скачать книгу бесплатно
Scandalous Passion
Emilie Rose
Everyone has at least one secret. And Phoebe Lancaster's could ruin her life. If the intimate photographs of her with her college lover, Carter Jones, ever came to light, it could end her grandfather's political career. That's why she'll do anything to get them back, even if it means seeing Carter again.He never forgot Phoebe after she bowed to family pressure and ended their "highly unsuitable" relationship. Now Carter has the chance to even the score by demanding an unorthodox ransom for each and every picture. And Phoebe has no choice but to pay his price!
“Would You Quit The Casanova Routine Already?”
Carter observed her through narrowed eyes. “You think I’m trying to put the moves on you?”
Phoebe arched a brow and aimed for sarcasm. “Aren’t you? The question is why?”
His jaw shifted and then he rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m curious. Aren’t you?”
“About what?” she asked, even though she suspected she knew the answer.
“Whether it would be as good between us as it used to be.”
Her stomach dropped to her shoes. Yes, the thought had crossed her mind a time or ten since making the decision to seek him out, but she had no intention of satisfying her curiosity. The last time she had he’d stolen her heart and shattered it into tiny, irreparable fragments.
She forced a casual shrug and lied through her teeth. “Not really. Now, if you don’t mind, the picture.”
Scandalous Passion
Emilie Rose
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
EMILIE ROSE
lives in North Carolina with her college sweetheart husband and four sons. This bestselling author’s love for romance novels developed when she was twelve years old and her mother hid them under sofa cushions each time Emilie entered the room. Emilie grew up riding and showing horses. She’s a devoted baseball mom during the season and can usually be found in the bleachers watching one of her sons play. Her hobbies include quilting, cooking (especially cheesecake) and anything cowboy. Her favorite TV shows include Discovery Channel’s medical programs, ER and CSI. Emilie’s a country music fan because there’s an entire book in nearly every song.
Emilie loves to hear from her readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 20145, Raleigh, NC, 27619 or at www.EmilieRose.com.
My thanks to the staff of the Shriners Hospital for Children in Greenville, South Carolina. I’ve never encountered a more generous group of individuals.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
One
Clear the skeletons from your closet before your grandfather declares his presidential candidacy or the press will do it for you.
Phoebe Lancaster Drew smoothed damp palms over her most flattering navy suit and marched up the curving brick sidewalk with her grandfather’s campaign manager’s words echoing in her head.
It was rather pathetic really that the only skeletons in Phoebe’s closet were a few private pictures taken twelve years ago. Excluding those nine exhilarating months, she’d behaved like a proper Southern belle her entire life, devoting her time to her family, worthy causes and, lately, her career. But oh, those months…
Her heart beat a little faster and her nerves coiled tighter as she inspected the elegant brick home. Had the university alumni association given her the correct address? A single man had no reason to choose a home with a huge yard in this quiet old neighborhood…unless he’d married and had children. She took a bracing breath, pressed the doorbell with one hand and covered her anxious stomach with the other.
Children. She and Carter Jones had once planned to have a family together.
Well, she stood a little straighter, if he’d found a woman to give him the home and family he’d always craved, she would be happy for him. But the prickle of discomfort between Phoebe’s shoulder blades belied her words.
When no one responded to the doorbell, Phoebe leaned closer to peer through the stained-glass upper portion of the door. Discerning no movement inside, she rang the bell again and huffed in frustration. The sweet scent of the red and white petunias cascading from nearby urns filled her nostrils.
She had limited time to accomplish her task, and showing up unannounced on a Saturday afternoon in late May was risky, but she hadn’t dared make her odd request via phone or take a chance on the photos getting lost in the mail.
Her grandfather planned to declare his candidacy in a matter of weeks, an action that would unleash the bloodhounds of the press on everyone connected to the senior senator from North Carolina. Phoebe would be a prime target because she’d served as his hostess since her grandmother’s death, and she would be expected to continue in that role if her grandfather made it to the White House. She was also his chief speechwriter.
The sound of splashing caught her attention. Was there a pool behind the house? She made her way down the sidewalk and around the perimeter of the house, past fragrant gardenia bushes in full bloom and an open garage housing a black Saleen Mustang convertible. Her brows lifted. Carter driving a high-powered muscle car? The idea wouldn’t mesh with the image of the tall, gangly computer nerd she’d loved to distraction during her first semester of college.
A military brat and a senator’s granddaughter, they’d been an unlikely pair…just like her parents. And, like her parents, there hadn’t been a happy ending for Phoebe and Carter. Her parents had given up everything—including her—for love and they’d died in each other’s arms while chasing their dreams.
A large rectangular pool covered only a fraction of the expansive backyard. A single swimmer sliced a straight line through the sparkling water with swift, efficient strokes. Phoebe’s stomach flip-flopped. Was it Carter? He reached the far end, executed an under-water turn and headed in her direction. Her mouth dried. Get it done, Phoebe.
