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When Jayne Met Erik
Elizabeth Bevarly


I, Jayne Pembroke, must have been out of my mind. Erik Randolph, Youngsville's most eligible playboy, had walked into the store where I worked, chosen a ring for his future bride - and then proceeded to ask me to marry him.And although I knew our marriage would be based more on terms of a will than love at first sight, my heart beat at an unfamiliar pace the moment I uttered "I do.” Because it's not every day you get to walk down the aisle - or fall in love with your very own husband.












Marriage Certificate







Let it be known that as of September 2001, Jayne Pembroke, the red-headed beauty of 20 Amber Court, Apt. 1C, is legally bound to Erik Randolph, one of Youngsville, Indiana’s most eligible bachelors, in holy matrimony. Both parties will live in wedded bliss, for a period of one year, until the terms of Erik’s inheritance have been met. They will mutually agree to ignore the overwhelming attraction that has been there since Erik’s spontaneous proposal, as well as the desire to be more than just an in-name-only couple. Jayne will take Erik’s name and hope that, in turn, her new husband does not take her heart. In the event that something like true love-develops, this contract will become null and void so that they may draw up a new certificate based on matters of the heart.


Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with six passionate, powerful and provocative romances! And you can take romance one step further…. Look inside for details about our exciting new contest, “Silhouette Makes You a Star.”

Popular author Mary Lynn Baxter returns to Desire with our MAN OF THE MONTH when The Millionaire Comes Home to Texas to reunite with the woman he could never forget. Rising star Sheri WhiteFeather’s latest story features a Comanche Vow that leads to a marriage of convenience…until passionate love transforms it into the real thing.

It’s our pleasure to present you with a new miniseries entitled 20 AMBER COURT, featuring four twentysomething female friends who share an address…and their discoveries about life and love. Don’t miss the launch title, When Jayne Met Erik, by beloved author Elizabeth Bevarly. The scandalous Desire miniseries FORTUNES OF TEXAS: THE LOST HEIRS continues with Fortune’s Secret Daughter by Barbara McCauley. Alexandra Sellers offers you another sumptuous story in her miniseries SONS OF THE DESERT: THE SULTANS, Sleeping with the Sultan. And the talented Cindy Gerard brings you a touching love story about a man of honor pledged to marry an innocent young woman with a secret, in The Bridal Arrangement.

Treat yourself to all six of these tantalizing tales from Silhouette Desire.

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




When Jayne Met Erik

Elizabeth Bevarly










ELIZABETH BEVARLY


is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older-model forty-two-footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a seven-year-old son, Eli.


For Joan Marlow Golan, Gail Chasan And Allison Lyons.

With many thanks.




Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven




One


Jayne Pembroke was not having a good day.

She began it by oversleeping, a development made even worse by the fact that she awoke from the most wonderful dream she’d had in a long, long time—a development made even worse when she confronted the reality to which she did, eventually, awake. Because in her dream, Jayne had had company. Really nice company, too, in the form of a handsome, dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger, who had been performing the most wondrous—and erotic—activities with her.

At least, Jayne thought they were wondrous, erotic activities. She was pretty sure they were, anyway. She did have cable TV, after all. Admittedly, though, she didn’t have much personal experience with wondrous, erotic activities by which to judge…or any personal experience, for that matter. But whatever it was that the dark-haired, dark-eyed stranger had been doing to her in her dream, it had felt really, really good.

Her reality, on the other hand, was…not. Not wondrous. Not erotic. And certainly not good. Because in addition to being late, Jayne was, as always, alone.

When she finally did glance over at the clock and noted the time, she tumbled out of bed—literally—bonking her head on the nightstand in the process. So she kicked the nightstand in retaliation…and banged her little toe in exactly that way that made it hurt the most. Then, as she hopped on one foot toward her bathroom, Mojo, her sister Chloe’s cat, whom Jayne was keeping while Chloe attended college, came gallumphing into the room—doubtless because Mojo knew Jayne would be hopping around on one foot—and tripped her. That, naturally, caused her to fall down, and in doing so she banged her knee viciously on the hardwood floor.

Things just went downhill from there.

The water in the shower was barely tepid by the time Jayne turned it on, thanks, no doubt, to the fact that everyone else who lived at 20 Amber Court had already had their showers because they’d awoken on time. Then the only clean shirt she was able to find did not match the only clean skirt she was able to find, and the only pair of clean panty hose she was able to find had a run in them. As a result, she was forced to don a blinding combination of raspberry top and burnt-orange skirt, along with the only belt she could find in her overly tousled closet—which, it went without saying, was chartreuse.

Not surprisingly, her hair dryer shorted out the moment she switched it on, emitting a dangerous-sounding zzzt coupled with the smell of something burning. Immediately she jerked the plug from the wall and dumped the appliance in the wastebasket—which overturned, spilling its entire contents across the bathroom floor.

She bit back a scream—and quite a hysterical one it had threatened to be, too—then methodically wove her long, straight, wet, red hair into a thick braid that fell between her shoulderblades, and ruffled her bangs dry as best she could. She swiped a bit of raspberry-colored lipstick over her mouth—at least something would match at least part of her clothes—and dragged a bit of neutral shadow over her violet eyes. Then she ran into the kitchen for the cup of coffee she absolutely had to consume in order to function as a halfway effective human being.

The good news was that the coffeemaker’s timer had, amazingly, worked perfectly. The bad news was that when Jayne had filled the coffeemaker the night before, she had neglected to add any…well, coffee. So only a pot of hot water greeted her.

She bit back another one of those certain-to-be-hysterical screams—but just barely. Then, surrendering to the fact that she wouldn’t be enjoying her morning cuppa today—or much of anything else, for that matter—Jayne turned her attention to the kitchen window and saw that, inescapably, it was an unusually rainy morning for the first of September. And of course, likewise inescapably, she recalled that she’d left her only umbrella at Colette Jewelry, the showroom of the highly successful Colette, Inc., where she worked as a salesclerk, the last time it had rained.

My, my, my, she thought. What else could the day possibly hold? It wasn’t even 9:00 a.m.

As quickly as she could, she hurried through the rest of her morning rituals, doing her absolute best to make completely certain that nothing else went wrong. And really, not much else did go wrong. Except for when she chipped her favorite coffee mug putting it away, broke her fingernail to the quick while performing a quick search for her raincoat—which, naturally, she never found—and stepped on a pile of stray cat kibble, crushing it to a fine powder that she’d have to sweep up when she got home, because there was no way she had time to do that now.

But other than that…

She was locking her front door to apartment 1C when the door to 1A-B, the apartment next to hers—the one belonging to her landlady—opened. It was the first thing to happen that morning that made Jayne smile. Rose Carson just inspired that kind of reaction in a person, a feeling of good cheer and well-being. She was, to put it simply, a nice lady. She’d even been the one who had helped Jayne find a job at Colette Jewelry. A friend of a friend, Rose had told Jayne, had mentioned an opening in the jewelry store. Jayne had been hired for the salesclerk position the day she had applied.

Judging by Rose’s short, dark hair that was just starting to go gray, by the laugh lines that crinkled her dark eyes, and by the older woman’s matronly figure, Jayne guessed her landlady’s age to be somewhere in her fifties. About the same age Jayne’s mother would be now, had Doris Pembroke survived the plane crash that had killed her and Jayne’s father four years ago.

