Men Made in America Mega-Bundle

by Gayle Wilson, Marie Ferrarella, Jennifer Greene, Annette Broadrick, Judith Arnold, Rita Herron, Anne Stuart, Diana Palmer, Elizabeth Bevarly, Patricia Rosemoor, Emilie Richards

  Jane swallowed hard. “That’s what I was hoping for…and it worked. But how is this possible?”

  “There is only one explanation I can think of.” Curran appeared a bit dazed when he said, “You really are my fate. My destiny.”

  “Destiny?” Jane echoed, stunned by his wild statement.

  He crossed to a side table where he picked up a leather-bound volume that appeared to be a journal. From that, he pulled an envelope of cream vellum.

  “I have something I want you to read.”

  Jane slowly rose from her chair. “What is it?”

  “When my Grandmother Moira knew she was dying, she wrote a letter to each of her nine grandchildren. This is her legacy to us all.”

  He pulled a creased and worn sheet from the envelope and handed it to her. Their fingers touched and Jane’s pulse picked up and her chest tightened. She reminded herself to breathe and then began to read.

  To my darling Curran,

  I leave you my love and more. Within thirty-three days of your thirty-third birthday—enough time to know what you are about—you will have in your grasp a legacy of which your dreams are made. Dreams are not always tangible things, but more often are born in the heart. Act selflessly in another’s behalf, and my legacy will be yours.

  Your loving grandmother,

  Moira McKenna

  P.S. Use any other inheritance from me wisely and only for good, lest you destroy yourself or those you love.

  Stunned, Jane stared at the letter. Act selflessly in another’s behalf. Isn’t that what Curran had been doing since he’d stepped foot on Grantham Acres?

  Was this it, then? The real thing? Wide-eyed, she met his gaze again.

  “I wish I could have met her. And the letter…so beautiful…so fanciful…”

  “So full of truth. The family calls the inheritance The McKenna Legacy. Turn thirty-three…fall in love…find yourself in grave danger.”

  “I-in love?” Jane’s breath caught in her throat. “Are you?”

  His right cheek dimpled with his smile. “Afraid so.”

  Afraid. He was afraid to love her.

  Jane tried to keep her emotions in check so that he couldn’t sense her disappointment in the way he had phrased the response.

  “The McKenna Legacy,” she echoed. “So this really has come true before?”

  “Ask my happily married sister Keelin when you meet her. Or my cousins—Skelly, Kathleen, Donovan. They’ve all gone through a trial by fire to be with their soul mates.”

  Jane’s heart began to beat wildly. “Soul mates? Is that what we are?”

  Curran moved closer. “What else would you call what we share? As I have told you, Sheena, I’ve never connected like this with another human being, only you.” He ran his knuckles over her cheek. “And it seems that, between us, the gift is somehow shared or I wouldn’t have been able to sense your emotions as I did tonight.”

  Unable to resist his gentling touch, Jane closed her eyes. “I tried to get us out. I couldn’t. I didn’t know what else to do, so I concentrated and thought of you. I was so afraid you wouldn’t hear me.”

  “I shall always hear you, my Sheena.”

  Curran slid a hand around the back of her neck. Slowly, she opened her eyes to gaze into his. They came closer. So close that his features blurred. And then it didn’t matter because he was kissing her and she let her lids drift close.

  Her limbs lost their little strength and she swayed against Curran. She couldn’t help herself—she felt her defenses crumbling. And then Curran surrounded her with himself.

  Jane wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him, her head light and heart soaring. His heat pressed in on her, but this time it was a good heat and she was drawn to it, wanted more of it, demanded it. Working her hands across the material of his shirt, she explored the muscles in his lower back with her fingertips.

  “I need you, Sheena,” he murmured against her mouth.

  Moaning, she rocked against him in agreement.

  Curran deepened the kiss and slid his hands slowly down her sides and over her hips. Then he cupped her bottom and pulled her snugly into him so that she could feel the enormity of that need for her.

