Buch lesen: «When Jayne Met Erik»
Marriage Certificate
Let it be known that as of September 2001, Jayne Pembroke, the red-headed beauty of 20 Amber Court, Apt. 1C, is legally bound to Erik Randolph, one of Youngsville, Indiana’s most eligible bachelors, in holy matrimony. Both parties will live in wedded bliss, for a period of one year, until the terms of Erik’s inheritance have been met. They will mutually agree to ignore the overwhelming attraction that has been there since Erik’s spontaneous proposal, as well as the desire to be more than just an in-name-only couple. Jayne will take Erik’s name and hope that, in turn, her new husband does not take her heart. In the event that something like true love-develops, this contract will become null and void so that they may draw up a new certificate based on matters of the heart.
Dear Reader,
Welcome to Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with six passionate, powerful and provocative romances! And you can take romance one step further…. Look inside for details about our exciting new contest, “Silhouette Makes You a Star.”
Popular author Mary Lynn Baxter returns to Desire with our MAN OF THE MONTH when The Millionaire Comes Home to Texas to reunite with the woman he could never forget. Rising star Sheri WhiteFeather’s latest story features a Comanche Vow that leads to a marriage of convenience…until passionate love transforms it into the real thing.
It’s our pleasure to present you with a new miniseries entitled 20 AMBER COURT, featuring four twentysomething female friends who share an address…and their discoveries about life and love. Don’t miss the launch title, When Jayne Met Erik, by beloved author Elizabeth Bevarly. The scandalous Desire miniseries FORTUNES OF TEXAS: THE LOST HEIRS continues with Fortune’s Secret Daughter by Barbara McCauley. Alexandra Sellers offers you another sumptuous story in her miniseries SONS OF THE DESERT: THE SULTANS, Sleeping with the Sultan. And the talented Cindy Gerard brings you a touching love story about a man of honor pledged to marry an innocent young woman with a secret, in The Bridal Arrangement.
Treat yourself to all six of these tantalizing tales from Silhouette Desire.
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
When Jayne Met Erik
Elizabeth Bevarly
MILLS & BOON
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ELIZABETH BEVARLY
is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older-model forty-two-footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a seven-year-old son, Eli.
For Joan Marlow Golan, Gail Chasan And Allison Lyons.
With many thanks.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
One
Jayne Pembroke was not having a good day.
She began it by oversleeping, a development made even worse by the fact that she awoke from the most wonderful dream she’d had in a long, long time—a development made even worse when she confronted the reality to which she did, eventually, awake. Because in her dream, Jayne had had company. Really nice company, too, in the form of a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger, who had been performing the most wondrous—and erotic—activities with her.
At least, Jayne thought they were wondrous, erotic activities. She was pretty sure they were, anyway. She did have cable TV, after all. Admittedly, though, she didn’t have much personal experience with wondrous, erotic activities by which to judge…or any personal experience, for that matter. But whatever it was that the dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger had been doing to her in her dream, it had felt really, really good.
Her reality, on the other hand, was…not. Not wondrous. Not erotic. And certainly not good. Because in addition to being late, Jayne was, as always, alone.
When she finally did glance over at the clock and noted the time, she tumbled out of bed—literally—bonking her head on the nightstand in the process. So she kicked the nightstand in retaliation…and banged her little toe in exactly that way that made it hurt the most. Then, as she hopped on one foot toward her bathroom, Mojo, her sister Chloe’s cat, whom Jayne was keeping while Chloe attended college, came gallumphing into the room—doubtless because Mojo knew Jayne would be hopping around on one foot—and tripped her. That, naturally, caused her to fall down, and in doing so she banged her knee viciously on the hardwood floor.
Things just went downhill from there.
The water in the shower was barely tepid by the time Jayne turned it on, thanks, no doubt, to the fact that everyone else who lived at 20 Amber Court had already had their showers because they’d awoken on time. Then the only clean shirt she was able to find did not match the only clean skirt she was able to find, and the only pair of clean panty hose she was able to find had a run in them. As a result, she was forced to don a blinding combination of raspberry top and burnt-orange skirt, along with the only belt she could find in her overly tousled closet—which, it went without saying, was chartreuse.
Not surprisingly, her hair dryer shorted out the moment she switched it on, emitting a dangerous-sounding zzzt coupled with the smell of something burning. Immediately she jerked the plug from the wall and dumped the appliance in the wastebasket—which overturned, spilling its entire contents across the bathroom floor.
