Barbara McMahon

An Excerpt From . . .

The Substitute Wife

Harlequin Romance, January, 2001



CHAPTER ONE


"The thing is, Dee, I hear Jay Masters is a by-the-book kind of guy."

Deanna Stephens looked at her friend and temporary roommate in surprise. Slowly buttoning her brocade vest, she shrugged. "Then I'll give him a by-the-book kind of interview."

Judy hooted with laughter. "You? By the book?"

Deanna grinned and studied her reflection in the mirror. This was the third outfit she'd tried on. If she didn't decide soon, she'd be late to the interview and then it wouldn't matter if it went by the book or not.

This would have to do. The dark blue skirt brushed the tops of her knees. The multicolored, jewel-tone brocade vest contrasted nicely. It was too hot to bother with a blouse. May had been warm all month and her legs were tanned enough to forego stockings.

Eyes twinkling, she glanced slyly at her friend. "You doubt I can pull it off?"

"Somehow I can't imagine you as a follow-the-rules kind of person. Of course you could be hiding that aspect from me. We've only known each other a few years." Judy grinned at her own joke.

Deanna looked at her in mock surprise. "I'm amazed you doubt me. I never speed when driving. I balance my checkbook every month, and I always look both ways before crossing the street. How much more follow-the-rules could I be?"

"You start work at four in the afternoon and don't stop until four in the morning, then sleep all day. You eat pizza for breakfast and pancakes for dinner. And you keep your great-aunts out long past curfew. How's that for starters?" Judy said.

"Curfew for women in their eighties is ridiculous. And it was only that one time. Besides, I like pizza anytime of the day! What should I do with my hair?" Slipping on her sandals, Deanna studied at her hair. How should she fix that? The wild tangle of blonde curls was the bane of her existence. All her life she'd longed for glossy--straight--dark hair. Of course she'd also longed to be petite with an air of fragility, too. None of her wishes along those lines had come true. She thought she was resigned to being tall and slender with untamable hair. But the old dreams sometimes surfaced. Today was one of those times.

"Wear it pulled back, with a bow that picks up the blue in the vest," Judy suggested, stretching and sitting up on the edge of the bed. "Worn loose, you look about fifteen and he won't think you're old enough to watch his little girls. If you do anything elaborate, he'll think you're too sophisticated. I don't know why you have to do this anyway. You're welcomed to stay here. I've told you that a dozen times."

Deanna smiled at her friend. "You've been a lifesaver. I don't know where I would have gone when the aunts moved into that retirement home if I couldn't have come here. But what works for the two of us while Peter is out on deployment won't work when he gets home. You won't want a third around and you know it!"

Judy's husband was a submariner currently finishing a three-month cruise and scheduled to return before the first of June. Deanna knew how much the newlyweds would want their own space. She was determined to find something by then that would allow her to move into a place of her own.

Judy blushed and shrugged, but stars filled her eyes. "I guess."

"I know for sure Peter won't want me here. If I get this job, it'll solve all my worries. The ad mentioned a place to live. Combine that with the tidy income offered and the kind of work I can do while I continue with school--it's all absolutely perfect."

"If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is. Besides, you'll never make it he's a real rules-and-regulations kind of guy," Judy warned.

"For heaven's sake, Judy. Jay Masters is a security expert. They're the kings of spontaneity--have to cover all contingencies. How by-the-rules can he be? My understanding of the breed is that they counter any attempts at security breaches, foil kidnappings of rich businessmen, think fast on their feet and still come out ahead. Doesn't sound like he crosses every t and dots every I to me."

Studying the effect of her hair, Deanna nodded, clasping on a blue bow. "I guess this will work."

"You'll knock him dead," her friend said loyally.

"Oh, that's great. I need him alive to hire me."

