Just One Kiss

Marissa threw back her head and laughed.

“I don't see what's so damned funny,” Jack answered indignantly.

She stepped close to him and placed a hand on his arm. “Trust me, Jack. You have nothing to worry about. You are nothing like the man I intend to marry. At this point, I'm not even sure I like you very much.” Still laughing, she picked up her son and left the balcony.

Jack stared after her, wondering why it irritated him that a woman he hadn't even known before two days ago was so certain she could never, ever fall for him….

Dear Reader,

Although the anniversary is over, Silhouette Romance is still celebrating our coming of age—we'll soon be twenty-one! Be sure to join us each and every month for six emotional stories about the romantic journey from first time to forever.

And this month we've got a special Valentine's treat for you! Three stories deal with the special holiday for true lovers. Karen Rose Smith gives us a man who asks an old friend to
Be My Bride?
Teresa Southwick's latest title,
Secret Ingredient: Love,
brings back the delightful Marchetti family. And Carla Cassidy's
Just One Kiss
shows how a confirmed bachelor is brought to his knees by a special woman.

Amusing, emotional and oh-so-captivating Carolyn Zane is at it again! Her latest BRUBAKER BRIDES story,
Tex's Exasperating Heiress,
features a determined groom, a captivating heiress and the pig that brought them together. And popular author Arlene James tells of
The Mesmerizing Mr. Carlyle,
part of our AN OLDER MAN thematic miniseries. Readers will love the overwhelming attraction between this couple! Finally,
The Runaway Princess
marks Patricia Forsythe's debut in the Romance line. But Patricia is no stranger to love stories, having written many as Patricia Knoll!

Next month, look for appealing stories by Raye Morgan, Susan Meier, Valerie Parv and other exciting authors. And be sure to return in March for a new installment of the popular ROYALLY WED tales!

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

“A
ren't they cute?” Samantha Curell pointed to the three toddlers playing in the day-care sandbox.

Samantha's assistant, Marie, nodded. “They always play well together. And the way they chatter, it's as if their gibberish is their very own language and they're solving the world's problems.”

Actually the three toddlers were not solving the world's problems. Instead, the two little girls were bragging to the little boy.

“My daddy took me to the movies last night,” eighteen-month-old Claire boasted in the toddler language only other toddlers understood.

“So what?” Twenty-month-old Julie looked bored. “My daddy bought me a new doll and it hugs me when I squeeze its tummy.”

Both girls looked at two-year-old Nathaniel. He frowned. Sometimes he didn't like girls at all, especially girls who had daddies and liked to brag.

He shoved a toy truck along the floor, trying to pretend he didn't care about the fact that he didn't have a father.

“My daddy is so strong, sometimes he lifts me up to touch the ceiling,” Claire continued.

“Well, my daddy is a policeman and he arrests bad people, so he's
really
strong,” Julie said, refusing to be outdone.

Unable to resist, Nathaniel abandoned the toy truck. “I'm gonna get me a daddy and he'll be the best daddy in the whole wide world.”

Claire laughed, her blue eyes disbelieving. At that moment Nathaniel decided that when he got married, he'd marry a woman with brown eyes. “Where are you going to get a daddy?” she asked.

“On vacation. My mom is taking me on a trip tomorrow. A vacation trip. When I get back, I'm gonna have a dad.”

“How are you gonna do that?” Julie asked.

Nathaniel frowned. “I'm not sure, but I'll think of something.”

“I'll believe it when I see it,” Claire replied, her little nose in the air.

“You wait and see, I'm going to get me a great daddy,” Nathaniel vowed. He turned at the sound of his mother's voice.

Marissa Criswell stood talking to Miss Samantha.
They were talking grown-up talk and Nathaniel didn't understand all the words. Just as the grown-ups didn't understand when he talked to his friends.

“I gotta go,” Nathaniel said to the girls. He carefully climbed out of the sandbox. “I'll see you when I get back and then you'll see the daddy I bring home.”

Nathaniel ran to his mom, who opened her arms to welcome him. “Hi, sweetheart,” Marissa said as she picked him up and kissed his cheek. “Were you a good boy today?” Nathaniel snuggled against his mother, who always smelled so nice.

