by Fiona Brand
Only one twin is dangerous...the one he hungers for.
Entangled in temptation, now he’s in too deep...
Despite the media frenzy over their tempestuous breakup, Ben Sabin and Sophie Messena aren’t through. Twice the charismatic tycoon has abandoned Sophie’s bed after rapturous lovemaking. And though he knows she’s off-limits, he can’t stop wanting her, either. Maybe a date with her twin sister will break the fever... But Sophie switches places with her twin first, starting a chain reaction of scandal...
“He’s wrong for you. You’d be bored within a month.”
“What you know about me would fit on a postage stamp,” Sophie snapped. “Just because I made a mistake and slept with you, doesn’t mean you can interfere in my love life.”
“I talked to him,” Sabin replied. “You didn’t sleep with him. Just like you didn’t sleep with that other guy.”
“Which other guy? In the last year I’ve dated quite a few men. Think the number stands at around twelve.”
“That’s a lot of one-night stands.”
“I don’t do one-night stands.”
“But you did with me.”
“Sleeping with you was a mistake. Both times.”
But she had slept with him, and he was suddenly certain she hadn’t slept with anyone else.
Just minutes ago he’d been caught in the grip of obsessive desire. But now a raw surge of possessiveness tightened his body.
* * *
Twin Scandals is part of
The Pearl House series—Business and passion collide when two dynasties forge ties
bound by love.
Dear Reader,
The Messena twins, Sophie and Francesca, sprang to life in Just One More Night and Needed: One Convenient Husband. Gorgeous, independent women from a wealthy family, with a bent for interference when it came to their big brother’s horribly mixed-up love life. They were vocal, interesting and funny.
With a strong twin bond binding them together, both Sophie and Francesca are now focused on their own systematic searches for true love. Unfortunately, Francesca seems to turn her dates into good friends. Sophie practically interviews then checks guys off her list, and ends up with...not so many friends.
End result? Men want them, just not the right men! So, why can’t the guys they secretly, really, really want just fall for them?
First problem: the other woman.
Second problem...the other twin?
Enjoy!
Fiona Brand
Fiona Brand
Twin Scandals
Fiona Brand lives in the sunny Bay of Islands, New Zealand. Aside from being a mother to two real-life heroes, her sons, Fiona likes to garden, cook and travel. After a life-changing encounter, she continues to walk with God as she studies toward a bachelor of theology, serves as a priest in the Anglican Church and as a chaplain for the Order of St. Luke, Christ’s healing ministry.
Books by Fiona Brand
Harlequin Desire
The Pearl House
A Breathless Bride
A Tangled Affair
A Perfect Husband
The Fiancée Charade
Just One More Night
Needed: One Convenient Husband
Twin Scandals
Keeping Secrets
Visit her Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.
You can also find Fiona Brand on Facebook, along with other Harlequin Desire authors, at Facebook.com/harlequindesireauthors.
To God, who “so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
—John 3:16
Many thanks once again to
Stacy Boyd and Charles Griemsman.
Contents
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
Excerpt from Duty or Desire by Brenda Jackson
One
Ben Sabin tossed the keys of his Jeep Cherokee to the parking attendant standing outside the sleek new Messena resort in Miami Beach. After picking up the guest key card that had been left for him at the concierge desk, he strode through the foyer, past the entrance to a large reception room where groups of elegant guests were sipping champagne and eating canapés. He was almost clear when a well-known gossip columnist made a beeline for him.
“Ben Sabin.” Sally Parker couldn’t hide her glee as she positioned her cell to video him. “Did you know the Messena twins are here? Although how could you not, since they’ve been resident in Miami for the last three months.”
Ben’s jaw tightened. Even though he’d known all of that information well in advance, his response was sharp and visceral, which didn’t please him. He should have been over his fatal attraction to spoiled heiress Sophie Messena by now.
And it wasn’t as if he didn’t know what the likely outcome of a liaison with a woman like Sophie would be. At age nine he’d a had front-row seat to the breakdown of his parents’ marriage, which had literally petered out when his father’s Texan oil wells had dried up. He could still hear his father bitterly commenting on how failing to find more oil had cost him his marriage. All Ben had been able to think as he’d watched the rooster tail of dust kicked up by Darcy Sabin’s departing car was that he had lost his mother.
Then six years ago he’d found himself in his father’s predicament when his beautiful, wealthy fiancée had left him within twenty-four hours of a financial crash that had almost bankrupted him.
Years of hard work and calculated risk later, and after an inheritance that had made him an overnight billionaire, suddenly he was back. At least as far as Sophie Messena was concerned.
Sophie Messena. Tall, lithe and athletic, with the kind of slow, fluid walk that would have turned heads even if she hadn’t been gorgeous.
Caught once more in the crosshairs of a woman who seemed more interested in his share portfolio than in who he really was, for Ben, the decision to walk away from the one night they had spent together had been a matter of self-preservation.
