Read an Excerpt

One




“Dresden?”


Hilary Rayburn watched Devlin Kitteridge—who looked distinctly out of place in her elegant living room—casually handle her most prized possession, a two-hundred-year-old ceramic shepherdess. “Yes,” she replied.


He looked her up and down as if she were a piece of meat in an Armani suit, then set the shepherdess on the glass shelf of the étagère with a clang. “Thought so. They always look as cheap as their knockoffs.”


Hilary bit her tongue against a caustic remark. He could be a prospective customer, she told herself, and she couldn’t afford to offend any at this point in her business. She tucked her silk scarf higher on her shoulder, then walked over to the étagère and closed and locked the door. Smiling sweetly, she said, “That one survived four border disputes, two revolutions, and two world wars before my grandmother smuggled it out of Hungary. If it looks careworn, it has a right to.”


He grinned at her, seeming not at all embarrassed. Hilary knew some members of his family, including his formidable grandmother, but she had only heard about him. And she had heard nothing good. His appearance certainly lived up to his black-sheep reputation. Tall and lean, he was dressed in worn jeans and a maroon polo shirt that had seen better days. His features were all sharp, rugged angles and could have been carved in granite. His skin was darkly tanned, the crow’s-feet at his eyes obvious, giving his face an older look. His eyes were a stunning blue-green, the kind of sharp contrasting color that Paul Newman possessed. As those eyes fixed on her, she felt he could easily strip away the social mask she always kept in place, suddenly exposing the real Hilary. She didn’t like that notion.


Their gazes still locked, he pushed his hair off his forehead. As she watched his tanned fingers thread through the dark and sun-streaked strands, she wondered if all the air had left the room. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. The scent of male and the sea teased her senses, and she felt a primitive awareness course through her bloodstream. At last she realized she was staring at him, and with effort she turned away.


“I’m sorry,” she said as she stepped over to a chair and sat down, “but I can only give you about ten minutes, Mr. Kitteridge. I have a dinner engagement.”
He frowned. “I didn’t drive for two hours just to talk for a few minutes.”


“Then you should have called first.” She smiled pleasantly, deciding the man was a complete idiot. A good-looking one, though. Her breathing still wasn’t back to normal.


“Break the dinner date.”


She raised her eyebrows. “I beg your pardon?”


He slouched down on her sofa, his hands in his pockets. “Look, it’s important.”


“Then I suggest you get started, Mr. Kitteridge.”


He gave her a look that could have frozen hell over. She held on to every ounce of her courage against it. She couldn’t change her plans, even if she wanted to. And she was damned if she wanted to for an arrogant, egotistical, nasty boy like Devlin Kitteridge. She’d be a fool to agree to work for him. No matter what he paid, it wouldn’t be worth it. She opened her mouth to tell him so.


“My grandmother is going to try to match you up with me,” he said, then added bluntly, “I want you to go along with it.”


Hilary gaped, her mind whirling. “Match us up?”


He made a face. “Yes, like in Hello, Dolly. She thinks she’s Carol Channing in disguise.”


“You … and me?” She stared at him, at his disreputable clothes. He must be nuts.


“Yes, you and me. Ludicrous as that sounds.”


“This is a joke, right?” she asked.


“I wish.” He straightened and rested his forearms on his thighs, his gaze intent on her. “It’s simple, really. My grandmother has been making a habit of finding mates for her grandchildren. I’m her last intended victim, and she’s driving me crazy with it. My family wants a little revenge by matchmaking her, and I want to be left alone to run my boat charters. My family’s discovered your grandfather was once engaged to my grandmother, and they think something could be rekindled. They also think the best way to get the two of them together is through us. I know this sounds like the stupidest thing you’ve ever heard, because it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever said.”


Hilary sat back in the chair, stunned. Clearly he didn’t want a dinner party catered. If she had been asked to guess why the crude, rude Devlin Kitteridge had come to see her, it wouldn’t have been this.