She bit back a scream—and quite a hysterical one it had threatened to be, too—then methodically wove her long, straight, wet, red hair into a thick braid that fell between her shoulderblades, and ruffled her bangs dry as best she could. She swiped a bit of raspberry-colored lipstick over her mouth—at least something would match at least part of her clothes—and dragged a bit of neutral shadow over her violet eyes. Then she ran into the kitchen for the cup of coffee she absolutely had to consume in order to function as a halfway effective human being.
The good news was that the coffeemaker’s timer had, amazingly, worked perfectly. The bad news was that when Jayne had filled the coffeemaker the night before, she had neglected to add any…well, coffee. So only a pot of hot water greeted her.
She bit back another one of those certain-to-be-hysterical screams—but just barely. Then, surrendering to the fact that she wouldn’t be enjoying her morning cuppa today—or much of anything else, for that matter—Jayne turned her attention to the kitchen window and saw that, inescapably, it was an unusually rainy morning for the first of September. And of course, likewise inescapably, she recalled that she’d left her only umbrella at Colette Jewelry, the showroom of the highly successful Colette, Inc., where she worked as a salesclerk, the last time it had rained.
My, my, my, she thought. What else could the day possibly hold? It wasn’t even 9:00 a.m.
As quickly as she could, she hurried through the rest of her morning rituals, doing her absolute best to make completely certain that nothing else went wrong. And really, not much else did go wrong. Except for when she chipped her favorite coffee mug putting it away, broke her fingernail to the quick while performing a quick search for her raincoat—which, naturally, she never found—and stepped on a pile of stray cat kibble, crushing it to a fine powder that she’d have to sweep up when she got home, because there was no way she had time to do that now.
But other than that…
She was locking her front door to apartment 1C when the door to 1A-B, the apartment next to hers—the one belonging to her landlady—opened. It was the first thing to happen that morning that made Jayne smile. Rose Carson just inspired that kind of reaction in a person, a feeling of good cheer and well-being. She was, to put it simply, a nice lady. She’d even been the one who had helped Jayne find a job at Colette Jewelry. A friend of a friend, Rose had told Jayne, had mentioned an opening in the jewelry store. Jayne had been hired for the salesclerk position the day she had applied.
Judging by Rose’s short, dark hair that was just starting to go gray, by the laugh lines that crinkled her dark eyes, and by the older woman’s matronly figure, Jayne guessed her landlady’s age to be somewhere in her fifties. About the same age Jayne’s mother would be now, had Doris Pembroke survived the plane crash that had killed her and Jayne’s father four years ago.
Even though Jayne had only lived at 20 Amber Court for a month, she felt as if she’d known Rose Carson forever. Her landlady was the kind of person who inspired immediate affection and fast camaraderie, the kind in whom one felt totally comfortable confiding. Within days of Jayne’s move to the apartment building, she’d found herself revealing to Rose all the particulars of her past and current situations. About the loss of both her parents when she was eighteen, about taking on the care of her then-fourteen-year-old twin siblings, Chloe and Charlie, immediately thereafter, about sacrificing her own opportunity to attend college in order to send Chloe and Charlie instead.
Jayne didn’t mind the sacrifice, though. She’d always felt responsible for the twins, even when she was a child. And she knew neither of them took her sacrifice for granted. Once her brother and sister finished college themselves in four years, she’d go back and earn her own degree. She had plenty of time, after all. She was only twenty-two, and her whole life lay stretched before her.
She was just looking forward to having a bit of stability in that life for a change. The last four years had been more than a little difficult, seeing to the needs of Charlie and Chloe and herself, making sure all three of them kept a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.
The sale of their parents’ home, along with a modest life insurance settlement and social security for the twins, had afforded them the financial boost they’d needed during that time. But now that Chloe and Charlie were eighteen, the social security was gone. And college tuition for two, even with the twins’ partial scholarships, was going to prove a challenge. Still, the Pembroke finances were stable and reasonably secure right now. As long as Jayne had her job at Colette Jewelry and lived within her modest budget, everything would be fine.
She hoped.
“Good morning, Jayne,” Rose Carson said with a smile as she closed her own door and turned toward her newest tenant. She glanced down at her watch. “You’re running a bit late, aren’t you, dear?”
