Sentenced To Wed
Page 1
Mark hadn’t held a woman since…
He shoved that thought away, wishing he had the strength to shove away the warm, tender woman pressing into him. Another time, another place, he might have relished embracing Livia Kingston. But right now she could be only a means to an end.
If he lost sight of that, he’d lose the one thing that mattered to him more than his own life—his son.
His hand hit the bare skin at her back, and heat sizzled through his fingertips, tugged at his groin.
Every time he looked at her, he felt some weird connection, not just a male-female lure. This felt as if he knew her on some spiritual level—which made no sense whatsoever.
“Are you okay?” Livia whispered.
Hell, no, he wasn’t okay. He lifted his gaze and saw that she felt it, too—a preknowledge of some sort. A shudder rattled through him, clear into his soul.
What the hell was this…this strange sense that Livia Kingston and he were somehow bonded together, sentenced to be with each other for a lifetime…?
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
Yeah, it’s cold outside, but we have just the remedy to heat you up—another fantastic lineup of breathtaking romantic suspense!
Getting things started with even more excitement than usual is Debra Webb with a super spin-off of her popular COLBY AGENCY series. THE SPECIALISTS is a trilogy of ultradaring operatives the likes of which are rarely—if ever—seen. And man, are they sexy! Look for Undercover Wife this month and two more thrillers to follow in February and March. Hang on to your seats.
A triple pack of TOP SECRET BABIES also kicks off the New Year. First out: The Secret She Keeps by Cassie Miles. Can you imagine how you’d feel if you learned the father of your child was back…as were all the old emotions? This one, by a veteran Harlequin Intrigue author, is surely a keeper. Promotional titles by Mallory Kane and Ann Voss Peterson respectively follow in the months to come.
And since Cupid is once again a blip on the radar screen, we thought we’d highlight some special Valentine picks for the holiday. Harper Allen singes the sheets so to speak with McQueen’s Heat and Adrianne Lee is Sentenced To Wed this month. Next month, Amanda Stevens fans the flames with Confessions of the Heart. WARNING: You may need sunblock to read these scorchers.
Enjoy!
Sincerely,
Denise O’Sullivan
Associate Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
SENTENCED tO WED
ADRIANNE LEE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
When asked why she wanted to write romance fiction, Adrianne Lee replied, “I wanted to be Doris Day when I grew up. You know, singing my way through one wonderful romance after another. And I did. I fell in love with and married my high school sweetheart and became the mother of three beautiful daughters. Family and love are very important to me and I hope you enjoy the way I weave them through my stories.” Adrianne also states, “I love hearing from my readers and am happy to write back. You can reach me at Adrianne Lee, P.O. Box 3835, Sequim, WA 98382. Please enclose a SASE if you’d like a response.”
Books by Adrianne Lee
HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE
296—SOMETHING BORROWED, SOMETHING BLUE
354—MIDNIGHT COWBOY
383—EDEN’S BABY
422—ALIAS: DADDY
438—LITTLE GIRL LOST
479—THE RUNAWAY BRIDE
496—THE BEST-KEPT SECRET
524—THE BRIDE’S SECRET
580—LITTLE BOY LOST
609—UNDERCOVER BABY
627—HIS ONLY DESIRE
678—PRINCE UNDER COVER
696—SENTENCED TO WED
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Livia Kingston—Thinks she knows what she wants, until she loses it all. Then she’s given one month to straighten it out or lose it all for good.
Mark Everett—This sexy caterer holds the key to Livia’s survival, but his secrets and undercover identity could get them both killed.
Reese Rayburn—Livia’s fiancé is a control freak. What’s his is his and no one had better try taking it from him.
Sookie Rayburn—A social icon in her own mind, Reese’s mother may not be the ditzy redhead she seems to be.
Jay Rayburn—Reese’s uncle once played for the Seattle SuperSonics basketball team, but had to settle for running the company’s grocery business, a job that ill afforded him the means to maintain his gambling addiction.
Ali Douglas—Rayburn Grocers’ office manager. Is she only eye candy or something much more deadly?
Josh Marshall—Mark’s son is the pawn in someone’s deadly game.
To Anne Martin and Gayle Webster—
without you two I would never be able to do this which
I love. And always to Larry, who knows why.
SPECIAL THANKS to Priscilla Berthiaume, for her
tender care and handling when the stress was at its
worst, for her creative and constructive input always.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Epilogue
Prologue
The force of the impact against her chest knocked Livia Kingston off her feet. Pain flashed through her, searing, sharp, quick, gone in the blink of her eye, replaced by darkness, solid, unrelenting, enfolding her, embracing her with the hunger of a new lover. Livia rode with the sensation that seemed to lift her very being and float her, weightless and airy like fluff on the wind sailing upward toward a destination she could not see.
Not darkness. Light. Blinding. Solid. As though she stood nose to nose with a halogen lamp. But this was all around her, everywhere she looked. She squinted, raised a hand to her brow, tried to focus, to pick out one item, anything she might recognize, a landmark, something to give her bearing, to tell her where she was, why she was walking without feeling solid substance, floor or pavement or ground, beneath her feet. She noticed no noise, or sound, until a sudden dull roar, like static, stole into the quietude.