Marissa smiled at Miss Samantha. “Okay, then we'll see you when we get back.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Miss Samantha replied. “Bye-bye, Nathaniel.” She wiggled her fingers and Nathaniel waved back.

As Marissa carried Nathaniel to their car parked in front of the Hickory Dickory Day Care, Nathaniel gave her neck an extra squeeze.

He knew she had no idea what he had planned. But a boy shouldn't grow up without a dad. One way or another he was going to get one. And if he got himself a dad, that meant he'd be getting his mom a man—whether she liked it or not!

Excitement made him wiggle impatiently as his mom buckled him into his car seat. Oh, yes, he had a mission…and that mission was to get a daddy.

S
inful.

Decadent.

These words fluttered through Marissa Criswell's mind as she stretched languidly against the sun-warmed towel. Mason Bridge Beach, Florida, in late June. Three glorious weeks of sun and sand. Three glorious weeks of no work and all play.

She cracked open one eye and raised her head to check on her son. He sat at her feet, shoveling sand across her toes. His blond hair glistened in the sunlight, and his little features were somber with concentration.

Love swelled in her heart and she sent a small prayer heavenward, a prayer of thanks that her grandmother had gifted her with this vacation. Three

weeks of quality time with her son—that was the best thing of all. No hospital for her, no day care for him.

In the distance she could see the ocean waves, see the growing crowd setting up umbrellas and blankets between the water and her and Nathaniel's spot. It was still early, but before long the beach would be filled with people seeking relief from the heat with a day at the waterfront.

She rested her head back down and sighed with pleasure. This was the first vacation she'd had in years. Even when she'd been pregnant, she'd worked until the day before delivery, then had gone back to work two weeks after Nathaniel was born.

Her grandmother had made all the arrangements. She'd arranged for Marissa to have the time off from the hospital, gotten the plane tickets and the motel room, then had presented Marissa with a fait accompli. It was the absolute best present Marissa had ever received in her entire life.

Realizing she no longer felt Nathaniel spooning sand across her feet, she once again opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Nathaniel,” she called to the little boy, who now sat about fifty feet away from her. “Come back here, sweetie,” she said.

Nathaniel didn't acknowledge her, but rather stood and walked several more feet away, then plopped down in the sand once again.

“Nathaniel!” Reluctantly Marissa pulled herself
up and off the blanket, pausing a moment to swipe sand from her body.

When she looked back at her son, a cry choked in her throat. In a single instant she saw the runner, a man clad only in a pair of jogging pants, racing hell-bent for leather and apparently not seeing the fair-haired child in his path.

Marissa's scream ripped from her throat, piercing the calm of the morning. At the same moment the jogger apparently saw Nathaniel. He attempted to veer, but the maneuver went awry when Nathaniel stood and appeared to grab at the man's legs.

As if in slow motion, the man fell and Marissa heard the sickening snap of a bone breaking, then the hard whack of his hand connecting with a piece of driftwood. He yelled, the hoarse roar of agonizing pain.

Nathaniel pointed to the prone man and grinned.

“Oh, dear God.” Marissa raced to where the man lay, his right leg at an awkward angle that could only mean a break. “Somebody call 911,” she cried to the crowd, then crouched next to the man, who was attempting to sit up. “Lie still,” she said. “Help is on the way.”

His eyes were a startling blue against his dark tan. Ebony whiskers covered his cheeks and chin and, coupled with his wild, thick hair, gave him the fierce look of a man on the edge. She couldn't be sure if it was pain or anger that glittered in his eyes, made the blue look icy cold and hard as nails.

“That kid tried to kill me,” he said between clenched teeth.

Anger, Marissa decided. Definitely anger. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” As she looked at the hand that had hit the driftwood, she suspected he had a couple of broken fingers as well as the broken leg.

Guilt tore through her. It was her fault. All her fault. She should have been watching Nathaniel more closely. “I can't tell you how sorry I am,” she exclaimed.

“What are you sorry for?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled into a grimace of pain.

“It was my kid…my son.”

“What do you call him? The terminator?” he growled.

Marissa flushed, and knelt down. He roared again and she realized her knee was planted on his good hand. “Oh, I'm sorry.” She moved her knee off his hand and accidentally hit him in the ribs.

“Jeez, lady, just move back before you kill me,” he snarled.

