She's No Angel

by Leslie Kelly

  “I don’t have a suit.”

  “Me, either.”

  He smiled. A tiny bit. But it was a start—a beginning. His defenses, and the tension, were easing.

  “Thank you for following me,” she whispered. “I don’t think I realized how much I wanted you to until I saw you burst in.”

  “Even though I showed up too late?”

  “You came. That’s all that matters.”

  “Why?” he asked, his jaw tightening. “This morning all you wanted was for me to stop trying to protect you.”

  Jen deserved that accusation, because he was right. She had felt that way this morning. Now, however, she better understood the true meaning of love and sacrifice. Having learned all there was to know about Ivy’s tragedy and lost love, she was in no way ready to let a simple misunderstanding or minor clash of personalities come between her and Mike.

  Life was simply too capricious to give up a moment with someone you truly loved.

  “I don’t need you to protect me,” she said, trying to verbalize her feelings. “But…I’m humbled by the lengths you’ll go to because I think it means you care about me.”

  They’d reached the turnoff for the old park and Mike steered the Jeep toward the parking lot. To her surprise, Jen saw remnants of a picnic—trash in a can, a forgotten empty bottle of wine on one of the tables. Apparently others had begun to rediscover this magical little place.

  Too bad. She kind of liked the privacy here.

  For now, at least, the park was still silent, empty.

  Private.

  “If I’m right, and you do feel the way I do, I can put up with a lot. I can live with your need to physically protect me once in a while as long as you promise to be honest with me,” she said. “No more lies, no more emotional protection like keeping secrets you think I can’t handle.”

  “I was stupid…”

  “I forgive you,” she whispered, wondering if he heard what else she was saying with every heartfelt word. I love you. “I think I’d forgive you just about anything. Except letting me get away again.”

  Cutting the engine, Mike got out and came around to her door. He helped her down, though she really didn’t need it. Jen slid down his body, needing the connection. Needing some response to the last thing she’d said.

  Had she misread him? Did he not feel the way she hoped he did? Staring up at him, she sought the truth in his brown eyes, not attempting to hide it in her own.

  “I love you, Jen,” he finally said, the words falling soft and sweet around her, like the tender leaves shaken down by the summer breeze above them. “I love you and I died a little when I thought you were in danger today.”

  “I love you, too. And I died a little when I left you.”

  He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her so sweetly she started to cry. Their mouths silently shared many things, all of them tender, all of them emotional. Questions and answers. Promises and oaths. Words of love that didn’t need to be said to be conveyed.

  But oh, it was so nice to hear them. “Tell me again,” she demanded when he ended the kiss.

  “I love you.”

  She gazed up at the sky, letting the warmth of the sun fall on her face and shouting with sheer joy. “He loves me!”

  Mike whispered, “Yeah. He does.”

  Looking back at him—filling her senses with him—she asked, “Even though there’s a bit of murder and craziness in my family?”

  He reached his hand up and scratched his jaw as if thinking about it. “Well…”

  “Mike Taylor!” she snapped, fisting her hands and putting them on her hips.

  He slid his arms around her waist and tugged her close again. “You are exactly what I was too stubborn and stupid to realize I needed. You’re also everything I now know will make me happy for the rest of my life.”

  “And you’re the kind of man I always hoped existed, even when I was screaming to the world that you didn’t,” she admitted.

  He smiled, as if pleased, then whispered, “Marry me, Jen.”

  The proposal came suddenly, as if out of nowhere, but she knew this man. He did nothing without thinking about it first. He wanted her—truly—for the rest of his life.

  “Oh, yes, I will.” Sighing, she kissed him again, deeper this time, sliding her tongue against his. Remembering all the amazing things he’d made her feel from the moment they’d met.

  Especially last night.

  “Remember the last time we were here?” she whispered against his mouth.

  “How could I forget?”

  She reached for the bottom of his shirt, tugging it from his jeans. “Think the water would feel as good now as it did then?”

  A gleam in his eye as he caught her meaning, he nodded. “I imagine it will feel even better if we’re wearing nothing.”

  That sounded good to her. In fact it sounded great to her. With laughter on her lips, she said, “Race you!” then started running down toward the water’s edge. She flung her clothes off as she ran, her shirt flying right into Mike’s face. But she hadn’t reached the lake when Mutt leaped in front of her, excited and joining in the race. She had to jog around him, almost falling, losing a few precious seconds.