But the press had seen things somewhat differently, courtesy of a neat publicity stunt Sophie had pulled a few days later, which had made it look like she had dumped him.
Irritatingly, Sally Parker was still keeping pace with him. His flat “no comment,” as he strode toward a bank of elevators, seemed to fall on deaf ears.
“It’s not the twins, plural, that you’re interested in, though, is it? I hear that you and Sophie Messena were once a hot item, despite the fact that yesterday you were heard to say...now let me get this right.” She frowned and smiled at the same time, as if she was having trouble remembering the headline she’d splashed across multiple social media accounts just hours ago. “Hmm...that the twins are ‘empty-headed and spoiled and that any man would have to be brain-dead to date either of them.’”
Ben came to a halt. Keeping a tight leash on his patience—a patience that had been forged by time in Special Forces, then honed by years spent in the hard-edged construction industry—he stabbed the call button for the high-speed private elevator that led directly to Nick Messena’s penthouse office. His gaze rested on the flashing numbers above the sleek stainless-steel door that indicated the elevator was on its w
ay.
He had not said those words.
If he had, it would mean that a year ago he had been brain-dead and that he still was because, despite walking away from Sophie, nothing had changed: he still wanted her.
He hadn’t said the words, but he had a fair idea who had. The brief conversation he’d had on the way to the airport with his new, brilliant but opinionated business manager, Hannah Cole, was the only possible source of the comment. Clearly it had not been a private conversation.
The gossip columnist, oblivious to the fact that she was being ignored, leaned on the wall. A cat-that-got-the-cream smile played around her mouth. “Strange then, to use a euphemism, that you did ‘date’ Sophie Messena. Now, a year after she ditched you, you’re involved in a business deal with her brother, Nick, and gorgeous Sophie is also in town. So, what’s really going on, Ben? Seems to me you just can’t stay away.”
The doors finally slid open. His expression remote, Ben stepped into the elevator, swiped the key card and punched the button for Nick’s office. Seconds later, he was propelled several stories up to the penthouse. As he stepped into the hushed foyer, Hannah, who had once worked as a PA for his late uncle Wallace, and whom Ben had inherited along with Wallace’s multibillion-dollar construction and real estate business, stepped forward and checked her watch. “You’re almost late.”
Ben lifted a brow. Hannah was middle-aged, plump, wealthy in her own right and possessed of a dry, no-nonsense sense of humor. Sometimes he wondered if he had made a mistake in employing someone who didn’t need the job and knew just a little too much about him and his checkered family history. But after years of dealing with the tensions of younger, ambitious managers, Hannah’s bluntness worked for Ben. “I ran into some interference.”
“Let me guess,” Hannah grumbled as she moved in the direction of Nick’s office, “the Messena girl?”
Ben pushed back the cuff of his jacket and checked his watch. “The one I’d have to be brain-dead to date?”
Hannah gave him what passed for an apologetic glance, although it was so brief he almost missed it. “Sorry about that. I should have waited until we were out of the taxi before I made that comment.”
Because the taxi driver had clearly taken the quote straight to the press, no doubt for a healthy cash payment.
“You shouldn’t have said it, period. I haven’t seen Sophie for a year.”
Though the very last time he had seen her was still indelibly imprinted on his mind. Her ridiculously long lashes curled against delicately molded cheekbones. Dark hair trailing down the sleek, elegant curve of her naked back. The one slim arm flung across his pillow as she slept.
Sophie Messena had in no way looked like the A-list party girl she was purported to be, and that was what had fooled him. There was a cool directness to her glance, a clear intelligence and a habit of command that should have annoyed him but which he had found more than a little fascinating...
Hannah stopped and pinned him with her brown gaze. “You want my opinion? You should have picked another time to sign this contract. One when Sophie wasn’t around. The fact that you chose a time when she would be around says something. You’re supposed to be getting into bed with The Messena Group, not Sophie Messena.”
Ben repressed the urge to pinch his nose. He remembered a time, pre–Sophie Messena, when the conversations he’d had with business colleagues were about managing risk, contractual obligations, closing out deals and headhunting the right people. Now everyone seemed to have an opinion about his dysfunctional love life. “There’s a new deal to be signed, and this resort is the last project I managed for Nick before I left Messena Construction. I need to be here.”
Hannah made a rude sound. “And that’s another thing. If you get tangled up with Sophie Messena again, Nick is going to react. Big-time. You can kiss any future deals goodbye.”
She trundled past the receptionist’s desk and started toward an open door at the end of a broad corridor. As Ben strolled toward Nick’s office, he noted the lineup of Medinian oil paintings that decorated light-washed walls. The paintings, all from the Mediterranean island of Medinos, were old, priceless and very familiar, because Ben had seen them on a daily basis when they had adorned the office of Nick’s Dolphin Bay Resort in New Zealand.