She sensed she was not alone, that others, unseen, walked with her, beside her, ahead of her, behind her. She felt no confusion or distress issuing from the others, but rather, purpose, relief, expectation and joy. She alone was confounded, frightened, hesitant. But she kept moving, gliding along as though on a motorized walkway, unable to stop herself, unable to get off. And still she could see nothing.
Soon the static roar softened, shifted, and she realized what she heard was several voices speaking at once, the murmur of a crowd.
The light began to dim.
Ahead, she made out shapes. Outlines. Gauzy, but recognizable, slowly emerging as if from a fog of light. People. Two men, a woman, a child. Beyond them, the image clearer than the others, stood a tall figure in a hooded robe of pure white silk, the edges trimmed in gold. Behind the robed figure there was a massive, filigree structure that incredibly appeared to be a solid gold gate. Where in the world was this place?
A sense of peace hung in the air, palpable, but it did nothing to ease Livia’s distress. She watched as the robed figure spoke to the four people ahead of her, one at a time. He would ask them something, refer to a computer on a golden pedestal to his left, punch the keyboard, then us
her the person through the mesmerizing gate.
The closer she came to the robed figure, the more anxious Livia felt. Where was she? She stepped forward. Her turn. As her gaze captured the countenance encased in the pure silk hood, she froze. The face belonged to her deceased grandfather. “P-Poppy?”
She blinked, and the features blurred, then solidified. Not quite her grandfather now. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
He touched his cheek. “This is our way to ease the path for new arrivals.”
The melodious voice held a trace of her grandfather’s Kansas twang.
“New arrivals?” A shiver scurried through Livia. “Where am I?”
“Don’t you know?” His glance was a gentle touch.
She cringed. “No.”
His shaggy eyebrows arched. He eyed her from head to toe as Poppy had often done when inspecting her choice of wardrobe, but this man seemed to suspect something amiss. “What’s your name?”
“Name?” That simple detail eluded her for a long moment. She finally managed to blurt, “Livia Kingston.”
The robed figure checked the computer, punched the keyboard, then frowned at her. “No. That can’t be correct. You’re not listed today.”
“Not listed for what?”
“For entry.”
“Entry into what?”
“Something is very wrong. I need to do a search.” He instructed her to place her palm over a lighted pad on the pedestal. Livia’s hand complied without her conscious consent. The glowing panel felt warm against her cool skin. The computer began chattering. Data raced across the flat monitor screen, moving too fast for her to read. It stopped suddenly, and the man poked at the screen. “Ah, see, there’s the problem. You’re not due for sixty more years.”
“Sixty years?”
He spun toward her, his robe swishing. “Why do you keep repeating my words?”
“Because I don’t know where I am or what’s happening to me.”
“Happened.”
“Happened?”
“See, there you go again.”
“Please.” She reached for him, then pulled back. “What happened to me? How did I end up here, wherever here is?”
He pressed his lips together, a favorite gesture of her grandfather’s. “Why, this is the entrance to Heaven. I’m called the Processor. It’s my duty to make certain no one is processed through these gates who isn’t in my files. You’re not due for sixty years. What are you doing here now?”
Heaven? No. It couldn’t be. “I’m dead?”
“It won’t do to deny the obvious.” He tsked, something else reminiscent of her grandfather. “Just how did you manage to die?”
“Doesn’t Heaven keep track of these things?” Livia could hardly take in the news that she’d died, let alone recall how that had come to be.
“That’s not my area.” He gazed hard at her. “Can’t you recollect?”
She closed her eyes on a sigh, straining to think back. “All I remember is something hot hitting me in the chest.”
“A bullet, perhaps?”
“A bullet?” She shook her head. “I hardly think—”
“Oh, yes,” he interrupted. “That might be it.” He consulted the computer again. “Each day, I have a list of new inductees. You are not on that list, but there is someone who was to have died at 2:58 this afternoon from a gunshot wound. A hapless chef. You are definitely not him.”
“Well, obviously.” Livia couldn’t believe her ears. If she’d ever thought of it, she’d assumed Heaven was run with an efficiency that would shame the most organized company in the world. But this person? Saint? Angel? Whatever. Seemed as clueless as a Valley Girl. “Are you saying that I somehow died in place of this chef?”
“So it appears.”
Her hands found her hips. “Don’t you guys up here guard against mistakes like that?”
“We ‘guys’ only have so much influence in these matters. Usually things go as planned, but occasionally, as now, something or other goes awry. This really messes up my record keeping.”
“Your record keeping?” Her voice held a wild tone that matched the fear and distress whipping her insides. “Let me tell you, this messes up my life pretty badly, too. I’m getting married tomorrow. Or didn’t you know that, either?”
“I did know that, actually. Quite by accident, as it were.”
The thought of her wedding, her fiancé, all that she had lost, hit Livia and weakened her knees. “Oh, dear God, I can’t be dead.”
