Fate Intended (The Coulter Men Series Book 3)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

World Castle Publishing, LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Copyright © Elizabeth Seckman 2013

ISBN: 9781629890432

First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC December 1, 2013

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Lindsay Anne Kendal Graphics

Editor: Eric Johnston

Acknowledgements

Thanks to my husband and kids for putting up with the insanity (and take out!) that goes hand and hand with getting a book to the publisher. And many thanks to said publisher, Karen Fuller, for putting up with my insanity, and to the rest of the WC team…Lindsay Anne Kendall for giving me cover love and editor, Eric Johnston for his support and encouragement.

Special love to my betas! Kari DiNardo (Stacey Leichliter lost her copy, so uh, thanks for nothing…LOL), Betsy Helmick, Cathy Loy, and of course my mom, Caroline Hartman. You guys get to wade through the rough stuff and I thank you for your patience!

To my fabulous writer friends and critique partners, I am forever in your debts. Celeste Holloway for giving the chapters and good start; Tammy Theriault for catching every head pat, nod, and swallow; Emily King for providing polish and smart advice; and Annalisa Crawford for insisting the red wine be taken out of the fridge.

And last, but not least…thanks to Loretta Baker for the pecan pie that nourished me through the edits, and the wine for the celebration when they were done!

I love you all! God bless and thanks!

Elizabeth

Dedication:

To my mom, Caroline Hartman, for being my most loyal fan. Love you Mom.

And to my dad, Ken Hartman, for being my guardian angel. Miss you Dad.

Chapter 1

After spending a year in America, Jane figured she would die of boredom. It seemed logical since she spent every single one of her days the exact same way: cleaning all day, watching
Jersey Shore
reruns at night. But hey, she was lucky to be free, right?

The hollow metallic tick of the chrome wall clock echoed in the room, knocking Jane out of her reverie and instantly setting her nerves on edge. She glanced at the time and bit her lip. Six minutes past a safe escape. Her scrub brush whipped round the smooth curves of the porcelain bowl. Swish, swish, flush. Good enough, at least for today. She dumped the clothes from the hamper into a canvas laundry bag, straightened a crooked rug with her toe, and scooted from the room.

Silence persisted. Peace lingered. She might make it out unharmed.

She hustled through the hall, so close to the safety of escape that her breathing calmed and her shoulders relaxed. As she made her way to the door, a thumbprint on the hall mirror caught her eye. She spewed a few curses as she polished the mirror with her shirtsleeve and stepped back and looked it over. Perfect. As she turned again to leave, muffled voices filtered in from the hallway. They were moving closer and closer to the apartment door.

A wave of queasy warmth washed over her. Her heart raced and sank simultaneously. The lion, or, more appropriately, the lioness, approached the gate. At Forrester Apartments, service was number one and the owner of this unit demanded Monday morning cleaning between 7 and 8 AM. Jane didn’t arrive until after 7:30 to clean the two-bedroom space. Wiping sweaty palms against her puke green tunic, Jane gathered her supplies, the dirty laundry, and moved it toward the door.

The voices came closer. One woman, one man. The bitch and
him
.

Jane looked herself over in the now polished mirror and cringed. She looked like hell. She wore no makeup, and the black circles under her eyes accentuated her pasty skin tone. Her hair was flat, and her overgrown roots cast a thick shadow at the base of her bottle-blond hair. Dropping the laundry bag to the floor, she did what she could to be a little more…well, a little less, hideous. She fluffed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail, slapped her cheeks, and bit her lips for some color. Taking another look, she groaned.

The key slid into the lock. She jumped as if shocked by the sound. “Damn dream,” she spat looking over her shoulder and considering for one crazy moment about jumping out the fire escape window. She could exit unseen…as long as she didn’t trip. She imagined being discovered by
the bitch
with her shirt flapping over her head, blood rushing to her face as she dangled by her feet from the windowsill. Jane shuddered as the image fleshed out in her mind: horns would honk, maybe even the police called, as DC traffic crept along the street where residential buildings lined up like tiny institutions for the criminally wealthy. Every building looked the same—simple brick structures; each sported a brass plate street number and a hunter green door canopy. Nothing set one building apart from another.
Well
, thought Jane,
all but Forrester Apartments, it could have a cleaning lady dangling from its fourth floor.

That would never do, so she shook her head and abolished the thought. She was an adult…a Sarkhov…and she would act like one.