  Wet heat flushed through her and she nestled closer. His heart beat so fiercely she could feel the rapid palpitation against her own chest. Her own heart responded in kind. And her breasts grew heavy and ached for his touch. As if he read her mind—and he very well might have, she thought through a haze of desire—he worked one hand upward to the fullness of sensitive flesh that only one man before him had ever handled. She moved in his arms slightly to allow him access, and at his first touch, her knees gave way.

  Curran caught her and swung her up into his arms as easily as he had her much lighter sister earlier.

  “I’ll be taking you upstairs, if you don’t mind.”

  But he didn’t move until she shook her head and whispered, “I’ll not mind a bit.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck as he carried her to the staircase, and once he stepped up, he began kissing her again. Not deep full kisses, but light exchanges that set her lips to tingling.

  Then he substituted her chin for her lips, then her throat, her chest, her breasts. By the time he got to the landing, she was tingling all over.

  Once in his bedroom, he lay her across the king-size bed and continued downward, unbuttoning and unzipping her trousers as he distracted her with his mouth.

  But when he freed her for a moment, Jane froze. Her knee—no one but the medical team had seen the awful mess of her knee since the surgery.

  But the lights were low, she thought nervously. Perhaps he wouldn’t even notice.

  Curran tugged off her shoes, then rolled her trousers over her hips and down her legs, leaving her vulnerable. But he continued kissing her. Her stomach, her inner thigh. Her knee. For a moment, he lingered there, gently stroking her leg, caressing and kissing the very scar she had been trying so hard to hide.

  Fearing his pity, Jane bit her lip.

  Curran moved upward, his kisses leaving tiny stings that traveled along her nerves to her center. Forgetting her trepidation, she arched. He kissed her through her sensible cotton panties. With his teeth, he caught the edge and pulled them lower, exposing her bit by bit so slowly that she thought she would scream if he didn’t hurry.

  “Tell me what you might be wanting, Sheena,” he whispered.

  She answered with a little moan.

  Suddenly Curran plunged upward and lay half over her, his knee in the crevice of her thighs, his erection pressed into her hip. “I do not think you were quite clear enough on that,” he said, unbuttoning her blouse with one hand.

  “You’re intuitive.” She began undoing his shirt, as well. “Look into my mind.”

  “I want to hear the words.”

  Gazing deeply into his eyes, she thought, Take me, Curran. Make love to me. Be true to me. Love me.

  His eyes widened, but he didn’t say a word, merely finished undressing them both in record time.

  Nude and vulnerable, she gave herself over to sensation, following his lead as he explored her body and she his. Restless, wanting more, she spread her legs and pressed herself against him. He explored her there, too, opening her folds with gentle fingers, then manipulating her wet sex until her heart pounded in her ears. Every time he brought her to the brink of a climax, he backed off until she began to writhe in agony in a surfeit of frustrated passion.

  Slowly, he dipped a finger deep inside her. Then two. Unable to help herself, she rode them.

  What do you want, Sheena?

  You inside me.

  In one smooth motion, he withdrew his fingers and straddled her, careful to avoid her left knee, then slipped inside her and stopped.

  Breathing hard, she tried to stop, too. Tried to savor the moment. But nearly crazed with need, she couldn’t. She moved under him, raising her hips so she moved along his length. Now it was she pressing her palms against his botto
m, pulling him closer until she couldn’t tell where she ended and he began.

  Panting, she watched his face. Closed eyes. Tight expression. Slightly parted lips.

  He was breathing hard. Ready.

  So was she.

  She slipped one hand in between their bodies and found him.

  When her fingertips touched him, he groaned, “Ah-h, Sheena, you’ve undone me.”

  Jane closed her eyes and let go of her last bit of control. Curran rode her to ecstasy, and they shuddered long and hard before touching down together.

  For a moment, their hearts beat as one. Jane floated, loving Curran’s weight pinning her to the bed. She wanted more. She wanted everything from him.

  For a little while, at least, she would allow herself to be ridiculously happy.