Hoping this tanned man was indeed Carter and not a dark-haired stranger, she crossed the patio on trembling legs to wait on the concrete apron surrounding the pool. As he approached, Phoebe noticed the muscles roping his shoulders, arms and back, and the black barbed-wire tattoo circling his thick left bicep. She exhaled and relaxed her taut muscles. The mystery man couldn’t be Carter, but he might know where she could find her former lover.
She knelt beside the pool’s edge to get his attention, but before she could call out he erupted in a cascade of water and caught her ankle with his long fingers. Startled, Phoebe screamed and fell back on her bottom. She would have scrambled away, but his big hand held her in a vise grip.
The sapphire-blue eyes boring into hers looked achingly familiar as did the lush lips and sharply angled jaw. But those wide shoulders…those bulging biceps…that tattoo… Her mouth fell open. This couldn’t be Carter Jones. Could it?
“Carter?” Her voice cracked.
“Phoebe?” He sounded as surprised as she was.
My God, what had happened to him? He’d turned into—she swallowed hard—beefcake. Blinking, she shook her head. Dampness seeped through her clothing, cooling her hot skin. She’d landed in a puddle. Her silk skirt would be ruined. She clambered to her feet as gracefully as she could given the fact that her knees had about as much strength as overcooked linguini and her stomach resided in her leather pumps. She sighed in relief when he released her, but the ring of his damp fingers remained imprinted on her skin.
“Why did you grab me like that?”
“I thought you were one of my neighbors. They’re notorious for their lousy practical jokes.” Carter heaved himself from the pool in an act of rippling muscles and sheer intimidating size. Phoebe staggered back a few steps and stared in disbelief at the Adonis standing in front of her. She hadn’t forgotten Carter’s impressive height, but he was broader now—much broader—than the lanky boy she’d held in her arms. He took up an overwhelming amount of space on the sun-drenched patio.
Stunned by the changes in him, she let her gaze follow the water streaming from the cords of his neck to his expansive, muscular shoulders and chest, his six-pack abs and shallow navel. He had more chest hair now. Dark whorls spattered his pectorals, narrowing into a thin line that led to brief navy swimming trunks riding low on his narrow hips. Like the rest of him, his legs were well-developed. A series of pink scars marred his left knee, but other than that, the man was perfection personified wrapped in wet, golden-brown skin.
Heat filled her belly and her face. Oh my. She closed her mouth and met his amused gaze.
“I—I—” For heaven’s sake, she manipulated words by trade, but sitting behind a desk and composing moving political speeches was a far cry from coming up with intelligent off-the-cuff remarks when faced with…this.
“You’re going to give me a complex about what a scrawny geek I used to be if you keep staring.”
Ashamed of her gawking, she stammered, “Y-you’ve certainly…built up some muscles.”
His eyes hardened and his lips flattened. “The Marine Corps will do that to you.”
“Marines? You’re a Marine?” She scrambled to make sense of the news. Carter had spent his childhood following his career-officer father around the world. He’d claimed he hated the vagabond military life and that he’d wanted nothing more than to set down roots. With her.
A shadow crossed his face. “Not anymore. What can I do for you, Ms. Drew?”
“Lancaster Drew,” she corrected automatically. He still spoke in the soft, rumbling baritone she remembered, but his voice now carried an unmistakable air of authority and confidence.
“Right. Let’s not forget your ties to the venerated Senator Lancaster.” His bitterness couldn’t have been clearer.
“I, uh…” Can’t think with all that taut skin on display. Wow, he looks amazing.
Don’t stare, Phoebe. Her grandmother’s scold rang in her ears.
Phoebe spotted a towel on a nearby chair, picked it up and offered it to Carter. He didn’t take the hint to cover up, but merely swiped the water from his hair and face, then draped the fabric around his neck. A dark lock flopped over his forehead and her fingers itched to sweep it back as she’d done so many times.
Struggling to regain a smidgeon of composure, Phoebe averted her gaze and studied the deep, covered porch on his two-story home. Hanging baskets of bright flowers and a hummingbird feeder dangled from the eaves, and she recalled the urns of flowers out front, as well. Carter very likely had a wife. Her stomach burned.
Phoebe took a peek at his ring finger and found it bare, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything since some men didn’t wear rings. Besides, rekindling their romance wasn’t why she was here.
Resolved to get this encounter over with as quickly as possible, she focused on her task, gathered her courage and met his hard gaze. “I wanted to talk to you about the past. Specifically, our past and our…pictures.”
His eyes narrowed. “What pictures?”