As the doorknob turned, she grabbed the bag of laundry. She grimaced and braced herself against the wall of the narrow foyer hoping to be invisible when the door swung open. But no matter how small she made herself, Jane was in the way as Olivia Higgins brushed past her. They hit shoulder to shoulder and Jane stumbled a bit before catching her footing and returning to the wall. Mr. Perfect caught her arm. Smiling, he asked, “You got it?”

Her throat went dry and her mind blank, but somehow Jane managed a nod.

Olivia, the sultry lioness, was simply beautiful. Her honey blond hair was never out of place. Jane was certain a 5 AM fire would catch Olivia perfectly put together. The woman wasn’t human. She had the perfect life. Money, Harvard law degree, the world’s best man…

Jane sighed.

Olivia was without a single obvious flaw; she was totally enviable. And that was totally unfair, because Olivia was mean. She was a people-snubbing, black-hearted goat wrapped in swimsuit model flawlessness. In Jane’s way of thinking, it was cosmically unjust for such a nasty woman to get such a wonderful life. Jane wished beyond all current wishes that the woman would break a leg while out on her morning jog, get fat, depressed, and then break out and become all zitty and horrendous looking. That was what she deserved. Jane grinned at the thought of a bloated, miserable Olivia. Then she frowned as she admitted, at least to herself, what really got under her skin was that she had
him.

Jane hugged the bag of dirty clothes to her chest.
He
was the epitome of male perfection, and he was twisted around the she-fiend’s perfectly manicured little finger.

It wasn’t fair. Jane knew he would be happier with her. Admittedly, she knew very little about him. Like where he grew up…where he worked…or even what his name was, but she knew him better than anyone else did. She also knew from months of watching and dreaming that he was, beyond any shadow of a doubt, meant to be with her.

The time they spent together—in Jane’s very active imagination—was perfection. He knew exactly what flowers to buy, what her favorite chocolates were, and he would playfully kiss her after teasing her with a joke.

Her heart understood that the quiet, sensitive man hid a secret daring that he let no one else see. She looked past the disheveled blond hair, and beyond the wire-rim glasses to eyes which sparkled with a spirit of adventure. Jane wanted to reach out to him and tell him they were meant to be together, that she knew they were soul mates. Even if he didn’t know she existed.

Her musings were stopped short as Olivia pulled her gym clothes off as she walked down the hall. Perfect body too, Jane thought with a grimace. Breasts not too big or too small, solid abs and exercise-tightened thighs. Sighing, Jane headed for the door. She supposed Olivia hadn’t seen her if she stripped down to her bra and panties right there in the foyer. Jane crept to the apartment door and twisted the knob. “Ms. Mitchell! Where are you going?” Jane jumped at the sound of Olivia’s bark.

Jane’s mouth hung open.

“Yes. You. May as well take these to be laundered. Good God, you think I stripped right here for my health?” She tossed the gym clothes onto Jane’s bag, waved her off, and then turned her attention back to Mr. Perfect. “This discussion is over. These fantasies of yours? They’re just that…fantasy. You have a good job; a bright future. I honestly don’t know what the hell has gotten into you lately.”

Mr. Perfect brushed past Jane as he followed Olivia into the living area. Jane caught a whiff of his scent. Subtle and clean; citrus and musk.

Jane’s cheeks flamed. She was smack in the middle of what was evidently a fight. Sure, they weren’t screaming and yelling like normal people, but Olivia’s voice was clipped and Mr. Perfect looked flushed and, dare she hope…irritated. She stood momentarily stunned, her heart fluttering at the hope of a relationship-ending battle. Her eyes met his. Her heart yelled
, I understand. You need to be free.
But her mouth said nothing. She imagined throwing the dirty clothes at Olivia and grabbing Mr. Perfect’s hand and shouting,
Come! My love will save you from the succubus!

The lioness turned on her with a roar. “A little privacy. Please!” She pointed to the door as she said to Mr. Perfect, “Good God, I know her English is horrible, but I didn’t think she was retarded too. Don’t they have schools in where she came from?”

Jane fled without shutting the door properly, so she could hear Mr. Perfect’s smooth voice whisper, “Liv, how can you treat her like that?”

“She’s the cleaning lady
, Rowan
.”

Jane didn’t want to hear any more. She ran down the hall toward the elevator. She looked over her shoulder as she spastically punched the button willing it to come quicker.

Olivia’s door opened. Jane’s heart skipped a beat. She jabbed the button again. The light blinked and the door binged and slid open. Jane rushed forward, bumping into Mr. Little as he tried to exit. The bag of groceries the old man carried spilled across the floor.