  When Curran rolled onto his side, he brought her with him, kept her close against his chest. Sighing, she fit herself to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

  He stroked her hair loose around her shoulders. “I don’t know what I would have done had I not been on time tonight—”

  “But you were.”

  “—because I can no longer imagine life without you.”

  Nor she without him. Not that she said so. Everything was too new. Too frightening.

  And once again, too fast.

  His fate, Curran had called her. His destiny. Could it be true? Was he the one? Or was he controlled by the tale of The McKenna Legacy?

  More important, was she once more being foolish enough to believe what she wanted to hear? For she had wanted to hear all he’d had to say to her and more.

  It had been different with Gavin, Jane told herself. She’d been attracted to him, had formed an attachment, had agreed to make a comfortable, familiar life with him. But her decisions had been, or so she’d thought, rational. And practical.

  But with Curran, she could hardly think straight when he was near her. And when he used his gentling touch…

  She didn’t know if they had a future. Certainly not if her nameless nemesis had anything to say about it. She couldn’t so easily shake off the doubts that her experience with Gavin had instilled in her.

  Jane feared that, for the first time in her life, she was deeply, madly, truly in love, and that was the scariest thing that had ever happened to her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dawn’s pale light was spilling into the room when Curran awakened and reached for his Sheena, as he had twice during the night. But her side of the bed was empty.

  Thinking she might be in the bathroom, he called, “Jane?” but she didn’t answer.

  Pulse jagging, Curran sat straight up and looked around the room. Jane’s clothes were gone.

  Leaving his bed, he crossed to the stairway. Though no lights were on below, he called out again. “Jane, are you downstairs?” Again, no answer. “Damn!”

  What had she been thinking to go off on her own? She could be in danger.

  Quickly, Curran started dressing.

  Why had she left? Susan. If Jane had called the hospital and had gotten negative information about her sister, surely she would have awakened him.

  What, then?

  Another unpleasant thought bushwhacked him. An unpleasant memory of Maggie. She had always insisted on his leaving her bed before daybreak so that no one would guess that they were sleeping together. Had Jane left his bed for the same reason?

  Remembering his suspicions about her covert relationship with Shaw, Curran couldn’t shake the notion. Displeasure stiffened his fingers as he buttoned his shirt. He wandered over to the bedroom window and looked out to the main house. Her car was still there. He continued staring as if he could connect with her.

  And perhaps he could.

  But as hard as he concentrated, nothing. No emotions to capture. Perhaps she had fallen asleep again.

  About to turn away, Curran froze when a furtive movement from below caught his attention. Someone down there was skulking around the house, peering into the first-floor windows. Not enough light to identify the person.

  His pulse raced faster than his feet could carry him down the stairs. He shot out the front door and jogged toward the main house, praying he could get there to prevent any further hurt to the woman he loved.

  The intruder was still poised outside the kitchen window and peering in.

  Curran slowed and willed his breathing to do the same so that he wouldn’t alert the bastard. Silently, he sneaked up on the man who was wearing dark pants, a tweed jacket and a hat jammed low on his head.

  A familiar hat below which Curran spotted a few strands of red. “Ned!” he yelled. “What the bloody hell do you think you are about?”

  His assistant trainer jumped and turned to face him. “Curran, lad, you gave me a start.” He visibly tried to compose himself. “I—I was looking for you.”

  Curran remembered catching Ned coming out of his own quarters and the refrain had been the same. “You were looking for me in the main house at daybreak and spying through the windows at that?”

  “I-it’s so early that I didn’t want to wake anyone.”

  “Liar!” Curran grabbed the man by his jacket front and spun him around and into a tree trunk. “Start talking, Ned, before I beat it out of you.”

  “You wouldn’t!” Ned’s bushy red eyebrows raised and his pale eyes widened. “Calm down, Curran. You’re not a violent man by nature.”

  “Try me,” Curran threatened, thinking of what they’d gone through the night before. Ned would have to convince him that he wasn’t involved. “If you want to keep your face intact, then talk.”

