Harlequin Superromance February 2014 - Bundle 1 of 2: His Forever Girl\Moonlight in Paris\Wife by Design (44 page)

“Long ago.”

She stood and held out her hand. “We can talk when he's awake. Let's make better use of our time alone.”

She led the way to his bedroom.

Barely inside the door, he kissed her, long and hard, and the stirring intensified. The way this man affected her with just a kiss! Heat surged through her, every fiber sizzling.

They broke contact only briefly while she pulled his T-shirt over his head and threw it on the bed. Then her eager palms sought the taut planes of his stomach muscles. His hands lost no time reciprocating, ridding her of her clothes. He grasped her rear and pressed her front against him.

With a little hop, her legs were around his waist, and he backed over to his bed, pausing only long enough to grab a condom from the drawer. He lay down, keeping her on top.

Astride him and in the driver's seat, she shifted into high gear and stomped on the gas.

Their lovemaking was fast and furious and wild like the storm that battered the window, leaving them sweaty and gasping for air.

But soon, and with what turned out to be fortuitous timing, a burst of lightning struck, followed immediately by a rolling concussion of thunder. It sent a chill through Tara and had her grabbing for Garrett's cast-off tee. She slipped into it just as the bedroom door flew open, and a terrified Dylan streaked into the room.

“Dad, the thunder's too loud!”

He drew up short at the side of the bed, the terror in his eyes giving way to confusion. “Tara?” His face broke into the wide grin she adored. “You decided to sleep over!” he crowed. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Well.” She looked to Garrett for help, but he answered her with an I've-got-nothing shrug. She glanced at the clock that read 12:43 a.m. “We just remembered that it's July Fourth, which is a holiday in the States. Why don't we make a tent and pretend we're camping out?”

“Cool! I'll go get my pillow!” The child ran from the room on a mission, and Tara and Garrett lost no time jumping from under the covers to don their shorts.

“Seriously? Sleeping on the floor?” Garrett speared her with a disgruntled look. “I've got to work tomorrow.”

“Oh, shut up.” She laughed and pulled the blanket from the bed. “And go find me some rope.”

Garrett's frown dissolved into the same enthusiastic smile Dylan displayed. “Now you're talking.”

He sprinted from the room, as well.

“For the tent!” she called after him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

T
HE
FIRST
RAYS
OF
SUN
caught the prism Lacy had always kept hanging in the side window of her bedroom, coloring the opposite wall with a rainbow that required no rain.

Faith was awake and had been for some time. As she watched the hues deepen, she was reminded of the story of Noah and his ark. If only her rainbow could be a sign like his had been—a promise that the storm was over...or maybe would be soon.

It was going to be a beautiful Fourth of July. Maybe she would call the kids and Emma and have a picnic at the cabin after all. Then they could stop lying to Tara.

An unexpected noise drew her from the bed to the front window. She cracked the blinds to find Sawyer hooking the bass boat onto his truck. Another good sign! If he felt like going fishing, it surely meant he was getting back to normal.

She held her breath, hoping he would knock on the door and invite her to go along. But when he got back in the truck and slammed the door, she let the breath out slowly, waving goodbye to him with an unseen hand.

They'd only spoken briefly since the conversation in the garage Saturday. Three days ago—though it seemed like three years.

She picked up the novel she'd been reading and wandered to the kitchen. Bacon and eggs sounded good for breakfast. Or an omelet perhaps. Her stomach had been so upset, food seemed like the enemy. But since Ollie's visit yesterday, she'd managed to eat lunch and supper, and breakfast was on her agenda for this morning.

She arranged some slices of bacon on the tray, and put them in the microwave to cook.

If the dear old man could go through what he had and never complain to anyone about the unfairness of things, she could certainly bear this. He had nothing except memories, but she'd actually been blessed.

She had Tara.

She picked up her phone and touched her precious daughter's number.

Tara answered on the first ring. “Hi, Mama.”

Uh-oh
.
She sounded breathless
.
Oh, surely not
.
It was midafternoon over there.

“Hey, sweetpea. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“No, a good time, actually. I could use some cheering up.”

Faith assessed the situation quickly. Tara wasn't distraught. Just down. Man trouble? Had she seen the folly of her ways? “Why?” She used her sympathetic mom voice. “What's wrong?”

A long sigh whispered over the line. “I just located another wrong Jacques Martin.”

“Oh, that's got to be hard. I know you had your hopes up.”

“I've been thinking about this whole thing...my snap decision to try to come find him.”

“Yeah,” Faith agreed. “It was a bit hurried.”