Jane blinked away the frustrated sting in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Little. I’m clumsy. Hurrying and not watching where I go.”

“It’s all right, Jane.” Mr. Little held the door as Jane bent down and bagged the groceries. As she worked, Mr. Little leaned on his cane. “I know all about being in a hurry.” He laughed. “Why, did I ever tell you ‘bout my days as a fighter pilot in WW 2?”

“I thought you were a medic.” Jane stood and handed him his groceries.

Mr. Little laughed. “That was in the beginning. I learned to fly a bird to impress a girl.”

“Ahh, that’s so sweet and very romantic. Mrs. Little must have been a special—”

“Now, don’t go telling Mrs. Little. I didn’t date her until after the war.”

“Oh.” Jane’s surprise took her eye off the bag of groceries for just a moment, and in that moment, Mr. Little dropped them again.

“Oh, I went and did it again. Damned arthritis.”

“It’s all right.” Jane crouched down and started refilling the bag.

*****

Trip found Jane in the hallway kneeling on the floor stuffing groceries into a bag as she listened to Mr. Little’s various accounts of his service during that great war. Mr. Little gave him a wink and a thumb’s up. Trip shook his head and frowned at the old man.

Jane put the last item in the bag for the second time and stood, handing the groceries over very carefully. “Here you go.”

“It’s these hands. Useless damn things.”

“Accidents happen to everyone.” Jane assured with a sympathetic pat on the back.

“They happen to some more than others,” Trip grumbled.

Mr. Little’s grin offered no remorse as he gave Jane’s bottom a pat and shuffled along to his apartment.

Jane jumped, letting out a surprised, “Oooh.”

“You realize Mr. Little’s only clumsy when you’re around?” Trip said.

Jane slowly turned and looked at him as if he spoke a foreign tongue. Her mouth hung open, and she kept glancing over her shoulder at the elevator. Trip shifted from one foot to another, then cleared his throat and offered a simple, “I’m sorry.”

Jane’s head tipped to the right and she looked even more confused. “Sorry that Mr. Little is clumsy?”

Trip shook his head. “No, I’m sorry about Olivia.”

“Oh.” Jane’s eyes widened for a moment, before returning to normal. She shrugged and shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“No, it’s not. There’s no excuse for Olivia’s behavior. I’m sorry you had to be on the receiving end. She’s mad at me. Not you.”

“I’m used to her…umm, unfriendliness?” Jane said retrieving her bag of laundry off the floor.

Trip’s eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, I’m not. I’ve never seen Liv this pissed.” Trip reddened. “Sorry, I mean angry.”

“Really?” Jane bit the side of her cheek.

Her blue eyes caught his attention. They were so dark he would’ve mistaken them for brown if he wasn’t so close. And her skin was smooth, even without make up. He hadn’t realized just how pretty she was before. He had to admit he was as guilty as Mr. Little about not getting beyond the curves of her petite body to notice her face. His cheeks flushed, burning with his thoughts. She was too young, couldn’t be much older than eighteen.

He mumbled yet another apology, and added a lame “Yeah. Usually she’s sweet.”

“Really.” Jane’s nose wrinkled.

“I take it she’s not so sweet around you?”

Jane fidgeted as the redness on her cheeks spilled down her throat. Trip couldn’t believe how upset Olivia made her. Maybe he was lucky to have seen this side of Liv before making the relationship exclusive. Olivia’s treatment of Jane stunned him. He couldn’t imagine anyone finding fault with the girl. She was kind to everyone. Even pervy old Mr. Little.

“I’ve never seen Liv be so rude. And how she treated you? Like I said, that was my fault. I guess I stepped out of line.”

“Stepped out of line?” Jane asked, her eyes squinted, head shaking in thought.

“It’s a figure of speech…meaning I disobeyed.”

“Oh, I see,” Jane answered, awareness growing on her face.

“Evidently Olivia Higgins is not one to be crossed.”

“No, no she’s not. She is….” Jane struggled for the right word, “powerful?”

“Bossy as hell evidently.”

Jane smiled. The elevator dinged, alerting them the emergency stop button was still pressed. Jane situated the laundry bag on her hip. “I should…I need to drop this off for laundry.”

“Of course.” Trip stepped onto the elevator with her and closed the doors. Jane stared at her pink Converses.

“Which floor?” he asked.

“Basement,” she croaked. They rode in awkward silence.

*****

When the doors opened, Jane squeaked a good-bye and bolted. She tagged the bag with Olivia’s room number and tossed it in the gurney. She held her hands to her hot cheeks.