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The Bachelorette
Kate Little
Who says you can't buy love?After one bad experience with a jerk who broke my heart, I honestly thought it was no longer possible to fall in lust - and downright absurd to fall in love. But Adam Richards, the older man who "bought" me at a charity bachelorette auction, is quickly proving me wrong - on both counts.He's wealthy, kind and absolutely gorgeous - and he's interested in me. Ordinary, average Meredith Blair. And not just as a date for the evening, but as something much more…permanent!
“Hello, you’ve reached the voice mail of Lila Maxwell at Collette, Inc. I’m not available right now, so please leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon. Thanks—and have a great day! [Beep]”
[You have one message from Jayne Randolph, extension 555, left today at 9:05 a.m.]
“Hi, Lila, it’s me—Jayne. Just wanted to get your thoughts on last night’s bachelorette auction. Did Meredith look incredible up there or what? Not to mention the way that supersexy bachelor Adam Richards was looking at her. The chemistry between them was so obvious, I thought Adam was going to hop onto the stage and make her a bid she couldn’t refuse. I think this guy is perfect for Meredith, and she does deserve the best. Anyway, thought I’d give you a ring and we could discuss Meredith’s extraordinary transformation. Call me later, or stop by— I’ll be home. Bye!”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Silhouette Desire, where every month you can count on finding six passionate, powerful and provocative romances.
The fabulous Dixie Browning brings us November’s MAN OF THE MONTH, Rocky and the Senator’s Daughter, in which a heroine on the verge of scandal arouses the protective and sensual instincts of a man who knew her as a teenager. Then Leanne Banks launches her exciting Desire miniseries, THE ROYAL DUMONTS, with Royal Dad, the timeless story of a prince who falls in love with his son’s American tutor.
The Bachelorette, Kate Little’s lively contribution to our 20 AMBER COURT miniseries, features a wealthy businessman who buys a date with a “plain Jane” at a charity auction. The intriguing miniseries SECRETS! continues with Sinclair’s Surprise Baby, Barbara McCauley’s tale of a rugged bachelor with amnesia who’s stunned to learn he’s the father of a love child.
In Luke’s Promise by Eileen Wilks, we meet the second TALL, DARK & ELIGIBLE brother, a gorgeous rancher who tries to respect his wife-of-convenience’s virtue, while she looks to him for lessons in lovemaking! And, finally, in Gail Dayton’s delightful Hide-and-Sheikh, a lovely security specialist and a sexy sheikh play a game in which both lose their hearts…and win a future together.
So treat yourself to all six of these not-to-be-missed stories. You deserve the pleasure!
Enjoy,
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
The Bachelorette
Kate Little
KATE LITTLE
claims to have lots of experience with romance—“the fictional kind, that is,” she is quick to clarify. She has been both an author and an editor of romance fiction for over fifteen years. She believes that a good romance will make the reader experience all the tension, thrills and agony of falling madly, deeply and wildly in love. She enjoys watching the characters in her books go crazy for each other, but hates to see the blissful couple disappear when it’s time for them to live happily ever after. In addition to writing romance novels, Kate also writes fiction and nonfiction for young adults. She lives on Long Island, New York, with her husband and daughter.
For Rosie, the greatest dog you could ever imagine.
Her pure heart and gentle spirit
gave so much love during her brief life.
She will always live on in our hearts.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
One
The morning had been absolutely exasperating—even for a Monday, Meredith reflected. She’d missed the bus and gotten caught in a downpour without an umbrella. Not to mention a run in her panty hose that was now as wide as the mighty Mississippi.
She scurried from the elevator to her office at Colette, Inc., the world-renowned jewelry company. She opened the door and slipped inside. Usually a little rain or a ruined stocking wouldn’t phase her. Her appearance was always neat and carefully planned to blend into the woodwork. But this morning she had to give a presentation to just about every high-level person in the company. Meredith dreaded speaking to groups, or any situation that put her in the limelight. Having her hair and outfit wrecked by the rain made the job even worse.