“Well, you know how you and Dad always taught us that everything happens for a reason? I'm thinking that the reason I'm here may not be to find Jacques Martin. Maybe I came here to meet Garrett and Dylan.”

Emotion gripped Faith's heart and squeezed. “Oh my, Tara. That sounds way too serious.”

“I am serious, Mama. I'm falling in love with him. Them.”

“Honey.” Faith switched to her let's-be-reasonable tone. “It's too soon to be thinking about that.”

“And yet, here I am thinking about it. That's what makes me think it's real.”

Arguing would do no good. Tara had Sawyer's stubborn streak, blood-relation or no. When either of their minds got set a certain way, they held on to the belief like a snapping turtle holds a stick...and they wouldn't let go till it thundered. “I don't know what to say.”

“You don't have to say anything, Mama. Just be happy for me.”

“I'm always happy for you, sweetpea. Happy for you in my life.”

Tara's laugh sounded relieved. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“By the way.” Tara's tone changed. “Emma said the picnic was cancelled because of weather.” It was a statement, but the question was evident.

“Well, it's turned out pretty after all, so I'm thinking we might throw one together.” The microwave dinged, reminding Faith of the breakfast she'd started. “Your dad's already headed to the lake, in fact,” she added for authenticity.

“Good. It sounds like things are back to normal.”

Faith wouldn't answer that with a lie. “My bacon's ready, so I need to go, sweetpea. You be careful, now. You hear?”

“I hear. See ya.”

“See ya.”

Faith opened the microwave and set the bacon on the counter. Despite its mouth-watering aroma, her appetite had fled once again.

So Tara believed her reason for being in Paris was to meet Garrett.

“The universe is unfolding as it should.”
Ollie's words from yesterday scampered across Faith's brain, causing the hair to rise on the back of her neck.

Only one thing would change Tara's mind back to her original intent...and shake her loose from the stick she was clamped on to.

Faith sent up a prayer for thunder in Paris...in the form of an address for the elusive Jacques Martin.

* * *

G
ARRETT
ENDED
THE
CALL
and gestured Henri to come in.

The Frenchman held a paper fisted in one hand and a mysterious expression on his face. He stepped in and closed the door behind him.

“What's up? You been watching those old Pink Panther movies again?” Garrett chuckled at the joke that his friend obviously didn't understand. “I was just talking to Marc Fornier. He's agreed to add Soulard to the beer flight dinners at le Verrou.”

“C'est formidable!”
As was his custom, Henri chose the armless chair at the north end of Garrett's desk. He perched on the edge, resembling a bird on a wire.

“Yeah, wonderful news for us.”

Henri nodded. Garrett hadn't seen so much excitement in his eyes since they'd test-driven that Ferrari last year. “And I may have wonderful news for Tara.” Henri pushed the paper he held across the desk.

Garrett scanned the document, a spreadsheet, much like the one Henri made for Dylan's activities, but this one held a list of names—well, actually the names were all Jacques Martin. Most had two columns of addresses, work and home, and a slew of other columns, some filled out and others empty.

Three names had been circled in red.

Garrett pulled his copy of Tara's list from his pocket and compared the two. They were totally different. He dropped the new one on the desk and spread his hands in question. “What is this?”

“
Ce sont les Jacques Martins
who are not in the telephone book or found easily over the internet.” Henri's rigid posture hardly matched the nonchalant tone he affected.

His friend's manner, so different from his normally perfect composure, sent a chill up Garrett's spine. “Where did you get this information?”

“If I tell you,
mon ami,
I will have to kill you.” His grin dissolved as quickly as it appeared. “
Vraiment,
Garrett, no one must know that I have done this.”

“What did you do?” Garrett fought to control the panic in his voice. “Hack into a government website or something?”

“Oui.”
Henri shrugged one shoulder. “Or something.”

“Damn it! You could get arrested.”

“
Oui,
and go to the prison for a very long time.
Mais seulement
if it becomes known. This is why you must tell no one.” He wagged his finger. “Not Tara. Not anyone.” The wagging finger dropped to point at the circled names. “But I am certain one of these is the correct man. The three are of the correct age to be the father, and all were in the U.S. during the right time.”

Garrett's hands were sweating. He clenched and unclenched them, not sure if he should kiss Henri or kick his ass for pulling such a stunt. “How did you get your hands on all this?”

“Much information is available,
mon ami
. One only needs to know where to look.” He gave a sly grin. “And how.”

Garrett became aware of how fast his heart was racing when a drop of sweat ran into his eye. He wiped it off, then reached for his phone. “Tara could be meet—”

Henri snatched the phone from his hand. “Tread carefully, Garrett. These are men of means. They are not found easily
pour une raison.
”

Garrett jerked his hand back. “You mean they're crooks? They might be dangerous?”