Any further conversation was cut short as paramedics arrived on the scene. They loaded the man onto a stretcher and headed back toward the waiting ambulance.

Marissa grabbed her things, picked up Nathaniel and hurried after them. Moments later, in her rental car, she followed the ambulance to the local hospital.

“I can't believe this is happening,” she muttered
to herself as she tailed the big white vehicle. How had the morning that had started off so wonderful suddenly gone so wrong? At least they weren't using a siren, which meant his injuries weren't life threatening.

Nathaniel seemed completely unconcerned about the chaos he'd created. He jabbered to himself, smiling as if amused by the entire scene.

Marissa wasn't amused. She was scared. What if it was worse than a broken leg? Although a broken leg was certainly bad enough! What if he decided to sue her? If push came to shove, he could probably take her for everything she was worth.

She smiled ruefully at this thought. Everything she owned wouldn't add up to a hill of beans. She had a little over two hundred dollars in a Christmas fund account and maybe a hundred dollars in coins in Nathaniel's piggy bank. She didn't own a house and would be lucky if her old clunker car lasted another thousand miles.

Her rueful smile faded as she thought of his injuries. What if the man was a marathon runner training for the Olympics? It would be impossible for him to continue his training with a cast on his leg.

Or maybe he was a bouncer at one of the many local nightclubs in the area, she speculated as she thought of his broad shoulders. How would he tell people that he'd been annihilated by a two-year-old?

With a broken leg and broken fingers, no matter
what he did for a living, he'd be more than inconvenienced by his injuries. He'd be incapacitated.

Guilt once again ripped through her. If only she'd been watching Nathaniel more carefully. If only she hadn't closed her eyes, even for a brief moment.

The ambulance pulled into the emergency entrance of the hospital and Marissa quickly parked in the visitors' lot. She paused only long enough to put on her bathing suit cover-up, then she grabbed Nathaniel and hurried into the hospital.

She was just in time to see the man being wheeled through the double doors and into what she assumed was an examination room.

Surprisingly, the waiting room was empty. She held Nathaniel in her lap and sank onto one of the plastic chairs. She wasn't sure what she intended to do, but she had to make sure the man was okay, had to extend her apologies once again for the freak accident that had occurred.

She knew she should offer to pay his medical bills, and her heart sank at the very thought. She knew how expensive the bill would probably be. Emergency-room treatment never came cheap.

She'd have to somehow borrow the money. She hated to have to go to her grandmother, who had already been more than generous in giving her this vacation.

Rubbing a hand across her forehead, she tried not to think of what another bill would do to her finan
cial status. As a single parent, she found finances were always a source of mild panic.

Sighing, she hugged Nathaniel and reminded herself that somehow she'd figure out some way to make things right with the man her son had mangled.

 

Jack Coffey grimaced as Dr. Edmund Hall splinted and wrapped the four broken fingers of his right hand. His leg was already encased in a plaster cast up to midthigh. He couldn't believe this was happening. As usual, fate had given him a swift kick in the butt. He should be getting used to it by now.

“So, are you going to tell me how this happened?” Edmund asked as he finished up with Jack's fingers.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you,” Jack said dryly.

Edmund smiled. “You'd be surprised what I'd believe when it comes to you.” The two men had been friends for years. “Let me guess,” Edmund continued. “You were tailing some wicked wife for a client and she spied you and beat the heck out of you with her purse.”

Jack scowled. “Not even close.”

“Okay, you were drunk and didn't remember that there's a set of steps outside your house.”

“I don't get drunk,” Jack countered.

Edmund snorted with disbelief. “You rarely stay sober.”

“A lot you know,” Jack returned irritably. “I've been clean and sober for the past year. And if you must know, I was jogging on the beach when this kid grabbed my legs. I fell and there was this piece of driftwood and here I am.”

“How old was the kid?”

Jack shrugged, then grimaced, realizing there wasn't a place on his body that didn't ache from the jarring fall. “He was a big kid…maybe five or six.” He felt heat rise to his cheeks.

He couldn't very well tell Edmund that the kid had been no bigger than a peanut. “Are we done here?”

Edmund nodded. “You want a prescription for some pain pills?”

“No.”

“Jack, there's no need to be a tough guy. You're going to hurt.”