With her office door firmly closed behind her, she worked on some basic repairs, starting with her long reddish-brown hair. Matted and damp, it curled in every direction at once. She brushed it back tightly, in her usual style—a simple low ponytail secured with a clip. A bit severe perhaps, but certainly practical. Her complexion was fair, with faint freckles on her nose. She rarely tried to cover them with makeup. In fact, she usually wore no makeup at all. Which was just as well, she thought, since this morning she’d definitely have a bad case of raccoon eyes from melted mascara.
Her large blue eyes stared back at her in the mirror from behind oversize, tortoiseshell frames. She removed the glasses and wiped the damp lenses with a tissue. She often wished she could wear contact lenses and had several pairs in her medicine chest. But her eyes never felt totally comfortable in contacts, especially during the close work required for jewelry design. Besides, she had no one special to impress.
A long floral skirt hid most of the run in her hose, she noticed. But her V-neck sweater, usually so baggy and figure concealing, now clung damply to her body like a second skin. Her mother had often told her that her ample curves on top were a blessing, but Meredith had never felt that way. To the contrary, she felt quite self-conscious about her busty physique and the unwanted attention it brought her, especially from men. Unlike most women she knew, Meredith did all she could to hide her curves, rather than show them off.
The large brooch pinned to her sweater pulled on the wet fabric, and Meredith carefully unfastened the clasp. She took a moment to study the pin, holding it carefully in the palm of her hand. It was amazingly unique. Anyone would notice that. As she was a jewelry designer, it seemed even more remarkable to her. It was a one-of-a-kind item you might come upon in an “arty” shop of handmade jewelry or in a place that handled estate sales and antique pieces. Meredith’s landlady, Rose Carson, had given it to her just last night, when she’d been down at Rose’s apartment having coffee. Rose was wearing the pin and Meredith had admired it. Then, without any warning at all, Rose took the pin off and offered it to her, insisting that Meredith borrow it for a while.
“Rose, it’s lovely. But it must be very precious to you…. What if I lose it?” Meredith had asked.
“Don’t be silly, you won’t lose it,” Rose had insisted. “Here, put it on.” Rose had helped Meredith with the clasp. “Let’s see how it looks.”
Meredith had to agree it looked stunning. Yet, she still felt uncomfortable borrowing such a valuable piece of jewelry. But Rose, in her gracious, gentle way, wouldn’t take no for an answer.
The design was roughly circular, a hand-worked base of different precious metals, studded with chunks of amber and polished gemstones. Staring down at it now in her hand, Meredith still found the composition fascinating, almost magically mesmerizing if one stared at it long enough, with the interplay of glittering jewels of so many different colors, shapes and cuts. The flickering shards of light thrown off from the jewels made Meredith feel almost light-headed and she had to look away to regain her bearings. She had the oddest feeling each time she studied the pin, she noticed. But couldn’t quite understand why.
Brushing the question aside, she slipped the pin into the deep pocket of her skirt, feeling sure it would be safe there. Rose claimed the pin always brought her luck, and Meredith hoped that it would work for her today at her presentation, even hidden away in her pocket.
At work, she always wore a long gray smock over her clothing. It protected her clothes while she worked, constructing samples of her jewelry designs, and conveniently for the modest Meredith, also hid her body. She took it down now from the hook behind her door. The smock was a must today, even for the meeting. Without it, I’d look like a contestant in a wet T-shirt contest, she reflected wryly as she fastened the snaps.
Meredith knew she wasn’t a “babe”—not like some of the women around the office. She was definitely the type men called a “plain Jane.” It had always been that way for her and she doubted now it would ever change. Some women were just born that way. They either had it—or they didn’t. Hadn’t her glamorous mother always told her so, in one subtle way or another? If she looked a little disheveled today, nobody would care. Nobody would notice.