Jayne quelled the panic that threatened to rise again. She wasn’t that late, she reminded herself. Thanks to all her rushing around—and skipping her morning coffee—she could still make it to work with a few minutes to spare. Maybe. If she ran the entire way. Which, of course, she would, seeing as how she had missed the bus, and it was still raining. Colette, Inc. was only ten blocks from 20 Amber Court. And if she hugged the buildings between here and there, the awnings might provide enough shelter to keep her dry. Sort of.
“A bit late, yes,” Jayne conceded to her landlady. “It’s been one of those mornings,” she couldn’t help adding with no small exasperation.
Rose nodded, clearly understanding. “Rainy days and Mondays, right?” she asked.
Jayne chuckled derisively. “Rainy days and Mondays, and broken alarm clocks and broken hair dryers, and no clean laundry and uncooperative coffeemakers, and homicidal cats and—”
Rose held up a hand, laughing. “Say no more,” she said. “Oh, my. I’ve had a few of those days myself.”
Jayne was about to say goodbye and scuttle off when she noticed the brooch affixed to Rose’s cream-colored blouse. Not quite heart-shaped and not quite triangular, it was unusual and very beautiful, encrusted with dark yellowish stones set in what appeared to be several different metals. So captivated was she by the accessory, she found herself involuntarily lifting a hand toward it.
“Your pin is so beautiful, Rose,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. “That’s not topaz, though, is it?” She glanced up after voicing her question, only to find Rose beaming at her as if Jayne had just paid her the highest compliment in the world.
“No, it’s amber,” her landlady replied. “Amber and some precious metals.”
Jayne nodded as she touched a fingertip gently to the brooch. “Someone must have given it to you because you live at 20 Amber Court,” she said.
Rose smiled again, a bit sadly this time. “No, I’ve had this for quite some time now. There’s a rather interesting history behind it, actually.”
“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” Jayne said, dropping her hand back to her side. “Sometime when I’m not running so late and having such a crummy day,” she added when she recalled her current situation. She started to say farewell again, when Rose stopped her.
“Wait,” her landlady said impulsively. She reached for the pin Jayne had just admired. “Wear this today,” she told her tenant with a cryptic little smile, her dark eyes sparkling. “In the past, it’s brought me what you might call ‘good luck.’ Maybe it will help get you through the rest of the day.”
Jayne expelled a single, humorless chuckle. “The way this day has started, I have a feeling it’s not going to be ‘one of those days’ so much as it’s going to be ‘one of those months.”’
“Then wear it all month, if you need to,” Rose told her, unfastening the pin from her own blouse and deftly fixing it on Jayne’s. With a mischievous little smile she added, “You’ll know when it’s time to give it back.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—” Jayne started to object.
“Of course you could,” Rose insisted. “There,” she said, patting the pin in place. “It doesn’t exactly match your outfit, but…”
This time Jayne laughed in earnest. “But then my outfit doesn’t exactly match much of anything, does it? Remind me if you see me later today that I have a lot of laundry to do tonight, okay?”
Rose nodded. “Will do, dear.”
Jayne turned an eye to the large marble foyer of 20 Amber Court, gazing through the big glass windows at the bleak, gray day outside. Thankfully, the rain had ebbed to a scant drizzle, so she closed her eyes for a moment and willed the scant drizzle to stay that way, at least until she reached Colette. And then, with one more halfhearted smile for Rose, she lifted a hand in farewell.
“Good luck today!” her landlady called after her as Jayne hastened toward the front door.
“Thanks!” Jayne called back. “Something tells me I’m going to need it!”
On the other side of Youngsville, Indiana, Erik Randolph wasn’t having a particularly good morning, either—though for entirely different reasons.
His own sleep the night before had been restful and dreamless, and he didn’t wake up late for work. That would be because, simply put, he had no work for which to wake up late. Oh, he could go to work, if he wanted to—it was no secret that his father was holding a VP position for him at Randolph Shipping and Transportation. But it was also no secret that Erik wasn’t much suited to work. Work required something like oh…a work ethic, for one thing. A sense of purpose for another. Or even a feeling of duty, or a desire to provide. Erik, it was commonly known, lacked all of those things. Though, it was likewise commonly known, that didn’t detract from his charm one iota.
So as it stood now, his hour of waking was completely immaterial, because he would spend today as he spent every day—without any specified activities or agenda in mind. And although he awoke alone, it was because he had chosen to awake alone, which was his habit when he spent the night at his house.