  Ned hesitated only a second before caving. “All right, all right. I was hired to keep an eye on you and the Grantham woman, that’s all. To report your activities. How the stallion was coming along. That sort of thing.”

  To report Jane’s movements, Curran mused, so that someone else could ambush her?

  “I can guarantee you that Finn mac Cumhail has never been in that house.”

  “Please, Curran, I’m telling the truth,” Ned pleaded. “I’ve done nothing but take a few extra punts in exchange for simple information.”

  “And who might be putting those punts in your pocket?”

  “Don’t make me do this.”

  “Either you tell me or I turn you over to Sheriff Mason,” Curran said. “Someone locked Jane and Susan in a curing barn last night and left them to die. You’re as good a suspect as any.”

  Ned’s normally ruddy face went ashen, and Curran could feel the man tremble where he still held him fixed against the tree trunk.

  “Murder? You think I’m a murderer? No, Curran, in God’s name, I swear it wasn’t me. I did nothing but a little reconnaissance, now, and that’s the sum of it.”

  Ned was an emotional time bomb. Curran could sense it. And though he concentrated, though he was physically touching the man, he couldn’t get in.

  He could only do that with the woman who was his fate.

  And still, Curran was certain that Ned told the truth. He also sensed that Ned was no murderer.

  “Give me a name,” Curran demanded of him.

  “I can’t.”

  “If you value your own skin, you will!”

  Red-faced, Ned banged the back of his own head against the tree twice. Then he sighed and gave it up. “Timothy Brady.”

  Which didn’t exactly surprise Curran. He’d had his suspicions about Brady all along. He pulled Ned toward him, then shoved the man away. Ned stumbled but caught himself from falling.

  “So it’s been Brady all along.”

  “Aye. I’m sorry, Curran.”

  Sorry for himself, Curran thought. Sorry that he’d been caught. But sorry that he’d been bribed to spy? Doubtful.

  “You’ll be even sorrier, Ned, when word gets out that you’re a man who can’t be trusted.”

  “You’ll ruin me over this?”

  “What did you think I would do? Pat you on the back, tell you, ‘That’s all right, lad, everything wi
ll be jake,’ and send you on your way?”

  “But if Tim knows I gave him up…and you say he’s a murderer…”

  “Then you’d best be fast,” Curran suggested. “Pack your things and get out before he can catch you.”

  “You’re firing me?”

  “Now you have it.” He couldn’t believe Ned would think otherwise. “Be off Grantham Acres before I come to check that you’ve cleared out.”

  Curran turned his back on the traitor.

  “Wait!” Ned protested. “What about my airline ticket back to Shannon?”

  “What about it?” Clenching his jaw, Curran turned back toward Ned. “Use the money you’ve been paid to spy on getting yourself home.”

  Scowling at him, Ned jammed his hat down hard on his head and stalked off toward his own quarters without so much as a glance backward.

  A man with a grudge could be dangerous, Curran mused. Then, again, the authorities were involved, which should give Ned pause if he was considering revenge. Thinking that he would suggest that Sheriff Mason question Ned as well as Brady, he waited until his former assistant was out of sight before moving toward the house.

  Jane was standing at the window, watching. Had she seen the whole interchange?

  Curran stopped for a moment and stared. He tried to read her. Nothing. He felt neither gladness to see him nor dismay. Apparently Jane had found a way to keep him out.

  At least out of her mind, Curran thought, heading for the house, his feelings mixed.

  On the one hand, he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and hold her out of sheer gratitude that she was all right. On the other, he was disappointed and a bit irate that she’d up and left his bed before daybreak. And so, he approached her warily.

  She met him in the foyer, asking without preamble, “What was that all about?”

  No greeting. No words of affection. And her body language was no more encouraging, Curran thought. She was holding herself straight and stiff. Inaccessible.

  In response, he held himself back. He didn’t even try to keep the coolness from his tone when he said, “That was about Ned’s spying on us and reporting back to Timothy Brady.”