Taken Identity (3 page)

“Thank you for the geography lesson. I had no idea.”
And up yours,
she thought unrepentantly. She was becoming giddy with the way he made her feelings change.

He looked bewildered.
As well he might
. Jules was no doormat, and if he chose to patronize her, she would give as good back as he gave her.

“Food?” Jules prompted. “Take your pick. I might have a limited repertoire but within that sphere, I’m very good.” It wasn’t until she stopped speaking Jules realized her unintended double entendre. Of course her companion picked up on it. Thank goodness her head was turned away from him, and her jumper covered her from her neck down. At least he’d not see the blush that swept over her.

“Oh, that sounds promising,” Gray said. “Good is…good.” He laughed, a sound that went all the way to her toes and back up again, via her pussy. Even though it was at her expense, it made Jules practically weak-kneed. If she could bottle that sound, she’d be a millionaire in a month.

“Oh, and, er, food. Whatever is easiest.” His voice dropped an octave and to her scrambled brain was full of hints and…
Stop it now.

“Omelet. It’ll be quicker,” she said hastily and cursed the squeak on her last word. Really, he needed to come with a warning notice. “Tomato and cheese? The last mushroom seems a bit wizened.” She held it up, and hid the hard edge of the seen better days chunk of cheese. She’d cut that bit off.

Gray winced. “Tomato and cheese sounds good.”

She felt his eyes on her as she whisked eggs, added cheese and tomato, and put the mixture into a smoking frying pan.

“So…” She picked up the conversation as she sliced bread and set the kitchen table for him. “And then?” There was no answer. Jules glanced over her shoulder and noticed he still stood in the same place, swaying a little on his feet, as if he might keel over any moment.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, man, sit down before you fall down.”
Hell I sound like my primary school headmistress. Peremptory or what?
“The wicker chair is comfy.” She watched whilst he did as she bade, and continued. “You said Melbourne. Hence knowing the time there. You don’t sound Australian. More like Rah Britain.”

He straightened at that. Jules decided she now knew what the phrase ‘to bristle’ meant. It was scary.

“I beg your pardon?” The glass shatterer was back. Damned if she wasn’t going to offer him a sheet of window strength to attack, instead of her.

“That, there. That voice. Pure Rah. No antipodean twang at all.” Jules grinned. It was that or throw something, and she really didn’t have anything to waste.

“I’m not Australian. I was born and brought up in Sussex,” he said. “Though what that has to do with anything, I have no idea.”

“Neither have I.” Jules slid the omelet onto a plate and handed it to him. “I was doing my polite hostess bit. Do you want to eat sitting in the chair or at the table?”

She watched as he ran his hand over his head then across his chin.
Oh, for
goodness sake, why is such a simple action loaded with sexual innuendo?

“Here, please. I don’t think I’ve got the energy to move.” The smile was half-hearted but it was definitely an advance on the scowl he’d supported earlier. “I’m shattered. So, in this chair, thank you.”

Just as well he seemed polite and amenable, to say nothing of half asleep. She might go all gooey at the sound of his voice—well, sometimes—but she had invited him, a complete stranger, into her house. Stupid or what?

With a wry smile—it seemed the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach—Jules passed the cutlery and bread over. She watched as he cut into the omelet, and it disappeared in a much shorter time than it had taken to cook.

“How do you take your coffee? Milk and sugar?”

“Black, thanks. God, I needed that food, and I didn’t know until I saw it.”

Jules sniggered. “The rumble of your tum was a bit of a giveaway though.”

“Yeah.”

He patted that part of his anatomy, which really did live up to the expression washboard stomach.

“That really hit the spot. Very generous of you, considering.”

“Yes, I thought so too.” Jules added milk to her coffee and sat down on the bench by the table.
Well out of cutlery-stabbing range
, she thought, with an inward snigger.

“Generous, considering, I mean.”

Outside, she could hear a pheasant calling to its mate. The noise added a touch of reality to what, she thought, was an otherwise bizarre situation. When was the last time she’d shared a meal with such a testosterone-full man?
Think, like never. And get your mind out of the gutter, or out of…argh, shut up.