Meredith took a seat at her drawing table and turned her thoughts to more important matters. She flipped the lid off a paper cup of coffee and took out a large project folder. The folder held the sketches for a new line of wedding bands, her current design project. She removed the sketches and spread them out on her drawing table. It was the line she was due to present at eleven o’clock and she still wanted to do some finishing touches. Her co-workers called her a perfectionist, but Meredith had always thought that the real impact of any piece was always in the details. Since it was so difficult for her to speak at meetings, she needed to walk into a presentation feeling that her work was flawless, otherwise her shyness would get the best of her.
As Meredith reviewed the sketches, she felt pleased. She was proud of the “Everlasting Collection” and eager to see what others thought. The his-and-her wedding rings had been solely her idea, and the simple but elegant designs bore her distinctive, contemporary flair. Yet, part of her found it ironic that she was so adept at creating such perfectly stunning wedding rings, when it seemed so unlikely that a man she loved—a faceless stranger so far—would ever slip a gold band on her finger and pledge his everlasting devotion. Her single attempt at romance during her senior year at college had been a total disaster. One that Meredith believed she’d barely survived. If that’s what they called taking a chance on love, Meredith knew she wasn’t fit for the game.
Designing wedding rings or heart-shaped lockets or any of the many trinkets lovers exchanged always left her with a feeling that was bittersweet at best. But she would try to distance herself, to tell herself it was her work and there was no need to get emotional. Then she’d go home, put on her grungiest clothes and head out to her studio. Alone in the empty warehouse space, she’d fire up her blowtorch and fuel all her loneliness and frustration into her artwork—her wild-looking abstract metal sculptures.
Sometimes it was hard for Meredith to believe that she had been working at Colette for four years. Time had passed so quickly. It had been her first job out of college, and though she hadn’t expected to stay this long, she’d already had two promotions and had never once considered looking for work elsewhere, though a few rival firms had tried to recruit her.
She liked the atmosphere here, the way that everyone worked together without a lot of petty rivalry and office politics which she knew went on in other firms. Over the years, she’d made some very good friends within the company, Jayne Pembroke, Lila Maxwell and Sylvie Bennett, to name her three closest pals, who also happened to live in the same apartment building as she did, on Amber Court.
But how long would she—or anyone else on the payroll—be employed by Colette, Inc.? Rumors of a corporate takeover had started as a vague whisper among the rank and file but now ran rampant through the company. Some hotshot financer named Marcus Grey was buying up as much stock as he could get his hands on. The firm’s mysterious predator was moving in for the kill, like a lone wolf poised to strike. The giant jewelry manufacturer had few resources to defend itself. It was now just a waiting game, and morale around the office was at an all-time low.
But like many other employees, Meredith was determined to carry on with an optimistic attitude. That was partly why she was so particular about her work these days. Instead of giving a halfhearted effort, as if the assignments didn’t matter anymore, she pushed herself to give her all, to produce designs that were truly inspired and would remind her co-workers that the company did indeed have a future. And everything might just turn out all right in the end.
She gazed down at the second set of sketches and lifted her pencil to add an extra embellishment. The phone rang just as her pencil point hovered above the drawing.
“Meredith Blair,” she answered in a businesslike tone.
“It’s me,” Jayne Randolph answered in a hushed but urgent tone. “You’re needed down in the showroom for a consultation.”
“The showroom? Do I have to?” Meredith knew she sounded like a five-year-old. But she couldn’t help it. Besides, Jayne was a friend. Surely she’d let her off the hook.
“In a word, yes,” Jayne replied.
“Oh, drat.”
Meredith hated visiting the showroom. She knew she’d rather starve than have a job in sales, catering to the representatives of large accounts and an upmarket, private clientele. Yet, from time to time designers had to go down for consultations with the sales personnel and a client.
A visit to the showroom usually meant that some spoiled, wealthy woman couldn’t find the diamond ring or jewel-studded necklace she had in mind, and now wanted to drive somebody crazy as she tried to describe her jewelry fantasy. Meredith knew that nine times out of ten trying to get it right was an exercise in futility. She doubted that even a mind reader would manage to satisfy such clients. Meredith was much more comfortable hiding away in her studio then being thrust into the limelight.
