Desperate Measures

by Linda Cajio

  Desperate Measures is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  A Loveswept eBook Edition

  Copyright © 1989 by Linda Cajio

  Excerpt from Along Came Trouble by Ruthie Knox copyright © 2013 by Ruth Homrighaus.

  Excerpt from The Notorious Lady Anne by Sharon Cullen copyright © 2013 by Sharon Cullen.

  Excerpt from Unforgettable by Linda Cajio copyright © 1989 by Linda Cajio.

  All Rights Reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark of Random House, Inc.

  Desperate Measures was originally published in paperback by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc. in 1989.

  eISBN: 978-0-307-79895-4

  www.ReadLoveSwept.com

  v3.1

  Bill Flannery—who

  made his own

  “emergency” exit.

  Thanks for the

  inspiration.

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Epilogue

  Editor’s Corner

  Excerpt from Ruthie Knox’s Along Came Trouble

  Excerpt from Sharon Cullen’s The Notorious Lady Anne

  Excerpt from Linda Cajio’s Unforgettable

  One

  She was the most incredible woman he’d ever seen.

  At least he thought she was, Joe Carlini admitted as he desperately tried to keep his balance and look natural. Still, his frantic glance around the roller skating rink had shown someone extraordinary.

  “Dammit. Of all times,” he said under his breath, while gingerly placing one skate in front of the other. Naturally, there would be a major distraction when he was trying to prevent a catastrophe. His feet slipped out in opposite directions yet again, and he clutched at the lime green cinder-block wall. Muttering curses, he managed to stay upright through sheer willpower.

  He decided he was insane to have thought he could pull this off. The last time he’d been on skates was at least twenty years ago, and he hadn’t been any good at it then. He certainly wasn’t fooling any of the adults at this southern New Jersey skating rink. All of them were whizzing gracefully by him with the skills of experience and practice … including Mario Penza.

  This was no time to be clinging to cinder block, Joe thought, as he inched his way along the wall. He had followed his adversary to the rink without a hitch, then had boldly come inside. Mario, to his reluctant admiration, had barely blinked at the opposition’s unexpected appearance. It had been a fluke of luck that Joe had discovered Mario’s rendezvous … and he’d been horrified when he realized what Mario was up to. Still, Joe had won this particular battle, and Mario’s clever attempt at espionage was in jeopardy. Up to a point. Unfortunately, it was an “adults only” morning at the rink, with free coffee and doughnuts, so a nonskater drew more attention to himself than he might want. But why Joe had thought he would be less conspicuous on skates was beyond him now. He had hoped, in one stroke, to trap Mario and whomever he was meeting. Instead, he had fallen into another trap quite nicely.

  Mario’s voice was suddenly in his ear. “You’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are, Joe.”

  Ignoring the sarcasm, Joe turned his head toward Mario, who had braked to a halt a mere foot away. Joe smiled blandly. He knew he couldn’t show the least emotion. “So you would like to think.”

  Mario was not daunted. “You look so foolish.”

  “Not as foolish as you are. You’ve been caught, Mario.”

  The young face lost its cocky expression and turned hard. “You can’t do a damn thing without proof and you know it. And if you do, I’ll rub your nose in it.”

  “And you’ve just admitted there’s proof to be had,” Joe said.

  Mario snarled at his own mistake, then skated away. Joe grimaced as he watched him go. Knowing Mario—and unfortunately he knew him all too well—Joe was certain the younger man would hardly be chastened by the exchange. Joe muttered a barnyard curse that summed up all his frustrations beautifully.

  “Instead of swearing at the fates, why don’t you keep me company while I skate over to the benches?”

  The voice was soft and serene and tinged with amusement. Even before he turned his head, Joe knew whom he would find.

  Still, he wasn’t prepared for his own reaction when he stared into her blue-green eyes. The internal explosion was instantaneous and intense, and like nothing he’d ever felt before.

  His first thought was that his first thought hadn’t done her justice. She was very beautiful. And then he realized she wasn’t. At least not in the conventional sense. Her jaw was a shade too square and her nose a shade too broad for her features to be truly delicate. But her complexion was flawless, the fair skin like rich, unblemished cream. Her hair, pulled back from her face, was neither brown nor blond. More of a champagne color, he decided. Her perfume was subtle and clearly expensive. His gaze wandered helplessly downward to discover breasts, soft and full, a small waist, and rounded hips. The gentle slenderness of her body was undeniably sensual.

  And best of all, she had a thoroughly kissable mouth.

  Some shred of sense surfaced, reminding him he was there to prevent the course of destruction set by Mario. But his awareness was caught by the answering fire flaring in her eyes. He blindly reached out his hand to it.…

  And, incredibly, it was gone.

  “Can you go with me?” she asked in the most normal of voices. “Or would you prefer to hang onto the wall?”

  Her sensual response to him had been so brief, he almost wondered if he had imagined it. He couldn’t have. Still, she had suppressed it so completely.…

  Joe cleared his throat and straightened. His skates instantly shot out from under him. The woman grabbed his arm and steadied him before he lost his balance. He was surprised and yet not surprised that her touch ignited a slow burn within him. It radiated through his veins, heating his blood.