  “I won,” Mike called with a smug look as he raced past her into the lake, still fully dressed.

  “Your had an accomplice.”

  He looked at Mutt. “Good boy. Go lie down.” As always, the lazy thing didn’t need a second invitation to take a nap. He ambled to the picnic table and crawled beneath it.

  Wearing only her bra and panties, with her shirt gone and her skirt tangled at her feet, Jen glared. “You also cheated. You’re still dressed.”

  Unrepentant, he shrugged. “Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t swim naked. I just didn’t necessarily mean I’d waste time taking everything off before I got in.”

  He reached for his belt, slowly unbuckling it and tugging it free. Jen watched, slipping out of the last of her clothes, not sure which excited her more—the incredible body being revealed before her gaze, or the look in his eyes as he watched her walk toward him in the water.

  They met in the shallows, as he was tossing his shoes and the rest of his clothes onto the shore. His hard, powerful body gleamed in the sunlight, strong, rippled and best of all hers.

  “You are beautiful, Jennifer Feeney. I can’t wait to make babies with you.”

  Again he surprised her, saying something so unexpected—so sweet and tender—she gasped at the shock of it. “I hope they look like you,” she replied as she slid against him, all his bare skin warm and perfect against hers.

  He treated her to one of his enormous, brilliant smiles, flashing those amazing dimples that stopped her heart. “As long as they don’t take after your aunts.”

  “Not nice,” she murmured, wondering if she should go ahead and tell him she’d been adopted.

  Before she could decide, he began kissing her, running the tips of his fingers up and down her sides, caressing her hip and her waist and the bottoms of her breasts. Mmm, he was glorious…hot, hard, sensual. And she wanted him desperately.

  Melting into him as they moved deep in the water and continued to love one another, she decided she’d tell him later. She wanted him too much right now to waste the words.

  Besides…as Jennifer Feeney well knew, it was never a bad thing to keep a man wondering.

  EPILOGUE

  THE BRIDE WORE BLUE. A light, icy blue just perfect for the cold December morning on which the wedding was held.

  The event was small, taking place in the parlor of Mortimer Potts’s house, as the engaged couple had wanted it. Witnessed only by family and a few close friends, the quiet ceremony suited the pair, who’d remained glued to each other’s sides throughout the ensuing reception.

  Funny, Mortimer realized as he hid behind a potted plant on his patio, sneaking a cigar—his house was becoming a regular wedding chapel. First Max’s nuptials last Christmas, now these.

  “And hopefully a few more
soon,” he mumbled.

  The whole family was in attendance—Max and Sabrina home from California for the holidays. Mike and Jen, of course. Even Morgan, making a five-day stop between photographic adventures in Bali and Singapore.

  Ahh, that was the life. What Mortimer wouldn’t give to be going with him.

  “You know, if Rod sees you smoking, his bow tie’s going to pop right off his neck,” an amused voice said.

  Mortimer quickly glanced around and saw, thankfully, his oldest grandson, Morgan, standing behind him on the patio. Morgan, he was well aware, knew how to keep his mouth shut.

  The boy wasn’t taciturn and private, like Michael had been before he’d fallen madly in love with Jen. He was just always caught up in his own thoughts. Much too focused on his own affairs to stick his nose in other people’s. Max called him the Indiana Jones of the family, but rather than going on adventures to search for ancient treasure, he went to expose suffering and corruption wherever they existed.

  “Max, you rascal,” he said with a smile, watching through the window as his middle grandson goosed his wife right in the middle of the party.

  Had Max been the one to catch Mortimer out here, smoking in the cold, he would have laughingly scolded him, then demanded a Cuban of his own as hush payment. The always protective Michael would have crushed the damn thing against the side of the house.

  Morgan simply minded his business.

  Mortimer puffed again, continuing to watch, Morgan right beside him. A few of the bride’s closest friends were in attendance, as was the groom’s sister and some friends from the old days. Did he and Rod, Mortimer wondered, look as old as they did?

  “How do you like the bride?” he asked his grandson.

  “I just met Emily yesterday, but Roderick seems happy.”

  “Yes, he is. Took him a while to loosen up, but he’s landed a good one. Maxwell is very happy, too.” Staring straight ahead, Mortimer didn’t dare meet his brilliant grandson’s eye. “Marriage does seem to agree with him. I’m sure Michael will be just as content when he and Jen marry this spring.”

