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Expecting...And In Danger
Eileen Wilks
HE WANTED HIS BABY….When he learned Charlotte Masters was pregnant with his child, Rafe Connelly moved mountains to find her–one step ahead of the killers who'd put a bounty on her head. Despite her protests, Rafe needed to keep Charlotte safe. For the sake of his unborn child, he'd do anything…even marry the woman who'd betrayed his family.SHE WANTED HIM….Oozing confidence and masculinity, Rafe was irresistible. Charlotte knew she could deny him nothing. Hadn't she already shed her prim facade and satisfied his every desire in a torrid night of pure pleasure? But she couldn't accept his proposal, for to a woman with secrets, Rafe was as dangerous as the killers at her heels….
AROUND CHI-TOWN
Breaking news! Charlotte Masters, the missing assistant to business tycoon Grant Connelly, is allegedly the target of a hit man. After being questioned by police for her role in the illegal doings at Connelly Corporation, Charlotte dodged the first hit attempt. But why the mysterious woman declined police protection is anyone’s guess. Does this reportedly “honest woman” have something to hide? And Ms. Masters may not be the only one on the run—rumor has it she’s pregnant, so where’s the baby’s dad?
Missing son Rafe Connelly has returned to Chicago to help solve the family’s troubles. The renowned computer whiz is looking into technological tampering at Connelly Corporation. But it may be too late to stem the tide at the beloved Chicago institution. With its flood of troubles, the Connellys may need more than Rafe’s genius to keep them afloat.
Dear Reader,
Wondering what to put on your holiday wish list? How about six passionate, powerful and provocative new love stories from Silhouette Desire!
This month, bestselling author Barbara Boswell returns to Desire with our MAN OF THE MONTH, SD #1471, All in the Game, featuring a TV reality-show contestant who rekindles an off-screen romance with the chief cameraman while her identical twin wonders what’s going on.
In SD #1472, Expecting…and In Danger by Eileen Wilks, a Connelly hero tries to protect and win the trust of a secretive, pregnant lover. It’s the latest episode in the DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS series—the saga of a wealthy Chicago-based clan.
A desert prince loses his heart to a feisty intern in SD #1473, Delaney’s Desert Sheikh by award-winning author Brenda Jackson. This title marks Jackson’s debut as a Desire author. In SD #1474, Taming the Prince by Elizabeth Bevarly, a blue-collar bachelor trades his hard hat for a crown…and a wedding ring? This is the second Desire installment in the exciting CROWN AND GLORY series.
Matchmaking relatives unite an unlikely couple in SD #1475, A Lawman in Her Stocking by Kathie DeNosky. And SD #1476, Do You Take This Enemy? by reader favorite Sara Orwig, is a marriage-of-convenience story featuring a pregnant heroine whose groom is from a feuding family. This title is the first in Orwig’s compelling STALLION PASS miniseries.
Make sure you get all six of Silhouette Desire’s hot November romances.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Expecting…and in Danger
Eileen Wilks
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
EILEEN WILKS
is a fifth-generation Texan. Her great-great-grandmother came to Texas in a covered wagon shortly after the end of the Civil War—excuse us, the War Between the States. But she’s not a full-blooded Texan. Right after another war, her Texan father fell for a Yankee woman. This obviously mismatched pair proceeded to travel to nine cities in three countries in the first twenty years of their marriage, raising two kids and innumerable dogs and cats along the way. For the next twenty years they stayed put, back home in Texas again—and still together.
Eileen figures her professional career matches her nomadic upbringing, since she’s tried everything from drafting to a brief stint as a ranch hand—raising two children and any number of cats and dogs along the way. Not until she started writing did she “stay put,” because that’s when she knew she’d come home. Readers can write to her at P.O. Box 4612, Midland, TX 79704-4612.
MEET THE CONNELLYS
Meet the Connellys of Chicago—wealthy, powerful and rocked by scandal, betrayal…and passion!
Who’s Who in
EXPECTING…AND IN DANGER
Rafe Connelly—The hotshot computer whiz turned daddy-to-be wants it all—security, success, family. But is he using the woman to get the baby…or the baby to get the woman?
Charlotte Masters—The prim and prissy assistant finds herself on the run, pregnant and alone. How long can she deny her heart…and keep her secrets?
Lucas Starwind—For this remaining P.I. on the Connelly case, it’s all about determination, prestige and honor…. Or is it really about revenge?