Even though Jayne had only lived at 20 Amber Court for a month, she felt as if she’d known Rose Carson forever. Her landlady was the kind of person who inspired immediate affection and fast camaraderie, the kind in whom one felt totally comfortable confiding. Within days of Jayne’s move to the apartment building, she’d found herself revealing to Rose all the particulars of her past and current situations. About the loss of both her parents when she was eighteen, about taking on the care of her then-fourteen-year-old twin siblings, Chloe and Charlie, immediately thereafter, about sacrificing her own opportunity to attend college in order to send Chloe and Charlie instead.

Jayne didn’t mind the sacrifice, though. She’d always felt responsible for the twins, even when she was a child. And she knew neither of them took her sacrifice for granted. Once her brother and sister finished college themselves in four years, she’d go back and earn her own degree. She had plenty of time, after all. She was only twenty-two, and her whole life lay stretched before her.

She was just looking forward to having a bit of stability in that life for a change. The last four years had been more than a little difficult, seeing to the needs of Charlie and Chloe and herself, making sure all three of them kept a roof over their heads and food in their bellies.

The sale of their parents’ home, along with a modest life insurance settlement and social security for the twins, had afforded them the financial boost they’d needed during that time. But now that Chloe and Charlie were eighteen, the social security was gone. And college tuition for two, even with the twins’ partial scholarships, was going to prove a challenge. Still, the Pembroke finances were stable and reasonably secure right now. As long as Jayne had her job at Colette Jewelry and lived within her modest budget, everything would be fine.

She hoped.

“Good morning, Jayne,” Rose Carson said with a smile as she closed her own door and turned toward her newest tenant. She glanced down at her watch. “You’re running a bit late, aren’t you, dear?”

Jayne quelled the panic that threatened to rise again. She wasn’t that late, she reminded herself. Thanks to all her rushing around—and skipping her morning coffee—she could still make it to work with a few minutes to spare. Maybe. If she ran the entire way. Which, of course, she would, seeing as how she had missed the bus, and it was still raining. Colette, Inc. was only ten blocks from 20 Amber Court. And if she hugged the buildings between here and there, the awnings might provide enough shelter to keep her dry. Sort of.

“A bit late, yes,” Jayne conceded to her landlady. “It’s been one of those mornings,” she couldn’t help adding with no small exasperation.

Rose nodded, clearly understanding. “Rainy days and Mondays, right?” she asked.

Jayne chuckled derisively. “Rainy days and Mondays, and broken alarm clocks and broken hair dryers, and no clean laundry and uncooperative coffeemakers, and homicidal cats and—”

Rose held up a hand, laughing. “Say no more,” she said. “Oh, my. I’ve had a few of those days myself.”

Jayne was about to say goodbye and scuttle off when she noticed the brooch affixed to Rose’s cream-colored blouse. Not quite heart-shaped and not quite triangular, it was unusual and very beautiful, encrusted with dark yellowish stones set in what appeared to be several different metals. So captivated was she by the accessory, she found herself involuntarily lifting a hand toward it.

“Your pin is so beautiful, Rose,” she said, speaking her thoughts aloud. “That’s not topaz, though, is it?” She glanced up after voicing her question, only to find Rose beaming at her as if Jayne had just paid her the highest compliment in the world.

“No, it’s amber,” her landlady replied. “Amber and some precious metals.”

Jayne nodded as she touched a fingertip gently to the brooch. “Someone must have given it to you because you live at 20 Amber Court,” she said.

Rose smiled again, a bit sadly this time. “No, I’ve had this for quite some time now. There’s a rather interesting history behind it, actually.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it sometime,” Jayne said, dropping her hand back to her side. “Sometime when I’m not running so late and having such a crummy day,” she added when she recalled her current situation. She started to say farewell again, when Rose stopped her.

“Wait,” her landlady said impulsively. She reached for the pin Jayne had just admired. “Wear this today,” she told her tenant with a cryptic little smile, her dark eyes sparkling. “In the past, it’s brought me what you might call ‘good luck.’ Maybe it will help get you through the rest of the day.”

Jayne expelled a single, humorless chuckle. “The way this day has started, I have a feeling it’s not going to be ‘one of those days’ so much as it’s going to be ‘one of those months.”’

“Then wear it all month, if you need to,” Rose told her, unfastening the pin from her own blouse and deftly fixing it on Jayne’s. With a mischievous little smile she added, “You’ll know when it’s time to give it back.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—” Jayne started to object.

“Of course you could,” Rose insisted. “There,” she said, patting the pin in place. “It doesn’t exactly match your outfit, but…”

This time Jayne laughed in earnest. “But then my outfit doesn’t exactly match much of anything, does it? Remind me if you see me later today that I have a lot of laundry to do tonight, okay?”

Rose nodded. “Will do, dear.”

Jayne turned an eye to the large marble foyer of 20 Amber Court, gazing through the big glass windows at the bleak, gray day outside. Thankfully, the rain had ebbed to a scant drizzle, so she closed her eyes for a moment and willed the scant drizzle to stay that way, at least until she reached Colette. And then, with one more halfhearted smile for Rose, she lifted a hand in farewell.

“Good luck today!” her landlady called after her as Jayne hastened toward the front door.

“Thanks!” Jayne called back. “Something tells me I’m going to need it!”



On the other side of Youngsville, Indiana, Erik Randolph wasn’t having a particularly good morning, either—though for entirely different reasons.

His own sleep the night before had been restful and dreamless, and he didn’t wake up late for work. That would be because, simply put, he had no work for which to wake up late. Oh, he could go to work, if he wanted to—it was no secret that his father was holding a VP position for him at Randolph Shipping and Transportation. But it was also no secret that Erik wasn’t much suited to work. Work required something like oh…a work ethic, for one thing. A sense of purpose for another. Or even a feeling of duty, or a desire to provide. Erik, it was commonly known, lacked all of those things. Though, it was likewise commonly known, that didn’t detract from his charm one iota.

So as it stood now, his hour of waking was completely immaterial, because he would spend today as he spent every day—without any specified activities or agenda in mind. And although he awoke alone, it was because he had chosen to awake alone, which was his habit when he spent the night at his house.

That, of course, was because he shared his house with his parents, who were the actual owners of the house. But it wasn’t because he feared discovery by said parents that caused Erik to sleep alone—in fact, the Randolph estate was so large and so spacious, one could be sharing it with the United Arab Emirates and not run into anyone for months. It was because Erik just never quite felt comfortable when he was at home. Certainly not comfortable enough to entertain anyone there.

And, anyway, entertaining was his mother’s milieu. Erik was far better suited to being entertained.

In any case he didn’t like to spend any more time at his parents’ estate than was absolutely necessary. He wasn’t sure why that was. Certainly the house was beautifully and elegantly decorated, filled with only the best that money could buy—the most luxurious Persian rugs, the finest European antiques, the most exquisite works of art. And certainly his parents and his two younger sisters were all likable enough people, and, as a family, they all got along very well. But there was something missing here. The house lacked…something. Erik wasn’t quite sure what. And as a result, he was just never all that comfortable when he was at home.

It was only one of the reasons he spent so much time traveling. The other reason, of course, would be that traveling was just so much fun. And still another reason was that traveling introduced him to so many wonderful people, from so many walks of life, many of whom—the female ones, at any rate—he could share serious, monogamous relationships with, often for days on end. Jet-setting playboy, Erik had concluded a long time ago, was just about the best occupation a man could have.