That, of course, was because he shared his house with his parents, who were the actual owners of the house. But it wasn’t because he feared discovery by said parents that caused Erik to sleep alone—in fact, the Randolph estate was so large and so spacious, one could be sharing it with the United Arab Emirates and not run into anyone for months. It was because Erik just never quite felt comfortable when he was at home. Certainly not comfortable enough to entertain anyone there.
And, anyway, entertaining was his mother’s milieu. Erik was far better suited to being entertained.
In any case he didn’t like to spend any more time at his parents’ estate than was absolutely necessary. He wasn’t sure why that was. Certainly the house was beautifully and elegantly decorated, filled with only the best that money could buy—the most luxurious Persian rugs, the finest European antiques, the most exquisite works of art. And certainly his parents and his two younger sisters were all likable enough people, and, as a family, they all got along very well. But there was something missing here. The house lacked…something. Erik wasn’t quite sure what. And as a result, he was just never all that comfortable when he was at home.
It was only one of the reasons he spent so much time traveling. The other reason, of course, would be that traveling was just so much fun. And still another reason was that traveling introduced him to so many wonderful people, from so many walks of life, many of whom—the female ones, at any rate—he could share serious, monogamous relationships with, often for days on end. Jet-setting playboy, Erik had concluded a long time ago, was just about the best occupation a man could have.
Still, when he was forced to spend time at home in Youngsville, his parents’ estate was more than accommodating. Even at 9:00 a.m., Erik was still clad in his burgundy silk robe and pajama bottoms, stretched out in his king-size bed, the remnants of his breakfast lying neglected now on the silver tray that Bates, the true-blue Randolph butler, had placed beside him an hour ago. And although Erik felt restless and edgy, as if he were on the brink of some vague, life-altering experience, he just couldn’t quite muster the energy necessary to pull himself out of bed and go greet that experience head-on.
Really, what was the point? he asked himself, dragging an impatient hand through his overly long, dark hair. It was Monday, it was raining, and he could think of no better way to spend the day than idling about. On top of everything else, it was the first day of September, reminding him that his thirtieth birthday was this month, and that—
Suddenly, Erik understood his restlessness, his edginess, his need to go out and meet that life-altering experience head-on. His thirtieth birthday was two weeks away. Damn. This was just what he needed. He’d dedicated his entire summer to zigzagging around the globe, miring himself in denial over the fact that he would soon be thirty years old. Now, suddenly, there it was, staring him in the face. His thirtieth birthday. Only two weeks away. Fourteen days. That was all he had left to his twenties. Two lousy weeks, fourteen lousy days.
Thirty. He was about to turn thirty. God. When had that happened?
It wasn’t so much the chronological significance of turning thirty that bothered Erik. Although he’d very much enjoyed his twenties, he didn’t consider thirty to be the end of his life. On the contrary, he knew several people who were actually in their thirties, and they seemed to be having a surprisingly good time. Many of them even claimed that their thirties were actually more enjoyable than their twenties had been.
Not that Erik was quite willing to go that far, but he wasn’t all that averse to turning thirty. Or, at least, he wouldn’t be. Not if it weren’t for the fact that he had a familial obligation he needed to meet soon. Like, by his thirtieth birthday. Like, in two weeks. Like, in fourteen days.
Fourteen lousy days.
Because within fourteen lousy days, Erik had to acquire something very specific in order to claim an inheritance, currently in trust, left to him by his paternal grandfather. Certainly it wouldn’t break Erik financially if he declined the inheritance—even without his grandfather’s riches, the Randolphs were an exceedingly wealthy family. But Erik’s father was adamant that Erik take possession of the estate that the elder Randolph felt was his entitlement.
Damien Randolph, Erik’s father, hadn’t gotten along particularly well with his own father—in fact, the two men had stopped speaking to each other more than a decade ago. As a result, Grandfather Randolph had split his entire estate—his entire estate of $180 million—between Erik and his two sisters, bypassing his own son entirely.
Of course, it was all contingent on one small stipulation. Because Grandfather Randolph had feared that his grandchildren would never outgrow their notorious playboy and playgirl habits—and for good reason, too, Erik couldn’t help but think now—the will stated that in order to claim their share of the estate, each would have to meet that one simple stipulation before his or her thirtieth birthday. Not that Erik’s sisters had to worry about it for some time—Celeste was four years younger than Erik, and Maureen was eight years younger than he—so Erik would be the test subject. And because he did have a good relationship with his own father, Erik felt rather obligated to meet his grandfather’s requirement, and keep in the Randolph family as much of the Randolph wealth as possible. Really, it was the least Erik could do for his father.