  Whoever she was, she did the damnedest things to him. And he very much liked the way she avoided embarrassing him. She looked familiar too. He wondered if he’d seen her before, yet knew he wouldn’t have forgotten if he had.

  “I think I’ll try the benches,” he said, grinning. “I thought this would be like riding a bicycle and everything would instantly come back.”

  “I believe that is the theory,” she replied, smiling at him.

  “I’m Joe Carlini.”

  Her smile faded for an instant. “I … my name is Ellen, and I find waddling like a duck helps.”

  Joe blinked, not sure he heard right. “You waddle like a duck?”

  “Yes. Here, I’ll show you.” Her fingers tightened around his arm. She bent her knees slightly and pushed off slowly from side to side. He helplessly followed her example. He had to, or else he’d be pulling her down with him. While the thought had its merits, he didn’t care to make a fool of himself voluntarily. He was doing just fine involuntarily.

  He realized that his feet weren’t slipping out from under him and his balance was much better.

  “I can skate!” he exclaimed.

  “Maybe it would be best not to commit yourself quite so soon,�
�� Ellen cautioned, when he wavered.

  “Good point.”

  Still, he couldn’t help gazing around the skating rink with newfound pleasure. He spotted Mario and immediately reminded himself he was here to stop the younger man from conducting his “business.” He had to. The consequences were unthinkable if he didn’t.

  Mario was staring back. Joe couldn’t quite make out his expression from across the wooden rink, but the other was so intent on him that he nearly bumped into a skating couple. After neatly avoiding the collision, Mario dipped his head in concession. Joe nodded back, indicating their “game” was hardly over. He hated to impose upon his lovely rescuer further, but he had no choice. It was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to waste.

  With more courage than he thought he had he steered away from the benches and toward the skating circle.

  “You’re going in the wrong direction,” Ellen warned.

  “More fool I,” he said, taking her hand. He skated just a little faster, and when he didn’t fall on his face, he said, “Actually, I’m getting a lot of self-confidence back, so if you’d just hang in here with me for a few turns around the rink, I’d really appreciate it. I feel like I’m on a roll.”

  “Let’s not get crazy here.” She hesitated for a moment, then laughed slightly. “More fool I. But only once around the rink, and then we’ll see.”

  He heard an underlying surprise in her laugh, as if she hadn’t laughed for a long time. He glanced at her. Now that the fire he’d glimpsed earlier was under control, he could discern an air of fragility about her, as though she were close to shattering. The thought startled him. He tightened his fingers around hers and smiled. “Good. I’ll lead.”

  He sped up his “waddle.” He wouldn’t win any races, he admitted, but at least he was moving at more than a snail’s pace … and staying upright. This wasn’t so bad.

  “Been skating long?” he asked his companion, as he noticed Mario weaving expertly in and out of the other skaters. Show-off, he thought darkly.

  Ellen didn’t answer at first. He glanced over at her patrician profile. She must have sensed his awareness, for she said, “I skate off and on. It’s great exercise.”

  “So I’ve been told. Unfortunately, somebody forgot to tell me about the pitfalls.”

  She groaned at his near pun. “You’re doing very well.”

  “I’m getting great help,” he said, squeezing her fingers. Her hand fitted in his perfectly, as if made for it. “I thought I’d try this rather than the gym,” he added. “It seemed … easier. I forgot that you actually had to know how to skate.”

  She laughed, and again he sensed a rustiness on her part. He was also beginning to sense a barrier, very subtle yet solid. She was politely friendly and no more.

  And that, he thought, as Mario skated across their path, was all he had time for right now.

  “Do you come here often?” he asked, hoping she might have seen Mario here before. At the moment he was desperate for any kind of information.

  “Oh … ahh,” she stammered. He was surprised to see color flushing her cheeks. “I’ve been here once or twice, maybe. Actually, hardly ever.”

  Somehow her words didn’t ring true. It was obvious she skated regularly somewhere, although he knew it might not be at this rink. He decided another tack might be better.

  “I wouldn’t think so many people could get away on a weekday morning to skate,” he said, and pointed to Mario. “Take that guy. Somehow he doesn’t look like a guy who would skate.”

  Ellen smiled. “Neither do you.”

  “You’re telling me,” he mumbled. He watched Mario skate up to a man, pause there for a second, then move past. He’d done this several times with various people. Joe’s heart lifted with hope each time, only to be dashed when no flick of anything passed between them. Dammit, which one was the one? With a vague suspicion that he was being taunted, he resumed his probing of Ellen. “But he can really skate, can’t he? Ever seen him here before, Ellen?”

  Somebody accidentally bumped into Ellen before she could answer, and she was pushed just far enough away for their hands to break contact. Instantly he felt as insecure as ever on the skates, and he stretched out his hand to take hers again.

  He missed.

  Joe yelped as he felt his body overbalance. He forced himself up, and overbalanced in the opposite direction. He tried to keep his backside as far from the hard wooden floor as possible. His feet shot forward of their own accord.