“Non.”
Henri's bottom lip drooped as he pondered the question, then he pinned Garrett with a meaningful stare. “But there is some reason they—how do you put it?—‘fly below the radar.'”

“Shit!” Garrett wiped his hand down his face.

Henri answered with a low chuckle. “
Oui,
and very deep. And,
s'il te plaît,
you must burn the document when you finish with it.”

Garrett studied the names and addresses circled in red. If he made first contact with Tara's father, he could assess the situation and arrange for their meeting—and prepare them for each other.

He grabbed a pen and made the notes he needed, then returned the paper to his friend. “Do whatever you want with it, Henri. I have what I need.”

Henri's perfect posture slumped in relief, but only slightly. “
Peut-être
Tara will stay in Paris a little longer
maintenant.
To know her father,
oui?
”

That Henri had gone to such measures to gain him and Dylan more time with Tara was staggering, and Garrett was overwhelmed with emotion. Loosening his tie did nothing to ease the tension in his neck and jaws. He leaned forward to capture Henri's gaze. “I'm speechless...that you would go to this extreme. You're a devoted friend, Henri
,
and Dylan and I are so blessed to have you in our lives.”

Henri's Adam's apple bobbed, and for a split second, Garrett thought he saw mistiness in the Frenchman's eyes. “We are more than friends, Garrett.
Nous sommes frères.
”

Garrett stood and walked around the desk, pulling Henri to his feet and into a hug. “Brothers. I like that.”

They slapped each other's backs extra hard to keep things on a mature male level, and then Garrett checked his watch. “If I leave now, I can go by the Kléber address on the way home.”

He gathered the papers he'd been working on and stuffed them into his briefcase in the improbable event that he'd feel like looking at them once he got home. His gut told him tonight was going to be an exciting one with Tara.

Hell, every night was exciting with Tara.

Henri held the office door open for him to pass. “
Bonne chance,
Garrett.” He added another hardy clap on Garrett's back.

“Thanks.” Garrett headed toward the elevator, walking backward for one last acknowledgment to his friend. “I owe you,” he called as the doors opened.

Henri's hands were in his pockets and he gave a shrug.
“Oui.”

Less than a half hour later, Garrett stood in the massive corridor of an ancient but elegant building that looked as if it had once housed a large corporation, but had now been divided into small, though impressive, suites.

The door his hand rested on had a thick, leaded glass window trimmed in rich mahogany. The etching on it read simply:
Jacques Martin, le concessionnaire.

So this Jacques Martin was a distributor of goods although no hint was given as to the kind of goods distributed. But the location of his business spoke of his success.

Garrett pushed the door open to a small waiting room. Stepping inside was like hopping from one century to another. While just as elegant as its exterior, the office interior was very contemporary decked out in blue-gray walls with low, Italian leather sofas in the hue that he called purple but Henri insisted was
l'aubergine
—eggplant.

A young woman who looked as though she had been supplied by the Chanel School for Receptionists sat at a desk of sorts. Made either of glass or clear acrylic, it had no drawers and no real legs—except for the model-worthy ones that belonged to the receptionist. The workspace was nearly bare, holding only a small appointment book, an equally small pad, a pen, a cell phone and the elbows of the receptionist, though not her weight, as she sat very straight.

“Bonjour, monsieur.”
She greeted him with a tight smile.
“Comment puis-je vous aider?”

“Bonjour, madame. Je m'appelle Garrett Hughes.”
He concentrated to keep the question out of his voice.
“Je voudrais parler avec Monsieur Martin, s'il vous plaît.”

A question lit her eyes, gone as quickly as it appeared. She glanced at the appointment book.
“Avez-vous pris rendezvous?”

Was he expected? Hell, no. Nor was the news he was bearing, if this turned out to be the right guy.

“Non. Je suis ici pour—”
he chose his wording carefully
“—une affaire personnelle.”
It didn't get much more personal than this.

A flare of color bloomed in the young woman's cheeks, but her manner remained cool and poised as she stood.
“Un moment.”

The tight, black dress clung to every curve of her body as she swayed to a door at the end of a long, narrow hallway. He watched her movements, imagining what the dress might look like on Tara, and found himself grinning at the image despite the nervousness that was causing his heart to beat a staccato rhythm.

The young woman rapped twice and stepped inside the office, though Garrett couldn't hear an invitation.

He stood waiting for two of the longest minutes of his life, and then the door opened again, and the young woman swayed out, followed by a middle-aged man with deep-set eyes and jet-black hair, combed back much like Henri's coif.