And hey, his share did amount to sixty million dollars.
It wasn’t every day that a man acquired an estate that large and that secure. Grandfather Randolph had been a very wise investor. Once Erik inherited, he’d be set for life. Not that he wasn’t already pretty much set right now, but a man could never be too sure.
And had he mentioned that his share did amount to sixty million dollars?
Still, there was that one simple criterion Erik was obligated to meet before he could take control of his inheritance, and he had to meet it by his thirtieth birthday. Really, it wouldn’t be all that hard to do. What Erik needed to find could be found almost anywhere. He just hadn’t gotten around to looking for one yet, that was all. Now that he only had fourteen days, though, he supposed he should get hopping.
But where to look first, he wondered? Did the Yellow Pages have a listing for what he needed? If he looked under W, would he find a section labeled Wives?
Ah, well. If not, no problem. Should he find a shortage of wives in Youngsville, he’d just pick one up somewhere else. Chicago was right across Lake Michigan and was quite a bit larger than his own community. If he couldn’t find a wife here in town, then surely they had plenty of potential wives over there.
Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to have to keep the wife he found. Grandfather’s will stated quite clearly that Erik need only remain married for one year in order to collect his inheritance. He supposed his grandfather thought that a year of settling down would be enough to keep Erik settled down. Grandfather Randolph had been so utterly smitten by his own wife that the thought of the marriage ending prematurely had never crossed his mind. The old man had probably thought that Erik need only spend enough time in the company of a good woman to become equally smitten himself.
In a word, Hah.
Not only was Erik much too pragmatic to believe in anything as…as…as silly…as romantic love, but he was also much too entrenched in his globe-trotting playboy lifestyle—not to mention he liked that lifestyle way too much—to ever abandon it. Still, he could put it on hold for a year if it meant maintaining the family status quo, couldn’t he? Especially if it meant maintaining the family status quo and inheriting millions and millions and millions of dollars.
Sometimes, he thought, one just had to make a sacrifice.
Content with his decision to start wife hunting that very morning, Erik rose from his bed. As he launched himself into a full-body stretch, he began his mental shopping list, making note of all the qualities he would require in his wife. She would, it went without saying, have to be beautiful. And blond. He’d always liked blondes, so that’s what he would look for in his wife. Eye color wasn’t especially important, but brown eyes on a blonde were always a good thing, in his opinion. His wife would also have to be reasonably intelligent and fairly articulate. He did so dislike empty conversations. Not that she would need to expound on physics and genetics—au contraire—but knowledge of the current fashion climate would be most welcome.
Let’s see, what else…? he wondered.
She would need to be demure, perhaps even coquettish, and it would be preferable if she had a mild disposition. She should be a free thinker, but open to suggestions, and she would have to have some working knowledge of the social register, not to mention the ins and outs of proper etiquette. Erik attended a lot of parties, and he expected his wife to be as comfortable in such settings as he was himself. She’d need to have a sense of style, a love of fine wine, an appreciation for the arts…
He really should start writing this down, he thought. So much to do, so little time.
A rousing clap of thunder reminded him that he would be doing it in less-than-agreeable weather, too. Still, that would only add to the challenge, wouldn’t it? And Erik did appreciate challenges. Provided, of course, they weren’t too challenging.
Then again, what could possibly be challenging about finding a wife? He was one of Youngsville’s most eligible bachelors. He’d read that himself in the Sunday magazine section of the Youngsville Gazette not too long ago. Therefore, it must be true. He was practically a local celebrity. Any woman would jump at the chance to be his wife. He had everything to offer—good looks, wry wit, cheerful disposition, good finances, a nice home. All right, so that last was actually not his, in name. That was a minor technicality. It was still a nice part of his personal package. In fact, the only thing Erik could think of that he lacked as a potential suitor was—
A ring. An engagement ring. He’d certainly need one of those if he was going to attract the right woman. A wife would first have to be a fiancée, and he couldn’t have a fiancée without the proper ring. Of course, only the finest ring would be suitable for Erik Randolph’s future wife. And everyone in Youngsville, Indiana, knew where you went if you wanted to purchase the best in jewelry.
Colette, Inc.
That would be Erik’s first stop on his wife-hunting safari today, he decided. He’d find just the right ring, one that was beautiful without being showy, exquisite without being ostentatious, elegant without being plain. Much like the woman he hoped to find, he couldn’t helping thinking whimsically.
Yes, Colette, he was certain, would have exactly what he was looking for.
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