Still, when he was forced to spend time at home in Youngsville, his parents’ estate was more than accommodating. Even at 9:00 a.m., Erik was still clad in his burgundy silk robe and pajama bottoms, stretched out in his king-size bed, the remnants of his breakfast lying neglected now on the silver tray that Bates, the true-blue Randolph butler, had placed beside him an hour ago. And although Erik felt restless and edgy, as if he were on the brink of some vague, life-altering experience, he just couldn’t quite muster the energy necessary to pull himself out of bed and go greet that experience head-on.

Really, what was the point? he asked himself, dragging an impatient hand through his overly long, dark hair. It was Monday, it was raining, and he could think of no better way to spend the day than idling about. On top of everything else, it was the first day of September, reminding him that his thirtieth birthday was this month, and that—

Suddenly, Erik understood his restlessness, his edginess, his need to go out and meet that life-altering experience head-on. His thirtieth birthday was two weeks away. Damn. This was just what he needed. He’d dedicated his entire summer to zigzagging around the globe, miring himself in denial over the fact that he would soon be thirty years old. Now, suddenly, there it was, staring him in the face. His thirtieth birthday. Only two weeks away. Fourteen days. That was all he had left to his twenties. Two lousy weeks, fourteen lousy days.

Thirty. He was about to turn thirty. God. When had that happened?

It wasn’t so much the chronological significance of turning thirty that bothered Erik. Although he’d very much enjoyed his twenties, he didn’t consider thirty to be the end of his life. On the contrary, he knew several people who were actually in their thirties, and they seemed to be having a surprisingly good time. Many of them even claimed that their thirties were actually more enjoyable than their twenties had been.

Not that Erik was quite willing to go that far, but he wasn’t all that averse to turning thirty. Or, at least, he wouldn’t be. Not if it weren’t for the fact that he had a familial obligation he needed to meet soon. Like, by his thirtieth birthday. Like, in two weeks. Like, in fourteen days.

Fourteen lousy days.

Because within fourteen lousy days, Erik had to acquire something very specific in order to claim an inheritance, currently in trust, left to him by his paternal grandfather. Certainly it wouldn’t break Erik financially if he declined the inheritance—even without his grandfather’s riches, the Randolphs were an exceedingly wealthy family. But Erik’s father was adamant that Erik take possession of the estate that the elder Randolph felt was his entitlement.

Damien Randolph, Erik’s father, hadn’t gotten along particularly well with his own father—in fact, the two men had stopped speaking to each other more than a decade ago. As a result, Grandfather Randolph had split his entire estate—his entire estate of $180 million—between Erik and his two sisters, bypassing his own son entirely.

Of course, it was all contingent on one small stipulation. Because Grandfather Randolph had feared that his grandchildren would never outgrow their notorious playboy and playgirl habits—and for good reason, too, Erik couldn’t help but think now—the will stated that in order to claim their share of the estate, each would have to meet that one simple stipulation before his or her thirtieth birthday. Not that Erik’s sisters had to worry about it for some time—Celeste was four years younger than Erik, and Maureen was eight years younger than he—so Erik would be the test subject. And because he did have a good relationship with his own father, Erik felt rather obligated to meet his grandfather’s requirement, and keep in the Randolph family as much of the Randolph wealth as possible. Really, it was the least Erik could do for his father.

And hey, his share did amount to sixty million dollars.

It wasn’t every day that a man acquired an estate that large and that secure. Grandfather Randolph had been a very wise investor. Once Erik inherited, he’d be set for life. Not that he wasn’t already pretty much set right now, but a man could never be too sure.

And had he mentioned that his share did amount to sixty million dollars?

Still, there was that one simple criterion Erik was obligated to meet before he could take control of his inheritance, and he had to meet it by his thirtieth birthday. Really, it wouldn’t be all that hard to do. What Erik needed to find could be found almost anywhere. He just hadn’t gotten around to looking for one yet, that was all. Now that he only had fourteen days, though, he supposed he should get hopping.

But where to look first, he wondered? Did the Yellow Pages have a listing for what he needed? If he looked under W, would he find a section labeled Wives?

Ah, well. If not, no problem. Should he find a shortage of wives in Youngsville, he’d just pick one up somewhere else. Chicago was right across Lake Michigan and was quite a bit larger than his own community. If he couldn’t find a wife here in town, then surely they had plenty of potential wives over there.

Besides, it wasn’t as if he was going to have to keep the wife he found. Grandfather’s will stated quite clearly that Erik need only remain married for one year in order to collect his inheritance. He supposed his grandfather thought that a year of settling down would be enough to keep Erik settled down. Grandfather Randolph had been so utterly smitten by his own wife that the thought of the marriage ending prematurely had never crossed his mind. The old man had probably thought that Erik need only spend enough time in the company of a good woman to become equally smitten himself.

In a word, Hah.

Not only was Erik much too pragmatic to believe in anything as…as…as silly…as romantic love, but he was also much too entrenched in his globe-trotting playboy lifestyle—not to mention he liked that lifestyle way too much—to ever abandon it. Still, he could put it on hold for a year if it meant maintaining the family status quo, couldn’t he? Especially if it meant maintaining the family status quo and inheriting millions and millions and millions of dollars.

Sometimes, he thought, one just had to make a sacrifice.

Content with his decision to start wife hunting that very morning, Erik rose from his bed. As he launched himself into a full-body stretch, he began his mental shopping list, making note of all the qualities he would require in his wife. She would, it went without saying, have to be beautiful. And blond. He’d always liked blondes, so that’s what he would look for in his wife. Eye color wasn’t especially important, but brown eyes on a blonde were always a good thing, in his opinion. His wife would also have to be reasonably intelligent and fairly articulate. He did so dislike empty conversations. Not that she would need to expound on physics and genetics—au contraire—but knowledge of the current fashion climate would be most welcome.

Let’s see, what else…? he wondered.

She would need to be demure, perhaps even coquettish, and it would be preferable if she had a mild disposition. She should be a free thinker, but open to suggestions, and she would have to have some working knowledge of the social register, not to mention the ins and outs of proper etiquette. Erik attended a lot of parties, and he expected his wife to be as comfortable in such settings as he was himself. She’d need to have a sense of style, a love of fine wine, an appreciation for the arts…

He really should start writing this down, he thought. So much to do, so little time.

A rousing clap of thunder reminded him that he would be doing it in less-than-agreeable weather, too. Still, that would only add to the challenge, wouldn’t it? And Erik did appreciate challenges. Provided, of course, they weren’t too challenging.

Then again, what could possibly be challenging about finding a wife? He was one of Youngsville’s most eligible bachelors. He’d read that himself in the Sunday magazine section of the Youngsville Gazette not too long ago. Therefore, it must be true. He was practically a local celebrity. Any woman would jump at the chance to be his wife. He had everything to offer—good looks, wry wit, cheerful disposition, good finances, a nice home. All right, so that last was actually not his, in name. That was a minor technicality. It was still a nice part of his personal package. In fact, the only thing Erik could think of that he lacked as a potential suitor was—

A ring. An engagement ring. He’d certainly need one of those if he was going to attract the right woman. A wife would first have to be a fiancée, and he couldn’t have a fiancée without the proper ring. Of course, only the finest ring would be suitable for Erik Randolph’s future wife. And everyone in Youngsville, Indiana, knew where you went if you wanted to purchase the best in jewelry.

Colette, Inc.

That would be Erik’s first stop on his wife-hunting safari today, he decided. He’d find just the right ring, one that was beautiful without being showy, exquisite without being ostentatious, elegant without being plain. Much like the woman he hoped to find, he couldn’t helping thinking whimsically.