Besides, if she went down now, she’d never get through the sketches in time. “Come on, Jayne. Can’t you call someone else? I’m really absolutely swamped. I’m due to show designs at a big marketing meeting this morning and I’m still cleaning up some rough spots. Can’t Anita or Peter help you?”
“I called Frank first,” Jayne said. “When I told your boss who the client was, he said to call you. Specifically, you, Meredith.”
“Who’s the client?”
“Adam Richards,” Jayne replied solemnly. She spoke in a whisper, so Meredith guessed that Mr. Richards—whoever he was—stood within earshot.
“Am I supposed to know who that is?” she asked, laughing despite herself.
“No offense, Meredith but…what planet do you live on?” Jayne asked sweetly. “Adam Richards? Owns Richards Home Furnishings? One of the company’s top private clients? Spends loads of money here every year? Just your average, self-made millionaire,” she added.
“Oh, that Adam Richards,” Meredith said lightly. “I find it hard to keep up with the self-made millionaire list lately…. What’s he doing now?”
“Pacing around the showroom. In an irritated tycoon sort of way. He’s chosen a few items he likes, and he wants to speak to a designer about customizing the designs. I’m going to bring him into room number three and serve him coffee. You’d better get down here right away. I think he knows Frank personally,” she added.
Meredith had always gotten along well with her boss. He had taught her so much and encouraged her own creative talents to blossom. But Frank Reynolds still didn’t cut any slack for her, though she was probably his favorite. If Frank said she had to go, she had to go.
“All right,” Meredith conceded with a sigh. “Tell your average, impatient tycoon I’m on my way.”
Meredith hung up the phone, then grabbed her smaller sketchpad and her coffee. As she headed for the door, she thought to check her appearance, maybe swipe on a bit of lip gloss or check her hair again. But then she shrugged off the impulse. Big deal. Adam Richards. So the man had money—a great deal of money. Material success had never impressed her, and she rather disliked people who believed they were due special treatment just because they were wealthy.
She’d be courteous and professional, of course. With any luck, she’d get rid of Mr. Imperious Millionaire quickly and still have some time to review her presentation.
The elevator to the ground floor left her at the end of the long corridor that ran behind the showroom. Meredith soon caught sight of Adam Richards in room number three. He stood with his back turned toward the doorway. The first thing she noticed about him was his broad shoulders and lean build, covered by a charcoal-gray suit. An extremely well-tailored suit, she noticed, which covered his athletic build without a single gap or wrinkle.
He was also quite tall, an inch or so above six feet, she guessed. Meredith always noticed a man’s height, since at five-ten in her stocking feet, she was well above average for a woman. She didn’t often meet men she could look up to, but here was one. Literally speaking, at least, she thought with a secret smile.
As she drew closer to the doorway, she felt her chronic shyness move over her like a soft, heavy blanket. A smothering cloud. She took a deep breath and willed herself to go forward, to act the part of an efficient, able employee. Wisps of her wavy, reddish-brown hair had come loose from her clip and softly curled around her face. She tried to smooth back the tendrils with her hands, but to no effect.
The sooner started, the sooner done, Meredith reminded herself. Her head down, her sketch book clutched under her arm, she strode purposefully into the room…and nearly walked right into him.
He turned when she entered and quickly stepped to the side. He stared down at her with a dark, steady gaze, apparently startled by her clumsy entrance. He had brown eyes, a rich coffee color, greeting her with a mixture of warmth and curiosity. Meredith met his gaze briefly, then shyly looked away. She could feel her pulse race and her cheeks grow warm.
He was younger than she’d expected. Maybe around forty, she guessed. Weren’t self-made tycoons older than that? Older…and balding and paunchy…and far less attractive?
Finally she looked up again. He was still staring down at her, watching her in a way that made her feel even more self-conscious.
