sport earrings or tattoos, and they definitely don’t ride around on a Harley. Except for Luke, that is…. So when Olivia finds herself having the best sex of her life with the resident rebel, it’s the last place she should be. And it’s exactly where her wild side urges her to go—again and again!
I hope you enjoy Luke and Olivia’s story. I sure enjoyed writing it and I’d love to know what you think. You can write to me at: P.O. Box 801068, Acworth, GA 30101. And don’t forget to look for my next book, Barely Decent, coming out in November.
Enjoy,
Jennifer LaBrecque
Books by Jennifer LaBrecque
HARLEQUIN DUETS
28—ANDREW IN EXCESS
52—KIDS + COPS = CHAOS
64—JINGLE BELL BRIDE?
Barely Mistaken
Jennifer LaBrecque
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
In tribute to all the victims of the September 11th massacre at the World Trade Center, the Pentagon and the empty field in the Pennsylvania countryside. We continue to laugh and love in honor of your memory, which is the greatest refutation of terrorism known to man.
Contents
Prologue (#ub0dde615-4984-5eca-a222-7956b3c13544)
Chapter 1 (#u614c4568-c524-5012-ae6d-bfa640eadaaf)
Chapter 2 (#udb4e096a-df81-5c33-9b50-75cdde096d00)
Chapter 3 (#u780707e3-c4d0-5cd9-9e1f-a6a96771eaea)
Chapter 4 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Prologue
OLIVIA SHIFTED on the cold concrete bleacher, and closed her eyes in bliss. Snuggling deeper into a sweater delivered earlier in the week by the church charity group, she absorbed the moment. The bite of a brisk autumn night. The rallying charge of the marching band overlaid by the cheerleaders’ chant. The glare of lights illuminating the field in an otherwise dark night. The smell of popcorn, hot dogs, and the occasional waft of hot cocoa. The collective surge of excitement in the stands and on the field.
“Earth to Olivia.”
She blinked her eyes open to find her best friend Beth’s freckled hand waving in front of her face. “I love football games.”
Beth sighed and dreamily eyed the second string quarterback parked on the sidelines. “Yeah. Doesn’t Chuck Lamont look cute in his uniform?”
Olivia rolled her eyes and grinned. The question was purely rhetorical. Beth didn’t expect an answer.
A frisson of awareness tingled against the back of her neck—the feeling that someone was looking at her. She turned her head. A rowdy group hovered at the edge of the bleachers, drawing several disapproving glares from parents in the booster section. Her gaze skidded to a stop as it locked into the bright blue eyes of Luke Rutledge who stood slightly apart from his crowd. Tough. Wild. Older. Her stomach flip-flopped and her pulse ran amok, even as a wave of self-consciousness washed over her. He quirked one corner of his mouth in a smile.
If she absolutely didn’t know better, she might, for one wild flight of fancy, think one of the sexiest bad boys in the senior class was flirting with her mousy, bookworm self. She attempted to smile back. Her awkwardness produced something much closer to a grimace.
Burning with self-consciousness and an attraction much more intense than the benign crush she’d had on Barry Elwell last year, she glanced away before she made a total fool of herself.
What had seemed like minutes must have only been seconds. Beth remained fixated on second-string Chuck Lamont. Olivia peeked from beneath lowered lashes at Luke. He stood, laughing with his friends, oblivious to her presence. What if some of them had seen her mooning at him? Was that why they were laughing? She shivered into her sweater. Forget it. She read too many books and possessed too much imagination.
“So, who wants the scoop?” Amy Murdoch’s voice drifted two rows back to Olivia and Beth. Lucy Jacobs and Melissa Bowers, sitting on either side of Amy, squealed their excitement.
Beth screwed up her face, imitating them. “They sound like greased pigs in a race,” she muttered to Olivia.
Grateful to concentrate on something other than her imaginary exchange with Luke, Olivia snickered. “Yeah. Kind of.” Amy, Lucy and Melissa were the reigning queens of sophomore cool. You only had to ask them.
“Tammy Cooper…health department…birth control pills…” Even though Amy lowered her voice to a conspiratorial level, bits and pieces drifted up to them. Lucy and Melissa visibly gasped.
“…trashy…”
“…in her blood…their mother ran…another man…”
“…Olivia…honor society…same way…born that way.”
Olivia blinked hard to stem the tears stinging her eyelids, her flesh crawling with humiliation. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to fill in the blanks between the snatches of conversation.
Driven to escape, Olivia surged to her feet.
“Bitches,” Beth muttered, eyeing her cup of steaming cocoa and their well-groomed tittering backs with intent. “Meet me in the bathroom. I’ve got business to take care of.”
Olivia stumbled off the bleachers and dashed behind them, desperate to find a dark place to hide. She forced air into her lungs in great shuddering breaths. The words chased around in her head, searing her with their poison. …born that way…Olivia…same way. She huddled in the dark, against the cold concrete.
Olivia looked up at a movement. Luke Rutledge stepped into the shadows with her. Olivia’s heart hammered. She dashed at the trickle of tears behind her glasses with her gloved fingers.
“Olivia? Are you okay?” His big hands cupped her shoulders. A tremor of recognition rippled through her. She hadn’t imagined the look they’d shared earlier.
“I’m fine.” Her voice squeaked out. She ought to feel threatened. Luke stood six feet tall with broad shoulders and it was dark beneath the bleachers. Instead, he seemed genuinely concerned, almost comforting—totally at odds with his bad boy image.