A picture of her grandfather came into her mind. He had always been so vital, but ever since her grandmother had died a year ago, he’d changed. He was apathetic now, refusing to go anywhere except to her town house. Instead of gradually coming out of mourning, he was rapidly sinking into real depression. She didn’t know how to stop it. But now …


She remembered the scrapbook she’d once found in her grandfather’s office. It had been filled with clippings of Devlin’s grandmother, sixty years’ worth. The opportunity was so perfect, she’d be a fool to pass it up. And she’d be a fool to do it too.


Devlin suddenly stood up, waving his hands. “Forget it. This is absurd, and I was absurd to even come here. No way any sane woman would agree—”
“Please. Mr. Kitteridge,” she said. “Sit down.”


“I’m not a nut,” he said, slumping back down on the sofa. “Maybe you know my brother, Miles, and his wife, Catherine? They can vouch for this. But I know it’s stupid, so thanks for patiently listening to my family’s ravings.…”


She knew his brother slightly and knew the two were twins. And, talk about “good twin, bad twin …” she thought. Devlin was the exact opposite of Miles, the charming, successful banker.


“… All we’re asking,” Devlin was continuing, “is that you go along with it for a few … dates. Just to get the ball rolling.”


She tucked the scarf closer around her chest, took a deep breath, looked Mr. Macho-man right in the eye, and said, “All right.”


Dev blinked. Of all the answers he’d expected, it wasn’t this one.


“You’ll do it?” he asked in shock.


She nodded. “Yes.”


He couldn’t refrain from asking the obvious. “Why?”


“Because I think your family’s right about my grandfather and your grandmother. I’m willing to do anything to see him happy.”


“Including suffering with me,” Dev added, rubbing his unshaven chin. He’d been up since four that morning. Probably he should have shaved before he’d come, but he’d been in a hurry to get the whole business over with.


He glanced at her, irritated by the sleekly tailored suit she was wearing … the perfect little scarf tied so perfectly in an intricate knot on her shoulder … the shoulder-length hair, whose simple cut probably cost more than his loan payments … the flawlessly creamy skin and porcelain features … the slender hands with scarlet-tipped nails … the full breasts pressing against the suit jacket … the thighs enticingly outlined by her slim skirt …


He resisted the urge to haul her body against his and find sweet oblivion. He must be nuts to think there’d be any oblivion with Miss Prim. Ms. Prim, he corrected himself. She probably took pride in that abbreviation.


She rose to her feet, and he nearly groaned when he saw her skirt was deliciously wrinkled just at the junction of her legs. “If that’s all, Mr. Kitteridge, I have to go.”


“Yeah, the date.” He pushed himself up off the sofa, wondering what jerk she was seeing and whether or not he knew him from the old days. “I expect my grandmother will be calling you soon, once my cousins get it into her head that you and I would be a ‘perfect’ match.”


“Fine,” she said, smiling like a robot. “Good-bye, Mr. Kitteridge.”


“Dev,” he corrected her. “If we’re going to be matched, we’ll have to act the part.”


“Devlin,” she conceded.


He looked heavenward. Perfect opposites, he thought. Everything about her was everything he’d hated for so long. Too bad it was all attached to a great body.


She led the way to her front door. He followed, loving the way her skirt outlined her hips and thighs. She had one helluva backside. A man would kill to smooth his hands down its soft curve, then slip around to find the lushness beyond.…


He nearly bumped into her when she stopped to open the door, and the fantasy burst in a large dose of reality. Still, the scent of her perfume was doing subtle, sensual things to his senses. Okay, so she had great perfume, but that didn’t mean he had to be a fool.


He stopped on the threshold. “Look, you don’t have to worry that this matchmaking crap will actually work with you and me. I just want my grandmother off my back, and I’m willing to do anything to do it.”


“Only a baboon would think we’re compatible,” she agreed.


She didn’t have to put it quite so bluntly, he thought.


“Right,” he said, and walked out the door.


It banged shut after him.


As he drove home, two things occurred to him. The first was that she had agreed awfully quickly to the proposition, despite her claim that she wanted to see her grandfather happy. It was enough to make him wary. The second was that he was too damned interested in her date that night. It had been bothering him ever since she’d mentioned it.


A third thought struck him. She had gotten him in and out of the house in eight minutes.


The date must be a hot one.


And he didn’t like that at all.