Yes, Colette, he was certain, would have exactly what he was looking for.




Two


By the time Jayne entered Colette Jewelers on Hammond Street, she was as wet and limp and bedraggled as a street urchin—a street urchin who had just walked eight blocks in a raging downpour, without an umbrella to shelter her from the storm. Because as soon as she had covered the first two blocks between Amber Court and Colette, the skies had opened up and dumped veritable buckets of rain down on Youngsville. It had effectively put an end to the scant drizzle Jayne had hoped would accompany her to work and had begun a deluge of biblical proportions. Not even the awnings had been able to save her after that. So now, in addition to being mismatched, she was completely wet and limp and bedraggled.

And cold, too, because the air-conditioning in the store was blasting full speed ahead, despite the inclement weather, and the chill breeze against her wet flesh and clothing raised goose bumps on her goose bumps. Although the situation was beginning to look dire, Jayne told herself to buck up. Because, after all, things couldn’t possibly get any worse, could they?

Belatedly she realized that thinking such a thing completely jinxed her. Because where she normally arrived at work to find the shop in its empty, preopening state—a condition that would have afforded her an opportunity to at least try and tidy herself up before anyone saw her—today, the Colette Jewelry showroom played host to a good half dozen of Jayne’s co-workers, who were in the shop because today was Colette employee discount day.

Oh, yes. The day was definitely going to get worse. Before it was over, Jayne, looking as bad as she had ever looked in her life, was bound to run into every last person who worked for the company. Because every last person who worked for the company worked in that very building, and virtually all of them took advantage of their twice-yearly employee discount days.

The building that housed Colette, Inc. was a massive, eight-story brick construction that comprised one full city block, located virtually at the center of Youngsville. A large showroom and shop took up the entirety of the first floor, and the corporate offices commanded the remainder of the building. The furnishings, overall, were quite luxuriant, regardless of where one might find oneself in the establishment. Rich jewel tones of varying hues darkened the walls, upon which were hung priceless works of art. Oriental rugs of equally dramatic color and design spanned the hardwood floors, and expensive pieces of sculpture filled all the spaces that weren’t used up in the display of jewelry. Bright track lighting overhead made everything—especially the finely cut gems—sparkle like, well, finely cut gems.

In addition to the offices upstairs, the building housed a formal dining room for executives and an open cafeteria for the other employees. Jayne had never seen the former, but she spent most of her lunch hours in the latter. It, too, was elegantly appointed, and furnished in much the same way as the rest of the building. She assumed the executive dining room was likewise decorated.

But her favorite place in the Colette building—besides the jewelry showroom and shop, both of which she found utterly enchanting—was the lobby of the corporate offices on the second floor, where she’d gone to meet some of her co-workers on one or two occasions. Because in that lobby was the most exquisite piece of jewelry Jayne had ever seen—a single rose crafted of rubies and diamonds and emeralds. She wasn’t sure what the history was behind the piece, and she’d never asked anyone at Colette. She only knew that it was lovely, and Jayne, like so many people who worked for the company, simply adored beautiful things.

Which was another reason why she felt so out of place this morning. Beautiful, she knew, was the last thing she looked today. And her co-workers mingling about the store now seemed to agree, because she could see them biting back smiles and stifling chuckles when they took in her appearance.

So much for things not getting any worse, she thought morosely. From here on out, she wasn’t about to form any more observations on the state of her day. It could only lead to trouble.

She was much relieved to discover that a trio of employees standing nearest the “New Designs” showcase were women she knew well. Because, like Jayne, they lived at 20 Amber Court. And all three had obviously arrived at work on time today, because none of them resembled a limp, bedraggled street urchin in any way, shape or form—oh, no. Each of them was very well put together, sartorially speaking. Not to mention quite dry.

Lila Maxwell lived on the third floor of Jayne’s apartment building and worked on the fourth floor of Colette. She was an administrative assistant to Nicholas Camden, a vice president of the company, in charge of overseas marketing. Lila was dressed today as she always was—for success. And lots of it. Her long, dark-blond hair shone like finely tempered bronze beneath the halogen lights of the showroom, offsetting her dark-brown eyes as if they were bittersweet chocolate. Her charcoal suit was stylishly cut, hugging her curves with much affection.

She was chatting in low tones with two of Jayne’s other neighbors and co-workers—Meredith Blair, who was a jewelry designer for Colette, and Sylvie Bennett, who worked as a marketing manager for the company. Meredith, as always, was dressed in her usual, nondescript style, her long beige skirt and shapeless ivory sweater doing nothing to enhance what could be a very curvy figure and truly spectacular facial features, if Meredith would only give herself a chance. Her long, reddish-brown, curly hair was, as usual, pulled tersely away from her face, held in place with a barrette that was as nondescript as her clothing.

Although she’d only known Meredith for a month, Jayne recognized her neighbor’s low self-esteem and knew Meredith went out of her way to downplay her appearance in an effort to make herself invisible. Which wasn’t going to work much longer, as far as Jayne was concerned, because Meredith designed some of the most beautiful jewelry Jayne had ever seen. She was sure to go far in the business. People were going to start noticing her soon. And then what would Meredith do?

Not that Jayne was in any position to criticize the other woman’s style…or lack thereof. At least Meredith’s clothing matched. And was dry. Glancing down at her own questionable appearance again, Jayne found herself wishing she could be invisible—at least for today.

Sylvie, on the other hand, despite the quiet, obviously serious conversation in which the three women were engaged, appeared to be her usual feisty self. Her expression was more intense than the other women’s, as if she were gearing up for battle. Her stark black curls were swept back at her nape, her dark-brown eyes flashed fire. Coupled with her deep burgundy power suit, she appeared a formidable force indeed.

Doing her best not to make wet, squishy sounds as she walked, Jayne strode toward the group. But the three women were so wrapped up in their conversation that they didn’t even notice her approach. Not until Jayne greeted them.

“G-g-g-good m-m-m-morning,” she said through chattering teeth as she halted, resigned to her fate. “L-l-l-lovely m-m-m-morning, is-s-sn’t it-t-t-t?”

The three women turned to her at once, opening their mouths to reply. But when they got a collective look at her, they hesitated. For one taut moment no one said a word. Then all three of her neighbors responded in unison.

“Jayne, if I’d known you were walking today, I would have offered you a lift,” Sylvie told her.

“I just made it in myself before the skies opened up,” Meredith added.

“You could have taken the bus with me, you know,” Lila threw in for good measure.

Jayne lifted a hand to stop the flow of commentary. After all, it wasn’t as if they were telling her anything she didn’t already know. “I overslept, so I was running late and missed the bus,” she said. “Thanks for the offer of a lift, Sylvie, but I’m sure I missed you, too. Besides, it was barely drizzling when I left home. I thought the buildings would shelter me well enough. I should have known better. It’s definitely going to be one of those days—I can feel it in my bones.”

Automatically, she reached for the brooch Rose Carson had pinned to her blouse earlier. “I did run into Rose, though, before I left. She insisted I wear this pin.” Jayne smiled wryly as her friends leaned in for a closer look. “She said it would bring me good luck, but I don’t think anything can improve this day. Things are only going to get worse from here. Mark my words.”

There, she thought. By saying that she expected the worst, surely things would get better. Then she immediately cursed herself, because in supposing things would get better, she had surely just jinxed herself again. And on top of just jinxing herself again, she’d just tried to reverse-psychology fate. And that, she was certain, was bound to be a major metaphysical no-no.