“So, Mr. Reynard, to business.” She took a sip of her coffee and winced as the over-hot liquid hit the back of her throat. “Shall we try to sort out some of this misunderstanding?”

“A good idea.” He took a long draft of his own coffee and seemed unfazed by the heat. “And the name is Gray. Ah, this is perfect, thank you. So, where to start? Rhetorical question. At the beginning, obviously.”

Obviously,
she echoed silently. Jules bit her lip to stop herself from butting in.
So get on with it. We’ve not got all day.
Actually, she had, but she wasn’t about to mention her lack of a social life.

Jules watched him as he looked her up and down. Why did he keep doing that? She wasn’t a flea under a microscope, even if he did make her feel like it.

“Well, spill the beans.” Now she was getting impatient. “Do I really look like her? Your wife.”

“At first glance, to a stranger, I would say perhaps you could be mistaken for the woman I knew as Julia Frayne.” Gray raised one eyebrow, and his lips quirked in a half smile. On some people, it would look affected. On him, it seemed natural. “First glance, I said.”

Jules hadn’t been about to contradict him.

“You’re of a similar height, body shape, and I’m guessing here, age. Late twenties? Don’t be offended if I’ve got that bit wrong, men are notorious for aging a woman.”

“You can say that again, but you’re right this time.”

“Phew.” He wiped his finger over his brow in a parody of a relieved man. “Nevertheless, that’s where the similarity ends. Please, I intend no offense, but my Julia Frayne would never wear clothes like you are. No long, casual, tiered skirt or, er…” He trailed off, obviously not wanting to insult her.

Jules grinned with amusement. She knew she would never be held up as an advocate for sartorial elegance and it didn’t faze her one jot. She held her arms up so the baggy sleeves of her jumper hung down like wings.

“Don’t worry. I know my dress sense is—shall we say—individual? This jumper is an old and trusted friend.” She ran her hand over the wool. In shades of red and pink, it should have clashed with her hair but didn’t. However, Jules would be the first to admit it wouldn’t win any prizes for smartness. The elbows were stretched, the hem uneven and the neckline askew. She loved it anyway. Her gran had knitted it during one of her earth mother phases.

“Hmm, well, as for my wife… Only the latest designer wear was acceptable to her. Her hair was brighter and darker than yours. More russet than, er, than…”

“Carrots?” Jules supplied helpfully.

Gray laughed. “You said it, not me. And, I’ll bet my last pound that your hair color is natural.”

Jules felt herself blush, the same color as that dreaded hair. “Who on earth would chose this?”

He smiled. “I like it.”

“It’s red.” Very, very red, and there was nothing she would do to change it. A disastrous, ‘I’m going to go blonde’ whim at eighteen had proven that.

“True, but natural. That’s something my Julia’s wasn’t.”

“How do you know? Oh.” Her cheeks felt even hotter.
I bet I’m red all over now,
she thought in despair. Bloody embarrassment indicator.

“Exactly.” His tone was dry.
“
Hair dye isn’t always used everywhere.
Shall we take this coffee somewhere more comfortable? I rather liked that sofa we were ensconced in earlier.”

Take charge, why don’t you? Trust him to want to sit there. It pushes him rather too close to me
. Jules smiled, somewhat falsely, as she clenched her clit, and wondered if he knew just how much he turned her on. Oh, God, she hoped not. It would be mortifying if he discovered how damp her knickers were. Still, she nodded and stood up as, ever the gentleman, he let her lead the way back into the lounge.

The sun shone fully through the window now, the earlier lack of warmth replaced by Scottish midday heat.

Jules opened the French windows to let the fresh air in and to help cool her overheated body. No way was she stripping back down to the strappy vest she still had on under her jumper. She hadn’t put a bra on and Gray Reynard would soon see all too easily the effect he had on her. There was no way she could spend all day with her arms crossed over her chest and hiding the evidence of her arousal.

“I married Julia Frances Frayne just over two years ago in the Caribbean,” Gray said, as they both sat down. His long legs seemed to take up most of the floor space, and Jules became dry mouthed at the way the denim over his lower limbs clung to him like a second skin. She stared at his feet, his thighs then his face, but nowhere in between.
Please, God, don’t let me get an eye full. Or do I mean please, God, do?