“Please, Ms. Kingston, don’t bring God into this. We try not to bother Him with trivial mistakes.”
“Trivial? To you, maybe. But to me…” Oh, this was just awful. Was she being punished because she’d dared raise herself above the life she’d known as a child, because she’d presumed she actually deserved to marry a rich man instead of a pauper? She nearly laughed at the foolish thought. People weren’t gunned down for bettering themselves. Besides, she loved Reese. He was perfect for her. In every way. “Oh, God, please, I can’t be dead.”
“Shh. Don’t keep saying that.” The Processor glanced around as though expecting a bolt of lightning to strike them. He leaned toward her, his voice lowering to a whisper, his expression odd, conspiratorial. “There might be a way out of this…for both of us…if you’re willing to go along.”
A way out of this? Her heart leapt, and Livia whispered, “You’ll send me back? I can live again?”
“Well…yes.” He flicked a glance beyond her. “But actually, it’s relive.”
“I’ll do it.” She couldn’t contain the eagerness spreading through her. “Now. Please. Hurry.”
The Processor motioned her closer and lowered his voice again. “It’s not that simple. First, you must understand and accept the conditions.”
“Oh, sure,” Livia said, rolling her eyes. “There would be conditions.”
The Processor’s expression darkened and she feared she’d done something to make him change his mind. She straightened, clutching her hands together, berating herself.
He said, “You’ll be going back only to relive this past month, February.”
Livia frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“That’s all the time I’m authorized to give you. You have exactly twenty-seven days to change what happened to you. To change your fate. One month to figure out why you died instead of the chef and to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The shortest month of the year. She felt a shiver of apprehension. “What if I can’t stop the inevitable. What if it does happen again?”
His eyes were grave. “Then I will have to process you.”
She glanced at the huge gleaming gate and swallowed hard over the lump in her throat. She supposed when her time came she would willingly, happily, go through those portals, but now was not that time. She had to make sure she didn’t show back up here in twenty-seven days. No matter what she had to do to prevent it. “Okay. I understand.”
And she did.
All she had to do was find this loser chef, whoever he was, and see to it that he took his own bullet. “Are you going to show me a picture of this chef on your computer, so I’ll know him when I meet him?”
The Processor’s eyebrows lifted again, this time with incredulity. “I have no such capability on this computer. It is for record keeping only.”
“Well, then how will I find him in the short time I’m allotted…?”
“You already know where to find him.”
“I most certainly do not.”
“Yes, you do. He’s the reason I knew you were being married tomorrow. He’s catering your wedding.”
Chapter One
DREAM? OMELET
Ingredients: 2 Cups Wishful Thinking
1 Cup Denial
Stir well, serve raw
Livia breathed in the scent of cinnamon and coffee and pried open her eyes. Sunshine angled through closed miniblinds that covered the large window and dusted the frilly pink-and-white decor with
a hazy pastel light. She saw solid, little-girlish furniture—twin four-poster beds, matching chests of drawers and hope chests. No fluffy white clouds, no filigree gate made of pure gold, no silk-robed Processor. A relieved laugh burst from her. “That was some nightmare.”
But that was all it had been. A nightmare. Brought on by prewedding jitters. She had no reason to be frightened. She was perfectly safe here in her parents’s house, in the bedroom she’d grown up sharing with her older sister, Bridget. She fingered the headboard where she’d written her name in pink paint. She and Bridget had both done it, each claiming their own space, making their own mark. Her sister’s writing, round and sweeping like Bridget herself, the i dotted with a heart; Livia’s crisp and slanted, without flourish, all business.
These days Bridget ran the Bread and Brew, a popular sandwich and coffee bar, where she made her own breads and pastries. Livia kept the accounts for Jane’s Gym and daily conducted two aerobics classes. The perfect job. Getting paid for exercising her brain and her bod.
She lifted her arms high above her head and stretched. She’d given up her apartment two months ago and moved back home to make sure every detail was perfect for the wedding. Her wedding. Which was today. Yes. Today. She gave a joyous hoot and shoved off the covers.
She was whole. Alive. Not an angel-wannabe, but human. If not, she wouldn’t need to relieve herself so badly. She hurried to the bathroom, took care of business, then stripped and glanced in the mirror, her gaze going to the spot between her small breasts as though she sought telltale signs of…a bullet wound?
She groaned. That darned spooky dream had her rattled more than she was admitting to herself. Silly, of course, but also curious. How had she conjured up such nonsense? Dying from a gunshot meant for someone else? A chef, no less. The man catering her wedding, no less. Heck, she’d never even met Mark Everett. He’d been hired by her fiancé’s mother.
She forced her mind from the matter, wishing the nerves in her tummy would settle down. She glanced at her reflection, her gaze scanning the length of her delicate-boned, five-foot-four frame. She pinched the flesh at her waist. If she gained an ounce her gown wouldn’t fit. She pulled out the scale and with a shuddery breath stepped on to it. The digital numbers flashed unsteadily then settled on one-fourteen. Exactly right. Livia exhaled a pleased sigh.