Sure enough, in response to her remark, all three of her friends exchanged curious—and clearly very anxious—glances, and Jayne got the distinct impression that things were indeed about to get worse. Again.

“What?” she demanded, her stomach clenching nervously in response to their obvious worry. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment she didn’t think any of them would answer her. Then, finally, Lila hastily replied, “It’s just a rumor.”

Oh, that didn’t sound good at all, Jayne thought. And, just like that, all thoughts of her current state of personal discomfort immediately fled to the back of her brain. “What’s just a rumor?” she asked.

This time it was Sylvie who answered. “It’s about Colette,” she said simply.

“What about it?” Jayne asked.

“Well,” Sylvie began again, “it’s like Lila said—just a rumor.”

Jayne switched her gaze from one woman to the other and back again. “But what, exactly, is it?” she demanded more frantically. “What’s wrong? Why do you all look like you’re expecting the end of the world?”

“It’s a hostile takeover of the company,” Meredith blurted out with an artist’s kind of spontaneity.

“A hostile takeover?” Jayne echoed. “What do you mean a hostile takeover? Why would anyone want to hostilely take over Colette, Inc.? It’s such a nice company.”

“That’s why someone wants to take it over,” Meredith pointed out. “Word has it that someone—and nobody seems to know who—is buying up shares of Colette in an effort to have controlling interest.”

“But that won’t affect us, will it?” Jayne asked hopefully—and probably naively, she couldn’t help thinking.

“Well, there is that pesky business of our jobs,” Sylvie said mildly. “Hostile takeovers have a tendency to lead to downsizing, and downsizing has a tendency to cause unemployment. Oh, but hey, other than that…”

“But…but…but…” Jayne sputtered. Unfortunately she had no idea what to say.

“Look, there’s no need to panic,” Lila said emphatically. “It’s just a rumor.”

But rumors were almost always at least grounded in truth, Jayne thought. And this one was doubtless no different. “What happens if Colette is taken over?” she asked. “Hostilely or not? What will happen to our jobs?”

Jayne was completely ignorant when it came to all things corporate related. Although she genuinely enjoyed her job as a salesclerk, she really wasn’t much interested with the workings of the business as a whole. Her familiarity with Colette, Inc., was limited to the history of the company that was common knowledge in Youngsville, what she’d heard from her neighbor co-workers, and what she’d learned herself in employee training a month ago. About how Abraham Colette, whose family had been in the jewelry business in Paris for generations, came to Youngsville from France in 1902 to start over. About how he married a local girl named Teresa and started his own branch of the company, which soon became known for having the most precious of precious gems in the most exquisite of settings.

Even during the Depression, Colette, Inc., had flourished, thanks to Carl Colette, Abraham and Teresa’s son, who naturally followed in his father’s footsteps, and had had the foresight to bring in investors a decade earlier. As a result, over the years, Colette had become known nationwide, even worldwide, for its unique and elegant pieces, pieces created by only the finest designers and craftspeople.

Which, Jayne thought further, probably went a long way toward explaining this hostile takeover business.

“What will happen to our jobs if someone takes over the company?” she asked again when no one offered a reply—which wasn’t exactly reassuring. “I can’t lose this job,” she said further. “I was lucky to get it in the first place, and that was only because Rose put in a good word for me. I’m not trained to do anything. I’d never find something else that pays as well as this. I need my commissions,” she added, swallowing the hysteria she heard bubbling up in her words. “I have a brother and sister to put through college.”

“Look, everybody, just relax,” Lila said, “it’s only a rumor, okay? There’s no need for us to go off half-cocked. Everything is probably going to be fine.” She glanced down at her watch. “The store’s going to be opening in a half hour, Jayne,” she said. “And you’ve got a lot of employees in here who want to make purchases. You and Amy better get on the stick if you want to open on time this morning.”

“Right,” Jayne said, pushing to the back of her mind for now—well, almost to the back of her mind, anyway—all thoughts of hostile takeovers. “Right,” she said again, steeling herself. Work—an excessive amount of it—was exactly what she needed right now, she told herself. Something to take her mind off just how badly her morning…her week…her month had begun.

It can’t possibly get any worse, she told herself again. And this time she didn’t worry about jinxing herself or offending fate by doing so. Because for the first time in her life Jayne was confident that that was true. Things couldn’t get any worse from here. No way. Whatever else the day ahead held, it was only going to be better.

It would be, she promised herself.

It would.



By mid-afternoon, Erik Randolph wasn’t feeling quite as optimistic about his marital prospects as he had upon waking that morning. For one thing, the gloomy weather, which traditionally boded ill, anyway, had dampened his mood—so to speak. But what had dampened his mood even more was the fact that, astonishingly, of the three women to whom he had proposed marriage so far today, none had accepted his offer. None. Talk about boding ill…

The first of those women had been his sister, Celeste’s, best friend, Marianne, who was enjoying a few days with Celeste at the Randolph estate before returning to graduate school. Erik had known her for years, of course, and rather liked her, even if he didn’t know her all that well. Still, he had thought it reasonable that she might warm to his offer of marriage, however temporary, because Celeste had confided to him recently that Marianne had a huge crush on him.

Well, all right, so maybe Celeste’s revelation hadn’t been all that recent. Maybe it had been more than a decade ago, when Marianne was eleven, but that was beside the point. Erik had still been surprised when she declined, citing a desire to return to her studies. Her tuition for the fall semester, she had explained, had already been paid in full.

Fine, then, Erik had thought. On to prospect number two: Diana, the daughter of the Randolphs’ housekeeper, Mrs. Martin. Erik had known Diana for ages, too, seeing as how Mr. and Mrs. Martin had come to work for his family when he was still in high school. But for some reason Diana hadn’t seemed to think Erik was serious about his offer of marriage, had simply giggled riotously when he’d outlined his proposal, and had kept giggling no matter how hard he had insisted that he was, in fact, quite serious. Finally, wiping tears from her eyes—and still giggling—Diana had declined, thanked him, anyway, and headed off to work. He had heard her giggling all the way down the hall.

Erik’s third rejection had come only moments ago, from the waitress at Crystal’s on Marion Street, an upscale eatery that claimed one of Indiana’s only Cordon Bleu trained chefs. And although said waitress hadn’t seemed to take his suggestion quite as lightly as the other women had, she had ultimately declined due to a previous engagement—literally. She’d told Erik she felt obliged to marry her fiancé the following month.

Nevertheless, he held firm in his conviction that his search for a wife would pan out—today. He was even so sure of that, that he had dressed in his best suit, a Hugo Boss charcoal pinstripe, and a Valentino silk necktie with an elegant geometric design, knowing that such an outfit would make an impression. Now, as he approached Colette Jewelry, Erik felt more than optimistic that he was on the right track. Finding a wife with whom he could enjoy wedded bliss for a full year, he was certain, would be a piece of wedding cake.

The whimsical thought made him smile as he pushed open the door to Colette Jewelry and strode into the main showroom. He’d been in the store many times over the years, of course, to purchase baubles for his feminine companions. But where he normally turned left, toward the specialty pieces, now Erik went right, toward the wedding and engagement displays. As he strode in that direction, he overheard two women chatting, and glanced up to see that two of Colette’s salesclerks were busily rearranging one of the wedding-and-engagement showcases.