Her cheeks warmed. Very conscious of the wet silk clinging to her bottom, she shifted on her feet. “You know which pictures. The intimate ones,” she added the last in a whisper even though there was no one around to hear. They had the additional privacy of thick magnolia trees forming a natural screen between the lawn and the woodland beyond.
Laughter glinted in Carter’s eyes and one corner of his mouth tipped up in a naughty smile, puncturing his cheek with a dimple. He did a little inspecting of his own and Phoebe cringed inwardly. She hadn’t improved with age the way he had. In fact most of the ten pounds she’d gained since college had settled below her waist.
“Ah, those pictures.”
Why did her insides go all fizzy like a shaken bottle of champagne when he looked at her that way? “Do you still have them?”
“Why?” He folded his arms over his bulging pectorals. His hard nipples pointed at her. The memory of how those tiny pebbles had felt against her tongue blindsided her. Heat coursed through her veins.
The man had a body to die for, but the tattoo drew her gaze like an ice-cream truck draws children. “That had to hurt.”
She wanted to slap a hand over her wayward mouth, but she didn’t. Dear heaven, had she regressed to that awkward girl-with-her-first-crush bumbling? Where was her poise, her professional politically correct demeanor?
“If it did, I was too drunk to notice.” More bitterness.
Carter hadn’t been a drinker when they were together, but then, Phoebe hadn’t been old enough to drink legally back then. She’d been barely eighteen when they’d met. He’d been twenty-one and a senior. “Do you have the pictures?”
“Maybe. Why?” he repeated. His poker face held no clue to his thoughts.
What had happened to the guy he used to be? Her friend. Her lover. The one person she could talk to for hours? Everything about him seemed harder: his body, his voice and his eyes. She curled her fingers in frustration and searched for the words to complete her task.
“I’d like to have them—”
“Missing me?” His grin reappeared, dimpling both cheeks this time.
“—and the negatives,” she continued as if he hadn’t interrupted. Her heart was going to pound itself to mush if he didn’t stop smiling that way. That knowing sparkle in his eyes used to mean one, or both, of them would be naked within seconds, and once they were naked…
She plucked at her silk blouse, separating it from her suddenly damp skin. Moisture pooled between her thighs. Shameful. Why couldn’t she catch her breath? She blamed it on the Carolina heat and humidity, and then nearly laughed out loud. Talk about putting a political spin on a situation…
All traces of humor faded from his expression. “Do you plan to show the pictures around and tell everybody about the time you went slumming?”
Embarrassment licked through her. “It wasn’t slumming, Carter. My grandfather is about to announce his presidential candidacy. In the wrong hands those pictures could jeopardize his campaign.”
“So this is about your grandfather’s career again?” His clipped words and ice-chip eyes revealed his anger.
Carter had never understood how much she owed her grandparents for taking her in after her parents had abandoned her—a fact he’d proven when he asked her to choose between him and her grandfather twelve years ago.
“It’s also about mine. I’m his speech writer. I’d like to destroy the pictures. We were young and rash and—”
“No.” He stepped around her, heading for the house in long strides.
Oh, my. His back side was just as firm and impressive as his front side. The muscles rippling in the triangular V of his back as he dried himself muddled her thoughts so badly she almost missed his refusal. “What do you mean, no?”
“No, you can’t have the pictures,” he called over his shoulder without slowing.
She hurried after him. “Surely your wife doesn’t like you having pictures of another woman in the house.”
He stopped and turned so abruptly she bumped into him. Her palms landed on the bare, hot skin of his chest. Before she could withdraw, he caught her wrists, holding her captive. His gaze ensnared hers just as surely as he’d trapped her hands against his body. His nipples bored into her palms. Her heart leaped to her throat and her breath stalled in her lungs.
“I’m not married,” he said in that low, husky voice that used to melt her like butter in a hot skillet. “You?”
“N-no.” That was not relief sweeping through her system. And surely the weakness in her knees could be attributed to missing breakfast and lunch rather than the thud of his heart and the warmth of his skin beneath her hands. She tugged and he released her. “You live in this huge house alone?”
“Yeah. Got a deal on it. It needed work. I’m restoring it.”
“It’s lovely.” Her palms tingled.
“It’s even better inside.”
The unspoken invitation—with the arch of a challenging eyebrow thrown in—sent alarm racing through her. She broke away from his mesmerizing gaze and glanced at her watch. “I’m a bit pressed for time. Could you please hand over the pictures and negatives, and I’ll get out of your way. I’ll wait here.”
His chin set in a stubborn line. “Come inside and we’ll discuss it.”
She wanted to howl in frustration, but of course, she’d never do that. The senior senator’s granddaughter would never be so crass as to stamp her feet or to publicly show her displeasure. Never let them see you sweat, her grandfather had cautioned on more than one occasion. And never, ever, say words you can’t take back. She’d learned the hard way.