Despite the Messena family leaving Medinos and most of them settling in New Zealand, their connection to Medinos was still strong. The abiding theme of battle-scarred warrior ancestors was hard to miss, the message clear: don’t mess with Nick Messena or his baby sisters.
Hannah was right, he thought grimly. Nick had overlooked his sleeping with Sophie a year ago because, like everyone else, he thought Sophie had ditched him, and that it was over. Ben was pretty sure Nick had actually felt sorry for him. But if Ben got involved with Sophie again, the gloves would be off. He would have to either cut ties with The Messena Group or marry Sophie Messena.
Given that it would be a cold day in hell before he would make his father’s mistake—a mistake that had led to suicide—and marry a woman as calculating and career-obsessed as Sophie Messena, he would be crazy to take the risk.
Ben stepped into Nick’s swanky office and lifted a hand to Nick and John Atraeus, who was some kind of a distant relative and, now, Nick’s new business partner. As he joined them out on the terrace, he took in the tropical heat, the balmy air and impressive view of Miami as it flowed around the coastline, glittering softly in the night. Broodingly, he conceded that he could have picked another time to meet. Like tomorrow morning, for example, when John and Nick, who were both here for the launch party, would still be around.
But the truth was that, a year on, he was no nearer to forgetting about Sophie than he had been when he had walked out of his hotel suite in Dolphin Bay, leaving her asleep in his bed.
He still wanted her, and the frustration and restless dissatisfaction that had followed that one night had somehow managed to nix his love life completely.
Just to admit that annoyed Ben. It meant he was still affected by the kind of obsessive, addictive desire he had decided would never rule him again.
The problem was, he had tried abstinence. That hadn’t worked, so he had tried dating, specifically women who did not look Sophie. That hadn’t worked, either, because none of the pretty blondes he had dated had truly interested him.
Which left one other strategy to get Sophie out of his system. A crazy, risk-taking option that was the military equivalent of picking up an unstable, unexploded bomb.
Getting gorgeous, fascinating Sophie Messena, back in his bed...just one more time.
* * *
Hell would freeze over before Sophie would allow Ben Sabin close to her again.
Sophie Messena took the elevator of her brother’s newest resort down to the ground floor. The only reason she was here tonight was for the express purpose of confronting Ben for his horrible behavior in sleeping with her a year ago, then ditching her without so much as a word.
Sophie tensed at the thought of seeing Ben again.
He was six feet two inches of broad, sleek, muscular male, his dark hair cut short, his jaw tough, with the kind of cool blue gaze that regularly made women go weak at the knees.
But not her. Not anymore.
Tonight she was determined to exorcise the last dregs of the fatal attraction to Ben that had dominated her life for two-and-a-half years. Finally she would be able to move on.
It would be over.
Forcing herself to relax, she exited the elevator and strolled into the foyer with barely a hitch to her stride and with a smoothness it had taken weeks of physiotherapy and repetitive exercises to achieve. A faint stiffness was still discernible in her lower back, courtesy of the dislocation injury she had sustained when her SUV swerved off one of Dolphin Bay’s narrow country roads eleven months ago.
That was three weeks after Ben had left her bed following their one t
umultuous night together. She had thrown away his brief note thanking her for a “nice” time.
Nice.
As if leading up to that night, there hadn’t been eighteen months of a sultry, electrifying attraction that had made it difficult for her to think about anyone but Ben Sabin. Not to mention the frustrating encounters that had fizzled into nothing, before she had finally made the desperate decision, on Ben’s last night in Dolphin Bay, to go out on a limb and seduce him.
She stopped opposite the reception desk near an alcove decorated with palms at which she had arranged to meet her date for the night. She checked her watch. He was late, which was annoying because it was imperative that she not be seen alone tonight.
For an unsettling moment, she had trouble remembering her date’s name. It wasn’t until she spotted him walking toward her that it came back to her. Since she had met Tobias, a broker who worked for her banker brother, Gabriel, only a couple of times, and both of those times only in passing, when he had been out on a date with her twin, Francesca, maybe that wasn’t surprising.
As she greeted Tobias, the knowledge that she was just minutes away from seeing Ben, made her jaw tighten.
One year ago Ben had walked out on her. Three weeks after that she’d had the accident. Her body had recovered physically. Now, tonight, she would test the mental and emotional healing she hoped she’d achieved after untold hours of very expensive therapy. If the assurances her therapist had given her were anything to go by, she should now be completely immune to him.
Frowning, Sophie scanned the room—which was thronged with a glittering array of guests, local business people and, of course, media. Her stomach tightened ever so slightly when she caught the back of a dark head. By the time the man turned, she had already dismissed him; he was tall enough to be Ben, but his hair wasn’t cut short and crisp, and his shoulders were too narrow. Not broad and sleek and muscular from the time Ben had spent in the military, followed by years of hands-on construction work and long hours working out in his private gym.
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