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Epilogue
One
The Windy City was living up to its name the second time someone tried to kill her.
At least Charlotte thought they’d tried to kill her. Sprawled across the hood of a parked car, with panic pounding in her chest, her hip throbbing, her calf burning and her coat flapping in the wind, she couldn’t be sure. Maybe the driver simply hadn’t seen her.
“You all right, lady?”
She stirred and looked up at the concerned face of a tall black man with a gold ring in his nose, another in his eyebrow, a leather jacket and a Cubs cap on his apparently bald head. Several others had stopped on the busy sidewalk to stare and exclaim. She caught snatches of conversation—“Crazy drivers!” and “Must have been drunk…” and “Where’s a cop when you need one?”
Not here, thank goodness. The last thing she needed was to draw the attention of the police.
“I’m fine,” she said to the concerned and the curious. “Thank you for asking.” She pulled herself together mentally as she climbed off the car. Her knees weren’t sure of themselves, but after sorting through her aches, she concluded she wasn’t badly hurt. The car had missed her, after all. Thanks to the wind.
Charlotte had been crossing the street—with the light, of course. She always crossed with the light. She’d finished her bagel two blocks back and had been holding on to the sack, which was destined for the next trash can. A strong gust had grabbed it right out of her hand. She’d turned, meaning to chase it down so she could dispose of it properly…and saw the car.
It had been headed right for her in spite of the red light that should have protected her. It had even seemed to speed up in that split second between the instant she’d seen it and the next, when her body had taken over, hurling her out of its path.
But maybe that was paranoia speaking. Although it wasn’t really paranoia, was it, if there truly were people out to get you?
“You sure you’re okay?” the man in the Cubs cap and nose ring asked. A hefty woman advised her to call the police; another suggested she go to the hospital; someone else thought she should get a lawyer, though what she’d do with one, he didn’t say. Charlotte took a moment to assure them again that she was fine, though she grimaced over the ruined panty hose—four-ninety-five a pair, dammit—and the trickle of blood running down her leg.
She put a hand protectively on her stomach. A little wiggle inside assured her that all was well, and she drew a deep, relieved breath.
Her backpack. Oh, Lord, she couldn’t afford to lose that. Where—? Kneeling, she spotted it halfway under the car and dragged it out. Her arms felt like overcooked spaghetti.
“Hey, you want me to call someone to come get you?” It was the Cubs fan.
“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” Standing with the backpack slung over her shoulder was a good deal harder than it should have been. Her knees weren’t in much better shape than her spaghetti arms.
Surely it had been a freak accident.
“Better sit down a minute. You’re pale as a ghost. Bleeding, too.”
Irritation threatened to swamp good manners. She hated being fussed over. “I’m always pale. I’ll take care of the scrapes at work.”
“You got far to go?”
“Just up the block, at Hole-in-the-Wall.”
He cast a dubious glance that way, which she perfectly understood. The restaurant was aptly named, an eyesore in an area that had once been solidly blue collar, but was skidding rapidly downhill. The neighborhood was seedy, a little trashy, not quite a slum…everything she’d fought so hard to leave behind.
“You ain’t up to working yet,” he informed her with that particular male brand of arrogance that scraped on her pride like fingernails on a chalkboard.
“I appreciate your concern, but it isn’t necessary.” She started limping down the sidewalk, hoping he would get the hint and go about his own business.
It didn’t work. He kept pace with her. “Don’t trip over your ego, sister. I’m not hitting on you. Don’t care for teeny, tiny blondes with big mouths.” He shook his head. “You sure talk fancy for someone who works at the Hole.”
Her unwanted escort had a pleasant tenor voice with surprising resonance. “Do you sing?”
He gave her a startled glance. “Why?”
She sighed. Most of the time she managed to keep her unruly tongue under control, but every now and then it flew free. “I wasn’t hitting on you, either. I don’t care for bossy males. Your voice reminded me of a tenor I heard sing ‘Ness’un Dorma.’”
“You listen to opera, but you work at Hole-in-the-Wall?”
“You recognize an aria from Turandot, but you poke holes in your body?”
“Smart-mouthed, too,” he observed. “Why you working at the Hole?”
“For my sins.” Which was all too literally true. But she was going to get things straightened out soon, she promised herself for the fortieth time. Somehow.