  “Waddle!” Ellen shouted from behind him.

  He waddled. He was able to bring his balance back, but the waddling had an unfortunate side effect. His speed had increased, and he was zooming between the skaters and the outer wall of the rink at a pace Jackie Stewart would have admired. He passed his cousin at a fast clip. He had no idea how to stop, and there was nothing to grab onto to brake himself.

  He was considering crashing into the wall when he caught sight of a bar sticking out from it at about waist height. His mind registered that it was one of the emergency exit doors. Blessing the miracle, he grabbed for it as he approached. His fingers closed gratefully around the cold steel.

  To his horror, the bar gave inward.

  The exit door swung open, and Joe shot out into the blinding spring sunlight. He rolled across the concrete sidewalk … and fell flat on his face the moment his roller skates hit the grass. He lay there, face down in the dandelions, and decided he was really going to have to talk to Mario about his choice of illicit rendezvous. A nice, safe hotel lounge would have done very well. He could hear voices behind him, and he reluctantly sat up. Nothing seemed to be broken except his dignity. A group of skaters were crowded in the open doorway.

  “Leaving so soon?” someone asked.

  “I have a plane to catch,” Joe quipped, and everyone laughed.

  “You should turn in your skates first, mister,” the rink manager said with amusement.

  “I told the skates that, but they wouldn’t listen,” Joe said, chuckling.

  Several people helped him to his feet and back into the building. Once he was settled onto one of the benches, out of harm’s way, everyone skated off. He looked around, puzzled for a moment and not sure why.

  “What’s wrong with this picture?” he muttered.

  Then he realized that Mario, formerly so visible among the other skaters, had vanished. He was nowhere to be seen inside the skating rink.

  And neither was the beautiful Ellen.

  “You will be coming to the charity dance for Graduate Hospital, won’t you, Ellen?”

  Ellen Kitteridge turned her mind from the unwanted image of a sexy man with a devastating smile. That image had haunted her for three days. Her almost uncontrollable reaction to Joe Carlini had been vivid. And frightening.

  Spotting her grandmother’s willful expression, she hid a smile. Trust Lettice Kitteridge to turn a question into a command.

  “We’ll see, Grandmother,” she said, and sipped her after-lunch coffee. The dance was a good cause, but she hated the thought of all those people knowing … and staring …

  “I’m on the board of trustees,” her grandmother said, exasperation evident in her voice. “People expect it of you.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “You came to Marlee’s tea the other day.”

  “Yes, I did,” Ellen said, then tapped the seven heavily embossed envelopes next to her napkin. “Marlee asked me as a friend, not because my name looks good on the guest list. Which is more than I can say for these. And you know as well as I do the phone-call invitations are double this every day. Everybody wants the former wife of Prince Florian Borghese at their party or tea. But nobody will actually talk to Ellen Kitteridge, who had the nerve to divorce ‘Italy’s Darling.’ ”

  The delicate cup in her grandmother’s hand met the saucer with a sharp click. She raised her chin to a disapproving angle. “Really, Ellen, you do yourself a disservice. Everybody—”

  “Everybody, including my parents, has
made it a point to show their disappointment that I had a shot at being this generation’s Grace Kelly and I blew it.”

  “I told you not to marry him,” Lettice said.

  Ellen stifled a moan. Hoping to head off the lecture, she said in a rush, “Yes, and you were the only one. And I was a fool not to listen to you. Could we end this now?”

  “Yes, you were a fool,” Lettice agreed, clearly ignoring her granddaughter’s request. “He was an overblown ski bum with some dingy title, and you fell for it.”

  “He was hardly a ski bum. He’d won gold medals in the giant slalom in two consecutive Olympics. And his family have been princes of Lombardy since the middle ages.” Ellen knew she was fueling her grandmother, yet she felt, in all fairness, she had to mention the truth.

  Lettice made a rude noise. “Big deal. You were too shy to stand up for yourself in those days, and too eager to please. With my idiot son pushing you like that, it was no wonder you fell for that hulking blond. Everybody was enamored of that title, but nobody considered that the man didn’t measure up to it. You did measure up as a princess, however. I was very proud of the way you took on all those duties he couldn’t be bothered with. I know you didn’t care for the socializing that your position required. You were admirable, child.”

  “Thank you.” Ellen toyed with her napkin. It was amazing how many hospital dedications and school openings could be attended in one day. But all of it had fit in with what everyone expected of her, and she’d thought she’d finally found her niche as Florian’s wife.

  Unfortunately, she had been naive enough to believe a sensitive, loving man had been hiding behind his “playboy prince” image. But then she’d discovered that the Borghese estate needed financial shoring up. Worse, Florian ran through money like water and actually thrived on gossip and publicity. She had later thought that he must have picked women who were on a tabloid’s payroll—the stories of his affairs had been detailed, sensational, and published almost daily. Florian had actually kept a scrapbook. It had taken a tragedy for her to swallow her pride at last and admit that Florian had definitely gone for the gold. Hers.