Perfect, he thought. Whatever new inventory the women were putting out, that was what he wanted. He was known for being on the cutting edge of, well, just about everything. So if there was something new happening in engagement rings, Erik Randolph wanted to know about it.

The two salesclerks had their heads bowed in soft conversation, he noted as he drew nearer, presumably about the display they were in the process of putting together. So rapt was their concentration on their conversation, in fact, that they didn’t even notice Erik’s approach. He was about to clear his throat to make his presence known—after all, this was most uncommon at Colette, to be overlooked by the sales staff—when one of the women’s remarks made him hesitate.

“I don’t know what I’ll do if there is a hostile takeover,” said the woman closest to him, a redhead. “If Colette is gobbled up by a rival company, I could end up unemployed. Without this job, I can’t possibly pay for Charlie and Chloe’s tuition and living expenses.”

“It’s a bad situation all around,” the other clerk, a brunette, agreed. “But it’s just a rumor, Jayne. Don’t borrow trouble.”

“I can’t help it, Amy,” the woman identified as Jayne replied quietly, soberly. “I keep worrying about what would happen to Charlie and Chloe—and to me, too, for that matter—if I lose my job. I’m barely making ends meet as it is.”

“Maybe you could go on that Millionaire question-and-answer show,” the brunette called Amy said lightly, clearly joking. “You’re pretty good with trivia. Or, better still, maybe they’ll have another one of those shows about marrying a multimillionaire, and you could go on that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Jayne, the redheaded salesclerk, agreed with a chuckle. “Even though that one didn’t quite turn out the way they planned,” she added, “I’m sure that would solve all of my problems. Yeah, I’ll just go out and find myself a multimillionaire to marry, if only momentarily. Because I’d probably at least wind up with some nice parting gifts, right?”

Erik snapped his mouth shut at hearing both the remark and the woman’s laughter. Because the first had been a comment that was simply too serendipitous for words, and the second had been a sound that was simply too musical to ignore. Whoever the woman was, she had a wonderful laugh, one that made something pop and fizz and settle in a warm place very close to Erik’s heart.

And what an interesting sensation that was, too.

When she glanced up to find Erik looking at her, he noted that she also had a charming way of blushing. Well, my, my, my. For such a gloomy day, things sure were brightening up all of a sudden.

“Hello,” the redhead said softly, her voice as pleasant as her laughter had been. “Can I help you?”

Erik smiled. Oh, if she only knew.

What was it he had been thinking he required in a wife? he asked himself again as he gazed upon the redhead named Jayne. Oh, yes. First and foremost, she would have to be beautiful.

He considered the salesclerk behind the counter again, taking in the wide eyes, the fair complexion, the smattering of freckles, and the…unusual wardrobe that appeared to be kind of…damp?

We-ell, he thought, she was kind of cute. In a soggy, mismatched, ragamuffin sort of way.

“Actually, Miss…” he began, deliberately leading.

“Pembroke,” she told him. Then she asked her fateful question once again. “Can I help you?”

Erik’s smile fell some when he recalled that he’d also been thinking earlier that he wanted his future wife to be blond. And preferably brown-eyed, as well. He noted the pale-red hair again and thought, Fine. So she was strawberry blond. It was close enough. And although her eyes were a striking lavender color, he’d never said they absolutely had to be brown, had he? No, he had not. He’d simply indicated that it would be preferable, that was all. Let it never be said that Erik Randolph couldn’t make compromises. Lavender eyes it would be.

“As a matter of fact, you can help me,” he told her. “I’m looking for something very specific.”

She smiled at him, and he decided then that he liked her smile very much. That was going to be so helpful in the coming year.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” she told him.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he assured her, recalling that the third item on his list of wifely requirements had been reasonable intelligence and a fair amount of articulation. Even if the woman behind the counter had barely spoken two dozen words so far, she did seem to at least have the capacity for both.

Still, he had wanted the future Mrs. Randolph to be knowledgeable about current fashion trends, hadn’t he? he further reminded himself. And, noting the woman’s outfit once more—however reluctantly—there was no way he could make excuses for her there, could he?

Unless, of course, she was way ahead of Erik in fashion sense, he told himself. Which, although unlikely, was certainly possible. Who knew? Maybe a month from now, everyone who was anyone in Youngsville would be wearing burnt orange and raspberry with chartreuse accessories. Hey, it could happen. After all, bell-bottoms and fringed vests were back in style, weren’t they?

He mentally tallied the rest of his wife to-do list. A demure and mild disposition had been desirable, he remembered thinking, which, clearly, this woman had. And he’d wanted his wife to be a free thinker, too. Taking in her outfit again, he realized that wasn’t going to be a character trait she lacked at all. A knowledge of the social register—well, they could study together, he told himself—and an appreciation for the arts. Again, more studying might be required.

Ah, well. No one was perfect, he reminded himself. And they would be spending a year together, so all this studying would give them something to occupy their time. Jayne the salesclerk did, at least, seem to claim the majority of the desirable traits Erik required in a wife.

Which was good, because he decided in that moment that she was exactly the woman he needed. She had just stated quite clearly that marriage to money—temporarily, no less—would solve all of her problems. And having a woman married to his money—temporarily, no less—would solve all of Erik’s problems, too. He needed a wife. She needed money. Their encounter this afternoon, clearly, was fate. It was providence. It was kismet. It was destiny.

It was perfect.

He smiled again when he realized just how well this was going to work out. Obviously, the two of them were meant for each other. Now all he had to do was convince Jayne—what was her last name again?—of that, too.

“I apologize for your having to wait,” she said, just as the silence was beginning to stretch taut. “We didn’t mean to ignore you. We just didn’t hear you come in.”

“Oh, no harm done,” he assured her. “In fact, I found your conversation to be quite intriguing.”

Jayne’s eyes widened in obvious concern. “Ah…” she began eloquently. “You mean that, um, that stuff about a hostile takeover? Oh, that was all totally false.”

“Yeah,” her co-worker quickly agreed, with a very adamant nod. “That was a complete fabrication. We were just playing What-if.”

Jayne nodded again. “I mean, who’d want to hostilely take over Colette, you know? It’s unthinkable.”

“I couldn’t care less about a takeover,” Erik said amiably, honestly. “Hostile or otherwise. That wasn’t the part of your conversation that I found intriguing.”

The two women exchanged glances, then Jayne directed her attention back to him. “Oh,” she said softly.

Erik, in turn, directed his attention to the brunette. “Do you mind?” he said politely. “I think Miss…

“Pembroke,” redheaded Jayne repeated.

“Miss Pembroke, here,” he continued, “can see to my needs.”

The brunette gaped softly at his less-than-subtle dismissal, but she nodded and strode toward another jewelry case. Nevertheless, her watchfulness, Erik noted, didn’t stray far from her colleague. Which he supposed was understandable. You never knew what kind of oddball was going to stumble in from the street and make some bizarre, unacceptable suggestion.

He turned to look again at Jayne Pembroke—Pembroke, he reminded himself firmly, lest he forget again; it really wouldn’t do to forget one’s fiancée’s name, would it? Pembroke, Pembroke, Pembroke—calling up the most disarming smile in his ample arsenal. “No, it wasn’t the takeover part of your conversation that was so intriguing,” he said again. “It was the part about you marrying a multimillionaire.”

Her expression, he noted, changed not one iota, save an almost imperceptible arching of one eyebrow. So he had no idea how to gauge her reaction. Very quietly she replied, “Oh.” Nothing more. Just Oh.