“You’re sure?” He rubbed small circles against her shoulders with his gloved hands. Even through the layers of gloves, coats and sweaters, his touch left her tingling in a way she’d never felt before.
She shoved her glasses more firmly onto her nose. “Really. I’m okay.” Her breath lodged in her throat. She’d never realized how a boy smelled up close. Different than girls. Interesting. Exciting.
“Good.” Other girls might’ve seen it coming, but surprise rooted her to the spot when he pulled her closer and kissed her. She’d dreamed about kisses. She’d read about kisses.
None of it had prepared her for the real thing. His mouth pressed against hers, hot and hard. She leaned into him and kissed him back, giving in to the spontaneous need flashing through her.
…born that way…Olivia…same way. They couldn’t be right, could they? But this was exactly how girls from the wrong side of the tracks behaved. Was that why he’d followed her? Kissed her? She was easy? Trashy?
Horrified, she wrenched away from Luke. She ran out of the shadows as fast as her trembling legs carried her.
She was not that way. She wasn’t and she’d prove it. To them. To him. And to herself.
1
Thirteen years later…
“YOU’LL BE THE BELLE of the ball tonight,” Beth cajoled as she brandished the package of hair color at Olivia.
Olivia paused in the middle of pressing her dress for the costume ball and sprayed extra starch on a pleat that refused to cooperate.
“I’m not concerned with being the belle of the ball,” she argued. “I’m quite fond of my mousy brown hair, thank you. Why would I want to trade it in for late-blooming, tramp-in-training red?”
Beth stretched out on Olivia’s four-poster Rice-carved bed. “You couldn’t look like a tramp-in-training if you tried. Trust me. But you could try shucking the prude disguise. You’d be a knockout. A little hair color, some contact lenses and dressing as if you really are twenty-nine instead of sixty-five.”
Flamboyant, outgoing Beth just didn’t get it. Olivia wasn’t interested in being a knockout—not that she even considered herself KO material. Beth was a force of nature. Olivia was a rock. Olivia liked her quartz status.
She rolled her eyes at Beth and picked up the long-standing argument. “My eyes are allergic to contacts, as you very well know.” She mentally reviewed her wardrobe of conservative skirts and blouses. “And I dress like a twenty-nine-year-old librarian with good taste—”
“Maybe you should borrow something from Tammy.”
“Maybe when pigs fly.” Her older sister maintained an inverse fashion philosophy—the least amount of clothes showing the most amount of flesh. And Tammy had a bountiful amount of flesh up top. Olivia shook her head as she peered down at her relatively flat chest. “Can you imagine these in one of Tammy’s halter tops? Even if I dared to bare, there’s nothing there. I’d have enough extra material to make a skirt.” Not to mention she’d set every tongue in town wagging.
Beth snickered. “Okay. You’ve got a point. But at least you’ll skip the sag factor. You’ll still be Ms. Perky Boobs at sixty when Tammy’s playing soccer with hers. Now about this color…”
Olivia pushed her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and peered across the ironing board at the hair-color model. She’d invested a lot of thought and care into cultivating a conservative, tasteful “look.” Olivia always carried with her the sense that everyone in town was watching—waiting for her to slip up, to do or say something inappropriate.
For the span of a heartbeat, a shadow of restless longing tempted her. And then it passed. She shook her head. “Forget it. I’m not going to look tacky or cheap. Adam wants to discuss something important tonight.”
The thought brought an involuntary smile to her face. Adam had begun to affect her that way.
“What?” Beth scowled in suspicion.
Beth’s scowl dampened her good mood. “I don’t know, but it sounded important.”
“You’ve been dating a month, maybe he’s gonna put the move on you. Sex is always important to men. Right up there with breathing, eating and television.” Beth sighed and placed the hair color box on the nightstand.
“Beth, you’ve got the gutter mind.”
“What’s gutter about that? You’ve been out half a dozen times. He’s kissed you, hasn’t he?”
“You know he has.” Twice to be precise—both times their kiss had proved a pleasant, perfunctory end to their evening. At first, she’d merely considered Adam a friend—a very attractive, very influential friend. Lately, their relationship had taken a more intimate turn. However, it wasn’t that intimate, yet. “He’s mentioned his grandmother’s birthday several times. I think he’s going to invite me to the party. It seems more likely than sex.” Olivia examined the pressed dress. Each pleat lined up in perfect, starched order. “That looks good.”
She turned off the iron and hung up her dress. The dark purple complemented her pale skin and dark hair. At least that was the salesclerk’s opinion.
“Hmm.” Beth cast a considering eye over the floor-length, lady-in-waiting gown. “Almost as stiff and upstanding as Adam. I’m sure he’ll approve.”
Olivia moved the dress to the back of the door and sat on the opposite end of the bed, crossing her legs at the ankles. Hortense jumped up and settled her immense kitty weight across Olivia’s lap. Olivia administered the obligatory scratch behind the ears and turned her attention back to Beth. Usually, Beth was brutally frank—it was one of the things she admired about her long-standing friend—but, for weeks now she’d been beating around the bush, dropping snide comments. “If you don’t like him, why don’t you just say so?”
“I don’t like him.”
Hortense seconded the opinion with a short meow.
Ask and ye shall receive. “Why?”
Beth held up a freckled finger. “He’s supercilious.” She held up another. “He’s a snob.” A third finger joined the first two. “And he thinks he’s all that.”