“I'll be fine,” Jack replied, although his leg and fingers throbbed and every muscle he possessed ached, as well.

“You're a stubborn cuss, Jack Coffey.” Edmund sighed. “I put on a walking cast, but you're going to need crutches for the first few days. Let me get you a set, then you can be on your way.” Edmund left the small examining room.

Jack stared down at the cast on his leg. Terrific. This was just terrific. He had more cases to work now than ever in the history of his private investi
gative service. How could he stay inconspicuous with this enormous white elephant on his leg?

The entire accident had been weird. He would swear that the kid had actually grabbed his leg, as if meaning to intentionally trip him up.

A vision of the kid's mother filled his head. Horrified green eyes, a cloud of blond curls and a trim little body in a blue bikini, she'd looked like an angel. And had a demon seed for a son, he thought irritably.

“Here we are.” Edmund returned with a set of crutches and handed them to Jack. “Want me to show you how to use those?”

“I think I can figure them out,” Jack replied with a touch of sarcasm. How hard could it be to use crutches?

“You know, you might want to get somebody to help you out, for a few days at least. Mobility is difficult with a broken leg. And you're going to find that being one-handed is fairly difficult, as well. Is Maria still cleaning house for you?”

“Yeah, why?” The two men left the examining room, Jack stumbling slightly as he tried to get the hang of walking on two wooden sticks instead of two legs.

“Maybe you could get her to stay for a couple of days, make sure you're surviving all right.”

“No way,” Jack replied. “Maria thinks I'm the devil incarnate. She only cleans for me because I
pay her an obscene amount and she only does what she feels like doing. Besides, I don't like her.”

Edmund laughed. “You don't like anyone.” He grabbed his pager from his coat pocket. “I've got a call.” He clapped Jack on the back. “Make an appointment at my office in a couple of days and let me check you out.” Without waiting for a reply, Edmund turned and hurried down the hall back to the examining rooms.

Jack watched him go, then leaned for a moment against the wall. With every minute that passed, the pain in his leg and hand was increasing. He drew a deep breath, placed the pads of the crutches beneath his arms, then attempted to shove through the double doors that led to the exit.

He swallowed a mouthful of curses as it took him three tries to open the door and slide through.

He stopped short as he spied the woman and her kid. She rose at the sight of him and the little boy clapped his hands. Her eyes widened as she saw the cast on his leg, his bandaged hand and the areas of his shoulders where the sand had scraped him raw.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. As if she and her child hadn't already done enough damage. The kid had downed him, then she'd moved in for the kill.

“I came to see what I can do to help. I'm so sorry about all this. Surely there's something I can do…maybe pay your medical bills?” She winced, as if afraid he might agree to her offer.

“I've got insurance,” he said gruffly. Besides, she didn't look as if she could afford to buy him a cup of water. Her sandals were old and worn, and the bathing suit cover-up she wore was faded from a multitude of washings.

She didn't appear to be the typical tourist who occasionally stumbled upon the charm of the small town, strutting the beach in the latest finery, flashing diamonds that would feed a family of four for months.

Part of him assessed her as a private investigator would. The other part of him assessed her as a man. Her hair looked soft as silk and framed her delicate features. The cover-up did little to hide her lush curves. She was pretty, and looking at her made a strange ball of heat fire up in the pit of his stomach. That irritated him. At the moment, everything irritated him.

“Please…there must be something I can do to make this right, Mr. Coffey.”

He frowned. “How do you know my name?”

“One of the nurses told me.” She shifted the boy from one hip to the other. “I feel one hundred percent responsible for your injuries. You must let me do something to make this right.”

Anger welled up inside Jack. “Lady, you can't make this right. If you'd been watching your kid, this would have never happened.” He took several awkward steps toward the outer door, aggravated as she hurriedly grabbed the door handle and yanked
it open for him. He yelped as the door hit his good leg.

“Oh, I'm sorry.” She gasped in horror.

Jack shook his head, momentarily afraid to speak, and stepped out into the bright sunshine, the woman and her kid right next to him. “I've got a dozen reports to type up, which will be fun since I only have one working hand. I'm in the middle of cases that require me to be mobile. There's nothing you can do to make this right unless you can lay hands on me and heal me instantly.” Each word shot out of him like a bullet into a bull's-eye.