They’d arrived at the steps that led down to the kitchen. She thanked her escort as politely as she could manage, hobbled down and pushed the door open.
The kitchen was a long, narrow, crowded room. The cook, a stringy old man with limited notions of personal hygiene, gave her a sour look. “Better get moving. Zeno’s in a bad mood.”
“How can you tell?”
He snorted. “You go right ahead and smart off to him today like you been doin’. You’ll see.” He went back to flipping hamburger patties.
Charlotte hobbled to the cubbyhole where employees could leave their things. Dammit, she really did need to mind her tongue. She needed this job, and the Hole—for all its obvious drawbacks—did have three things in its favor. First, it was within walking distance of the cupboard-size apartment she’d found. Second, Zeno was allergic to cigarette smoke, so the entire place was smoke-free. Third, he was sloppy about paperwork and regulations—a definite drawback in terms of health and safety regulations, but a plus for her personally. He hadn’t called any of the bogus references she’d listed on her application, and he didn’t question her social security card—a good thing, since the number wasn’t hers.
A man who was running a bookie operation out of his restaurant really ought to be more scrupulous about following the rules in his legitimate business, she thought as she slung her backpack under the table. She pulled off her coat, giving the shabby, shapeless brown material a look of distaste as she hung it on a hook. Best not to think about the beautiful new cream-colored wool coat hanging in the closet in her apartment—her old apartment.
The rent was paid up until the first. They won’t have sold her things yet, she told herself. Maybe she would still be able to get them back.
“You’re late,” a deep voice growled from the doorway. “Shift starts at five, not whenever you get around to showing up.”
She jumped, scowled and looked at the doorway. Zeno stood there glowering at her. He was a man who could glower well. The paunch, thick eyebrows and bristly jowls gave him a head start in the mean-and-nasty sweepstakes.
Watch what you say, she reminded herself, and reached for the dusty first aid box on the top shelf. “A car nearly ran me down at the light.”
“Late’s late. It happens again, you’re out of here.”
“I would have been a lot later if the car had hit me.” She gave the cap on the peroxide bottle an angry twist. “And yes, I’m all right, thank you so much for asking.”
“If you’re all right, you can get your butt out there and take orders.”
“As soon as I’ve wiped the blood off. I’m pretty sure it’s a health code violation for me to bleed on the customers.” Stop that, she told herself. Zeno was not the kind of tyrant who admired those who stood up to him. He preferred quivering timidity. She pressed her lips together and began to clean the long scrape on her calf.
“Maybe I didn’t explain when I hired you. I hate attitude. What I like is ‘yes, sir, no, sir, right away, sir.’ Got that, you stupid— What the hell do you want?” He turned on the waitress who’d come up behind him, a doe-eyed young woman named Nikki—“with two k’s and an i,” she’d told Charlotte when they were introduced. Like Charlotte, she was blond. All of Zeno’s waitresses were blond. Nikki was the kind the jokes were made for, though.
“Mr. Jones wants to talk to you,” Nikki said nervously. “Table twelve.”
“Why the hell didn’t you say so? And you, Madame Attitude—” he jabbed a thick finger in her direction “—you’ve got five minutes to get out on the floor, or you’re fired.”
She tried to make herself say “yes, sir,” but the words wouldn’t come out. She’d said them to her former boss a thousand times, said them easily, naturally. Because he was a man who deserved her respect. Her throat closed up. Grant Connelly wouldn’t care about her respect. Not now. Not after what she’d done.
She managed to nod stiffly. Zeno gave her one last glare and stomped off. Charlotte threw the bloody swab in the trash.
“What happened to you, anyway?” Nikki asked, her eyes big.
“I had a little accident on the way here. Stand in the doorway so no one comes in, would you?” She had no doubt Zeno had meant what he said about firing her if she wasn’t on the floor in five minutes. Her panty hose would have to come off right here. Charlotte grimaced, but accepted necessity.
Nikki obligingly stood in the center of the narrow doorway while Charlotte took off her shoes, then reached up under her skirt to pull down the ruined panty hose. Her legs were going to freeze on the walk back to her overpriced cupboard when her shift was over…but cold legs were the least of her problems.
“Zeno’s sure on a tear. You’d better put your apron on.”
“It’s pink.” She pitched the panty hose in the trash, fumbled her shoes on and grabbed her order book. “I don’t do pink.”
“We’re supposed to wear the aprons.”