The settee did its usual job of trying to meld two bodies into one. Jules inched back up the seat away from him—there was friendly and there was
friendly
, and she didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.

Even though, in any other circumstances she’d happily jump his bones, sadly here or now, wasn’t one of those. She moved away from his leg and toward the side of the settee, and resigned herself to feeling hot and bothered.

“We met in London, where we both worked,” her visitor continued. “She was articulate, attractive and, well, to be blunt—and probably crude—hot for me. Six months after we met, she moved in with me, and three months later, we married. It was fine at first, and yes, I know that’s damning with faint praise, but I can’t say more than that.” He stopped and seemed to reflect before continuing.

“Shit, that’s a terrible admission. I guess she thought it was all going to be holidays and fun, and I thought it would be good to have someone to come home to. However, I work hard and although I play hard, work tends to come first. If I ignored that, well, there would be no money to play with. However, Julia couldn’t see that. Eventually, she just went—left one day whilst I was at work. I came back to a Dear John and an empty joint account. All her clothes and belongings gone. In addition, all my family’s heirloom jewelry had been taken out of the bank. That was about eighteen months ago. I heard nothing more. Not really, except, oh shit, let’s just say not really.”

He reddened, and Jules couldn’t take her eyes of him as the flush spread over his cheeks and neck. How far did that blush extend?
Down girl.

“Any trail that I thought might lead to her came to a dead end,” Gray continued. “Since then, she’s remained silent, apart from asking me—through several intermediaries—for a divorce.”

Chapter Two

“Took you to the cleaners?” Jules asked with sympathy. Her namesake didn’t seem to have any redeeming features.

He shook his head. “Strange, but she didn’t. After that initial handful, she asked for nothing, apart for me to agree to the divorce. So, I said I would only go ahead if I got the family jewelry returned. It wasn’t hers to take. Since then, I’ve heard nothing. That was about three months ago. Then, last week, the private investigator I’ve had working on finding her said he’d found her. And he’d been told she was pregnant. But he’d found you. Right name, wrong person. I guess it’s a very easy mistake to make.” He sipped his coffee and looked at Jules.

“Not hardly. There’s the small matter of no bump.”

He glanced at her, well…not exactly flat stomach, Jules admitted but nicely rounded in a feminine way she decided, and inclined his head in agreement.

“True, just a perfect shape.” He continued to contemplate her over the rim of his mug.

Charmer
. Jules was under no illusion that she had more than a ‘you can pinch an inch’ perfect shape. It was so damned hard trying not to squirm when after all, it was some look and sent her insides to mush. Jules did her best to hold his gaze and not show how her stomach was churning, her nipples peaking and…
No more,
Jules. No X-rated thoughts. Not now.

“May I say to be told someone thought I looked pregnant is no compliment? Oh, not you. Yours was just a bit OTT. I have no illusions about where all the chocolate I’ve eaten landed. The rest of it. Sheesh, though, she sounds a right bitch. I hope I’m more subtle who I shoot down.” She also hoped there was a twinkle in her eye as she spoke.

Gray’s expression lightened and he seemed relieved. Because she seemed to be taking his tale of woe in good spirit?
After all,
I’m right
.
It’s no compliment to me
. Especially when, if he looked at her, she most definitely did not have a pregnancy bulge. The only real bulges she had were higher, and there were two of them!

“True, but he’d been told you—she—oh, you know what I mean…was pregnant before he found you. No due date given. Superficially, there are some similarities. You look around the same age, height, shape. Okay, maybe not shape,” he added hastily as she glared.

“However, your hair is longer, redder and like I said before, I’m guessing it’s the real deal. But, dammit, I saw her documents. They match yours. As far as I knew, I met, married and lived with Julia Frances Frayne. So somewhere, you have a double. Right down to age, name and God knows what else.”

“Hell, I hope not in attitude,” Jules said, somewhat shaken. “Or tattoos.”

He grinned. “Can I see them? Just to check, you understand.”

Heat flashed across Jules skin. “Er, no. I’m sure she’s not got them.” She stared at him with suspicion as he raised his eyebrows. “Does she have tattoos?”

He shook his head, and Jules saw the mischief that lurked in his eyes. Without the worry that clouded them, they—and he—would be stunning.