So Erik plunged onward. “Because you see, I myself happen to be a multimillionaire,” he told her with much equanimity.

“Oh,” she said again. And again her expression reflected nothing of what she might be thinking.

Erik took it to be a good sign. Then again, he took most things, short of natural disaster, to be good signs. That was just the kind of man he was.

“Or, at least, I will be a multimillionaire,” he clarified pleasantly. “Once I get married, I mean.”

Jayne Pembroke’s expression cleared then, making her look…relieved? Maybe this was going to be easier than he’d anticipated.

“So you’ve come in to buy an engagement ring for your intended,” she said, her smile returning.

“Yes,” he agreed happily. “That’s it exactly. A ring. A fiancée—and, hence, a wife—will, after all, expect a ring, won’t she? Two rings, actually. One to signify the engagement and one to signify the marriage. Which,” he added, “when you get right down to it, is a damned nice gift, considering the fact that she will only be my wife for one year.”

Now Jayne’s smile fell again, and her expression grew puzzled. “One year?” she echoed, sounding disappointed.

“Well, you can’t expect me to stay married any longer than is necessary, can you?” Erik asked, fighting a twinge of indignation. Honestly. They weren’t even married yet, and already she was finding fault with him. “I mean, I do have other obligations, you know.”

Now Jayne opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged.

“Not that my wife will have to worry,” he said, jacking up the wattage on his smile. “Because it goes without saying that, after we go our separate ways, she will end up with some—” he wiggled his eyebrows meaningfully “—lovely parting gifts.”

Now Jayne, he noted, was looking at him as if she had just discovered he’d escaped from a hospital for the criminally insane. Hmmm, he thought. Perhaps they weren’t quite on the same wavelength as he had assumed they were. Perhaps he wasn’t going about this the best way he could be going about it. Perhaps he wasn’t making himself as clear as he could be making himself.

So Erik straightened to his full six feet, tossed his head in a way that he’d been told by several women was quite boyish and charming, brushed his dark hair back from his forehead, and smiled what he liked to think was his rogue’s smile. “What I’m trying to say, Miss Pembroke,” he began in his most enchanting tone of voice, “is…will you marry me?”




Three


Jayne eyed the man standing on the other side of the counter very cautiously, and debated for a full fifteen seconds whether or not she should stomp her foot down—hard—on the alarm button located conveniently behind the jewelry showcase. He didn’t look like a psychotic, crazed, homicidal maniac. In fact, she thought upon further consideration of his charmingly disheveled dark hair and kind, bittersweet-chocolate brown eyes, he was actually kind of cute. But one could never tell these days. Ultimately, being the kind of woman that she was, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

And also, being the kind of woman that she was, she decided to speak slowly and not make any sudden moves.

“Uuummm,” she began, stringing the single syllable out over several time zones. “That’s uh…” She cleared her throat indelicately and tried again. “That’s really nice of you to ask, Mr. um…”

The potentially psychotic, crazed, homicidal—but kind of cute—maniac closed his eyes in what appeared to be genuine embarrassment, pressed his fingertips lightly against his forehead, made a soft tsking sound and looked very sheepish.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t even introduced myself, have I? I can’t imagine what you must be thinking of me, proposing this way when I haven’t even told you who I am.” He opened his eyes again and extended his hand toward her. “Erik Randolph,” he said by way of an introduction.

Oh, well, that explained everything, Jayne thought as relief coursed through her. Even though she had only moved into 20 Amber Court a month ago, she had grown up in Youngsville, so she knew all about the Randolph family. They were like local royalty. They kept the society pages of the Youngsville Gazette in business. The Randolphs were purported to be one of the wealthiest families in the state of Indiana. And they were rumored to be one of the most eccentric families in the state, too, from what Jayne had heard and read.

If Erik, here, was any indication, the eccentricity thing was no rumor at all.

Still, from all accounts the Randolphs were harmless. They were, in fact, gregarious, magnanimous people, known throughout several states for their wealth, their prominence, their numerous and varied social causes and their limitless philanthropy. But never had she heard anyone refer to any of the Randolphs as psychotic, crazed or homicidal. Which, naturally, was quite a relief.

Nevertheless, she still felt a bit cautious as she extended her own hand and shook his. Then he grinned as he gripped her fingers firmly—but not homicidally or maniacally—and Jayne relaxed.

“Mr. Randolph,” she said, feeling glad that she had hesitated setting off the alarm. “It’s lovely to meet you,” she added, uncertain what else to say. After all, she couldn’t very well tell him she accepted his proposal, could she? As an afterthought she added, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

He nodded amiably, as if he was in no way surprised to hear her say this. “All good things, I hope.”

“Oh, yes,” she assured him. “From all reports, you’re quite the charmer.” And also quite the odd duck, she added to herself.

“Well then, you have me at a disadvantage,” he told her, still smiling, still relaxing her. “Because I’m afraid I know little about you. Other than the fact that you, too, appear to be quite charming. And that you are in need of a wealthy husband. Which,” he hurried on before she had a chance to contradict him, “works out perfectly, because I, in addition to being wealthy, am in need of a wife.”

Oh, dear, Jayne thought. They were back to that, were they? Very diplomatically she said, “Well, I wish you luck in your search, and I’ll be happy to assist you in finding the perfect ring to present to your fiancée. But I couldn’t possibly accept your offer myself.” She smiled, too, what she hoped was a kind—and in no way homicidal-mania-provoking, just in case—smile. “Even if I know of you, I don’t know you. So I really couldn’t accept your proposal. Not that I’m not flattered,” she hastened to add for good measure. “Now about that ring,” she hurried on further. “Personally, I think the square-cut diamonds are just so lovely, especially in the white-gold setting, and very—”

But Erik Randolph was not to be dissuaded that easily. “No, no, no,” he interrupted her gently. “You don’t understand. It isn’t necessary for my wife to know me.”

Jayne arched her brows curiously. Eccentric, she thought, really wasn’t an accurate word for Erik Randolph. No, she was beginning to think the term delusional might better describe him. “Oh?” she said.

He nodded knowingly. “The marriage will be in name only,” he told her. “Oh, certainly, we’ll have to live together, to fulfill the terms of the agreement, but that won’t be a problem.”

Wondering what it was that made her prolong this discussion, Jayne nevertheless asked, “Um, no?”

“Certainly not.”

Well, naturally, a man would think that way, she thought. Especially a delusional—oops, she meant eccentric, of course—man like Erik Randolph. But Jayne kept the observation to herself and, in an effort to conclude this part of their dialogue and move on to the next, said instead, “Well, I’m sure you’ll find the right woman soon. Now then, we have a very good selection of square-cut solitaires that you might find—”

Before she had a chance to direct his attention to the jewelry showcase, however, Erik interrupted her again. “Oh, I believe I’ve already found the right woman,” he said.

Oh, Jayne didn’t think so. She met his gaze again—really, he did have the most beautiful brown eyes, thickly lashed and so dark she could scarcely see where the irises ended and the pupils began and…and…and…

And what was it they had been talking about? she wondered vaguely. Oh, yes. He had asked her to marry him, and she was trying to explain why she couldn’t.

It was all coming back to her now.

“Yes, well, as I said,” she tried again, “I’m very flattered that you would ask, Mr. Randolph, but I really can’t marry you. Truly, I can’t. I’m afraid I decided a long time ago that before I married a man, I wanted to, well, know him. And being in love with him would be even more helpful. But thank you, anyway. Now about that ring for your intended, whoever she might turn out to be…”

Jayne tried once more to turn his attention to the array of sparkling diamond rings that lay in the glass case between them. But Erik Randolph would have none of it. Instead of focusing his attention on the exquisite gems, he eyed Jayne with much consideration and interest.