“Mr. Richards.” She thrust out her hand. “How do you do? I’m Meredith Blair, one of the designers here.”
“One of the best, I hear.” He took her hand in his larger one and briefly shook it. His grasp was firm and warm. His voice was deep. Deep and definite. The compliment made her blush again, but she tried to ignore it. “Thank you for coming down to see me. I realize now I should have made an appointment. I hope you weren’t called away from anything important?”
“No, not at all,” Meredith wasn’t deceptive by nature, but the little white lie seemed necessary under the circumstances. As in, “The customer is always right.” Especially this customer.
“Please have a seat, Mr. Richards.” She gestured for him to take the chair opposite hers at the small table in the center of the room.
“Please call me Adam,” he suggested with a smile. He had even white teeth and deep dimples creased his lean cheeks. The change in his expression, the small lines that crinkled at his eyes and etched his wide, supple mouth made something within her tingle with awareness.
Awareness…and alarm.
He was either a very nice guy, she decided, or so phony, he was able to fake it flawlessly. Meredith knew she was suspicious of men and their motives. Especially good-looking, older men. But she couldn’t help it. Experience had been a cruel but able teacher.
She took a moment to arrange the objects on the table. A necessary task that gave her a moment to collect herself. The table was set up for viewing jewelry and had a dark-blue velvet mat in its center. A magnifying lens and a high-intensity lamp with a long bendable neck stood to one side.
She rearranged the lens and lamp to her liking, then pushed up her glasses, which had slid down her nose a bit. Her hands felt strangely shaky, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“I’ll try to be brief and not take up too much of your time, Ms. Blair,” he began. “Here’s the problem. I’d like to give some gifts to my employees at a company banquet that’s coming up in a month or two. It’s part of our national sales conference, and about five hundred employees usually attend,” he explained. “A few retirements will be announced, and the firm always gives an engraved desk clock. But I’d like to give something different this year. A stickpin, perhaps. Or a gold key chain with some sort of medallion or inscription,” he suggested. “Then there are awards for outstanding achievement. Especially in the sales force. The employees are receiving a bonus, of course. But I’d like to give them a gift, as well. I’ll need about one hundred items in all. Do you think they can be ready by say…the first week in December?”
Meredith watched his face as he spoke. He had a very expressive face, she thought. Her artist’s eye appreciated his broad, smooth forehead, the strong lines of his cheeks and jaw, his wide, supple mouth. She thought she would like to do a sketch of him sometime. She also liked the way he looked right into her eyes, meeting her own in such a direct, unguarded manner.
But once he had finished and his gaze remained fixed on hers, she realized that she’d been so distracted, studying him, she’d barely heard a word he’d said.
“The first week in December?” she echoed vaguely.
“Not enough time, you think?” He shook his head. “I always leave these things to the last minute,” he admitted. She was surprised at his tone, which was almost…apologetic.
Weren’t these rich guys supposed to be much more irate and demanding? Wasn’t he supposed to pound his fist on the table or stamp his foot or something?
“Probably. I mean, maybe. I mean, it depends on what you want, specifically, of course,” she stammered, staring down at her notepad. “I do know that we’ll try to do our best to meet your schedule, Mr. Richards.”
She quickly raised her eyes to his and saw that he was grinning. Laughing at her babbling. Oh, Lord. She sounded like an idiot. And felt like one, too.
“It’s Adam,” he reminded her. “May I call you Meredith?”
She nodded, feeling a lump in her throat the size of a large jelly doughnut. She didn’t know what was happening to her. Meredith was typically nervous meeting new people—especially men—but she was usually able to hide it much better. This man was really getting under her skin for some reason, and she willed herself to get a grip on her frazzled nerves. And runaway pulse.
“You’re right. I haven’t been very specific, have I?” he said, obviously trying to put her at ease. “I found a few things I liked in the display area. I believe Ms. Randolph left them here on the table so that we could discuss them.”