******


Deanna arrived at the high-rise office building well in advance of her scheduled interview time. She refused to acknowledge the nervousness that plagued her as she stepped into the elevator. Instead, she concentrated on how best to make a good first impression. Judy had seen the discrete job posting on the bulletin board in the building's coffee shop, and told Deanna about it. Now she was about to meet the man who needed a nanny for his preschool daughters.

Stepping off the elevator a few moments later, she glanced around with interest. She'd never been in a high security company before and was curious to see if she could spot any of the devices they probably used as a matter of course. They must have monitors, video cameras, laser beams everywhere.

Instead, she found herself frowning at the austere reception area. She could detect nothing to differentiate it from any other office she'd been in, except for the bland paint, the blank walls with no art. Color and lines and designs fascinated her. Maybe she ought to offer a few paintings to enhance the area.

She almost laughed at the image that produced. As if an expert hostage negotiator, anti-infiltrating security engineer cared what she thought of the walls in his offices. For all she knew, he kept the walls bare for a reason.

It couldn't have been lack of money, his company's services were reported to be in high demand despite costing a bundle. Judy had shared that information when telling her about the job posting.

The receptionist greeted Deanna and immediately ushered her into an empty conference room.

"Mr. Masters will be right with you," she said.

Deanna sat in one of the chairs against the wall, leaving the chairs encircling the huge oval table empty. The view from the windows faced east. Even though the Chesapeake Bay was blocks away, with a dozen other high rise office buildings between, she looked in a vain hope to glimpse the water.

Two minutes later a tall, dark-haired man strode in, carrying a folder. The air seemed suddenly charged. Deanna blinked and tried a smile. Her heart began pounding.

"Deanna Stephens?" he said, stopping just inside the door. "I'm Jay Masters."

He stood ramrod straight, and would top her own five feet ten inches by a good half foot or more. His dark grey suit was superbly tailored, his pristine white shirt a crisp, clean contrast. The deep maroon tie gave the final fillip to power. He seemed to radiate energy.

She almost jumped up and snapped a salute. Gripping her purse, she resisted the urge, suspecting he might not find any humor in such an action.

"How do you do?"

His glance roamed quickly over her, then he dropped his gaze to the folder. Opening it as he walked slowly to the table, he scanned the page inside.

A lean, mean, fighting machine, echoed in Deanna's mind as she watched him, her artist's eye delighting in the lines and contrasts she saw. She could picture him as a pagan warrior. A fighter. Protector. Not wearing a suit, of course, but in leather, or animal skins, or--little at all.

She suddenly itched to sketch the man. She'd pose him with a lance, or a sword, chest bare--daring the enemy to do his worst, knowing he'd be victorious no matter what came his way.

The suit couldn't hide the breadth of his shoulders, the long length of his legs. She caught a glimpse of a well-toned form beneath his shirt when the suit jacket opened--rock-hard muscles she'd bet. Sculpting their shape, hiding nothing, she could bring his form to life in passionate detail.

The deep tan that darkened his skin went with the midnight black of his hair. Did he spend a good portion of his life outdoors? No office worker acquired such a dark hue. His eyes were gunmetal grey, cool and assessing. His lips were full, but held in a tight line. What would soften them? Laughter, certainly. Passion? What about when he kissed a woman, whispered sweet words of love in her ear?

Deanna let her gaze dance over the strong contour before her. Deltoids, pecs and biceps were covered, but her imagination ran rampant. She bet they were toned and developed until she knew a quarter would bounce off if dropped. No, wait, that was for beds, tightly made beds that quarters bounced on.

Thinking of beds, she wondered what he'd look like in one--stretched out beneath a light sheet. She suspected he eschewed clothing while sleeping. Was he tanned all over or only on his face? Would his chest be a lighter hue, or that same rich teak? Did he sleep on his stomach or on his back? Did he sprawl over the entire bed, or keep to one side?

Suddenly Deanna realized the silence had gone on for quite some time. Too long. Raising her gaze in confusion, she saw he was staring at her. Had he said something? Asked her a question? Read her mind?




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