“You don’t think I’m serious, do you?” he asked.

Actually, Jayne suspected he was serious. Which was entirely the problem. Aloud, however, she only said, “Well, can you blame me?”

“I suppose it does make sense that you would draw such a conclusion,” he conceded. “How often do strangers come in from the street and propose marriage, right?”

“I think I can safely say that you’re my first.”

For some reason, he smiled very suggestively at that. Then, “Well, I assure you, Jayne Pembroke, that I am completely serious. I want you to marry me.”

“You fell in love with me at first sight, is that it?” she asked playfully.

“Don’t be silly,” he countered. “I don’t even know you.”

“Oh.”

“Besides, I don’t believe in love at first sight. Or any sight, for that matter.” Before Jayne could comment on that—not that she had any idea what to say—he continued, “As I said, the marriage I’m proposing would be in name only. A marriage of convenience, if you will. I’ll be turning thirty soon. And my grandfather, a lovable old rogue, I assure you, decided a long time ago that I should be married by the time I turn thirty. In fact, he’s blackmailing me into it.”

“Can’t you talk to him? Explain that you don’t want to get married?”

“No,” Erik said. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s dead, you see.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Erik Randolph looked genuinely bereft as he said, “I am, too. But he was a lovable old rogue, as I said, and I do believe he only wanted what he thought was best for me.”

“And what did he think was best for you?”

“The love of a good woman,” Erik replied promptly.

“Oh,” Jayne said, smiling in spite of the strange situation. “Oh, that’s so sweet.”

“And also one-third of his $180 million-dollar estate,” Erik added, in as matter-of-fact a tone as Jayne had ever heard.

Then his words hit her, and her mouth dropped open slightly, an incredulous little gasp of air escaping. “One-third of…of…of…”

“Sixty million dollars is what it boils down to.” Erik did the math for her, in that same matter-of-fact tone, by golly, when Jayne wasn’t quite able to calculate—or enunciate—the amount herself.

“Well,” she finally got out. “Well. Well, gee. Well, that’s pretty doggone good,” she conceded with much understatement.

Erik nodded, apparently oblivious to her complete astonishment, as if everyone came into $60 million because their lovable rogue of a grandfather willed it to them. “Unfortunately,” he said, “Grandfather Randolph insisted on one small stipulation before I could inherit. That I be married. By the time I’m thirty.”

“And you’ll be thirty soon,” Jayne echoed his earlier sentiment.

He nodded again. “Very soon. In two weeks, to be precise.”

This time Jayne’s jaw dropped a lot more, and the gasp of incredulous breath that escaped was more like a great big whoosh of air. “Two weeks?” she repeated.

He nodded once more.

“You expect to find a woman who’ll marry you in two weeks’ time?”

He eyed her with much concern. “Do you think that’s unreasonable?”

Jayne couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He honestly seemed to think he could just waltz right in off the street and ask a woman to marry him, just because he would be coming into $60 million as a result. Then again, she thought, there were probably lots of women out there who would do just that. Especially once they got a look at Erik Randolph in his expertly tailored dark suit, with his silky, dark-brown hair and puppy dog brown eyes and full mouth that was just made for kissing and—

Well, suffice it to say that there were probably plenty of women who would take him up on his offer. Women other than Jayne Pembroke, anyway.

“Um, look,” she said, striving for a polite way to tell him he was nuts. “I’m really flattered,” she said again, “and I wish you well in your search, and I hope you enjoy your…” she swallowed with some difficulty before finally getting out “—$60 million. But I’m not the woman you need, truly.”

He eyed her intently for a moment, saying nothing. Then he asked, “Would you at least let me take you to dinner tonight?”

Jayne shook her head. But she was surprised at how reluctant she felt when she told him, “No, I’m afraid not. Thank you.”

“Oh, please,” he said. “I can explain things better, and you might change your mind. Plus, it would give you hours to get to know me.”

She couldn’t quite prevent the smile that curled her lips in response to both his cajoling and his own earnest grin. “No, really,” she told him. But she could feel her conviction slipping, and she was certain that Erik detected it, too, because his smile grew broader still.

“And once you get to know me,” he added, “you’ll discover just how charming and irresistible—not to mention what a great catch—I am.”

Jayne had no idea why, but she found herself wanting to say yes to his offer. Not the marriage offer, of course—that would be silly—but the dinner offer. Had he been another man who had wandered in off the street and flirted with her, one who wasn’t rumored to be eccentric, and one who hadn’t just proposed marriage to a total stranger, she might very well have given his invitation serious consideration. He was kind of charming and irresistible, after all. Not to mention cute. And he was seeming less and less like a psychotic, crazed homicidal maniac with every passing moment.

So that was a definite plus.

“I’m not sure it would be a good idea,” she said halfheartedly. She told herself she was trying to let him down easily. But she knew she was really only stalling for time, because she discovered then that—surprise, surprise—she really wanted to accept his invitation.

Erik, however, still clearly picking up on her uncertainty, pressed, “Look, if you’re worried about my intentions, you don’t have to tell me where you live. You can meet me somewhere.”

“Gee, I don’t know…”

“And I’ll let you pick the restaurant.”

“But…”

“And choose the time.”

“It’s just that…”

“Please, Jayne,” he said. “You may well be my only hope. And once I explain the situation to you, you might change your mind.”

She wasn’t sure how she should take that first part of his statement, whether being his only hope was a good thing or a bad thing. But she was absolutely certain about the last part of his statement—there was no way she would change her mind, no matter how well she understood what he termed “the situation.”

Still, what would it hurt to have dinner with him? she thought. It wasn’t as though she planned to do anything else this evening. Oh, wait a minute. Yes, she did have plans, she suddenly remembered. She planned to do laundry.

Dinner with Erik was definitely looking better now.

“It will all make sense to you when I explain,” he promised, swaying her further.

Jayne gazed into his eyes, nearly losing herself in their dark-brown depths. He was allowing her to call all the shots, letting her set up their date—or whatever it was—in any way that would make her feel safe and comfortable. Just because he had a reputation for being eccentric, that was no reason to say no, was it? she asked herself. Were he any other charming, irresistible and cute—did she mention cute?—man asking her out to dinner under the same circumstances, she’d probably say yes.

And he was awfully cute.

“Look, I’ll tell you what,” Erik said when she still didn’t reply one way or the other to his invitation. “J.J.’s Deli is right up the street. What time do you get off from work?”

“Five,” Jayne said before she could stop herself.

He smiled. “Fine. I’ll be at J.J.’s Deli at seven o’clock tonight. If you decide to come, wonderful. If you decide not to…”

His voice trailed off, and she was surprised at the depth of disappointment she heard in it.

“If you decide not to,” he said again, sighing heavily, “well, I guess I’ll survive. Somehow.”

She smiled back at him, but still couldn’t quite bring herself to accept.

“But I think, Jayne, that if you do decide to come, we could have a very nice time, and a very interesting conversation. Seven o’clock,” he repeated. “J.J.’s Deli. I hope you’ll come.”

And then Erik Randolph, eccentric, cute guy, potential multimillionaire, spun around and exited Colette without a backward glance.

And all Jayne could do was shake her head in mystification, and wonder what on earth had just happened.




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