  “Mmm, hmm.”

  Mortimer reminded himself to tread carefully. Morgan was the oldest and had been single and traveling the world for years. He wouldn’t give that up easily. “What do you think of Jennifer?”

  “She’s perfect.”

  Yes. His oldest grandson saw exactly what Mortimer had seen the moment he’d met Miss Feeney. She was the perfect woman for Michael. If only she had a sister.

  “The parents seem like good people,” Mortimer said. He watched as Jen’s mother and father—who’d come to town for the engagement party scheduled for tomorrow night—socialized with all the others. They’d taken to Mike right away, her father declaring him man enough to keep Jennifer on her toes.

  That was mutual, in Mortimer’s opinion.

  Ida Mae and Ivy hovered over their baby brother. He, obviously, was the apple of their eye, and they’d barely looked in Mortimer’s direction all day. He hadn’t taken offense. After all, no one knew better than Mortimer Potts that family was more important than anything else in the world.

  “The grandmother’s a bit of a kook, though,” Morgan said.

  Following his grandson’s stare, Mortimer realized with surprise that he was staring at Ida Mae. “She’s not Jen’s…” Then he paused, looking closer. The resemblance between Ida Mae and Ivan was startling. Much more obvious than any between the two sisters. The age difference made it very plausible. He suddenly realized Morgan’s assumption made a great deal of sense.

  “Best not tell Michael,” Mortimer said. “He’s happy the Feeney sisters are his wife’s adoptive aunts. I don’t think he’d like his children having one of them for a great-grandmother.”

  “You, on the other hand, will be the world’s best great-grandfather.”

  The words were so unexpected coming from his oldest grandson that Mortimer turned to him and smiled. The December wind caused a bit of moisture to rise up in the corners of his eyes. Only the wind, of course. “Soon, I hope.”

  Morgan nodded. “Max said he and Sabrina are trying.”

  Wonderful. Perfect. Delightful.

  Oh, how he longed to see a sweet little face wrapped in a soft blanket.

  Stepping to the side, Morgan blocked the wind with his big body so it didn’t touch Mortimer’s skin. The gesture was silent, instinctive. Protective and loving.

  How in God’s name had he and Roddy ever managed to raise such good, good men?

  Morgan remained silent, continuing to watch as Roderick—who’d been another father to him for so many years—celebrated his marriage to Emily Baker. Finally, though, he murmured, “Are you going to be all right without him?”

  Mortimer snorted. “Without who? You can’t imagine Roddy living in that little house of Emily’s, can you? No, indeed, they rented it out to Allie and her young man. Rod and Emily will be staying right here.” He crushed out his cigar, then smiled. “Maybe they’ll even have the house to themselves. Might be time for me to take myself off on an adventure.”

  Morgan merely lifted an eyebrow.

  “Need a good man along in Singapore?”

  A slow, deliberate smile widened his grandson’s mouth. What a handsome one he was. Just like his grandfather. “I might.”

  Puffing his chest out, Mortimer added, “No problem with a fellow who has a bit of experience on him, is there?”

  Shaking his head, Morgan said evenly, “Experience is a definite plus.”

  Mortimer stared into his grandson’s eyes—startlingly blue, like his own—and like his daughter Carla’s.

  Swallowing away a lump in his throat, he added, “I’d have to be back in time for Michael’s wedding. Especially if Max has a baby on the way.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Mortimer frowned. “I won’t be coddled.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, old man.”

  They held each other’s stare for a long time. Morgan, of all his grandsons, knew Mortimer the best. Perhaps because they had so much in common, always longing for a new adventure, wondering what was beyond the next horizon. Ready to take on the world—fight the corrupt, break a few hearts.

  Live and live well.

  “The others might not approve,” he cautioned.

  Morgan nodded, something glittering in his eyes. Acceptance. Understanding. Love. “Since when have we let that stop us?”

  Laughing, Mortimer clapped his hands in delight. He should have known Morgan would understand that even more than eight decades of life weren’t weight enough to keep Mortimer Potts in one spot for long. There were so many places out there waiting for him, and now he had a perfect home to come back to at the end of whatever new adventures life would grant him.

  This was his home now, no doubt about it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t see a few more sights before he was finished on this earth.

  After all, there would always be Trouble to come back to

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-0592-8

  SHE’S NO ANGEL

  Copyright © 2007 by Leslie Kelly

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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