Girl Three (36 page)

“No. Your father chose to keep that information from me, too.” His words were scathing and resentful.

“Well, at least you didn’t lie about everything while you were following me around, eavesdropping and monitoring the cameras…” Jessie’s thoughts skidded to a stop. Michael knew about her abandoned seduction of Talmont. He might have seen the embarrassing drama play out before she’d changed her mind.

Her father gave her a knowing look. “There are things that we’re all going to have to forgive.”

She could swear that was the first time she’d ever heard him utter that word.

“Michael proved to be loyal, honest, and dedicated,” her father said. “Difficult to find in this city. Anywhere, for that matter.”

Michael faced forward, the fire reflecting in his eyes. He held his chin high, his neck tense, as if he were expecting a punch.

“He’s tempered like you, Jessica. So when you came for Sam’s funeral, Michael and I agreed on another contract.” He reached inside his sports jacket, pulled out a folded packet of papers, and slid it across the table toward her. “Have a look at the highlighted clause.”

Suspicious, she unfolded the papers and scanned the documents. On the second page, a section highlighted in yellow read:
Physically and emotionally, refrain from developing a relationship with Jessica Ryan Croft
.

One look at Michael told her that he knew what she’d read.

“I had a choice,” Michael said. “To adhere to that contract, or risk my reputation and career in Washington.”

Even now Jessie winced at her father’s strong-arm tactics.

“He chose you.” Her father emphasized each word. “He lied for you, obfuscated, quit—then turned around and saved your life…twice.”

Twice?

Her father nodded. “Philippe didn’t kill himself. Michael was there. He shot him from outside the window.”

Jessie sat speechless for a moment, then turned her gaze to Michael, her heart heavy with guilt and fear and hope. “I’m sorry I—”

Michael gave her a look that told her it was okay, that they’d resolve their differences later—away from her father.

She understood.

Her father tossed the contract into the fire. Jessie turned away. The light in the room flared as the paper burned.

“That,” her father said, “is the past. Now we figure out how to move forward.”

Chapter Fifty-Four

Jessie’s stomach fluttered at the distant sound of gravel crunching beneath tires. She stepped into her bedroom and stood in front of the antique cheval mirror, giving herself a final once-over. Tugging her lip between her teeth, she second-guessed her outfit—a camisole and a ruffled taupe cardigan, and jeans tucked into suede boots. Sam’s boots.

She swiped a lock of hair behind her ear. “You look fine,” she told herself. Since when was she so concerned with what she wore at home on a Saturday in late February?

Since now.

Since the vehicle churning up gravel belonged to Michael.

It had been a month since she’d left DC. A month of sifting through her emotions about Sam, her father, and Michael. A month of living with the stranger she saw in the mirror.

The floorboards on her covered front porch creaked, then came several sturdy raps on the door.

She opened it and faced Michael. Her heart tumbled.

He stood there with a nervous half smile, holding a bouquet of pink tulips in one hand and balancing two Starbucks cups in the other. He had a newspaper clutched under his arm, and the breeze blew his hair across his forehead. “Looks like I’ve got the right house.”

Jessie smiled. She took the cups and tipped her head. “Come in.”

She led him back to the small kitchen—updated in ivory and sky-blue. Sun streamed through the window across the table for two. She set down the cups next to a plate of cookies that Lois had baked for them.

The moment her hands were free, Michael took her in his arms, letting the newspaper fall to the floor. Tissue paper crinkled as he clasped the bouquet at her back. He pressed her head to his chest, his lips to her hair.

She relaxed against him, her stress easing.

“I missed you,” he whispered. “But taking some time was the right thing to do.”

She had left Washington the day after her father had come clean about how he’d set up both her and Michael. Their emotions had been too raw to make sense of them at the time. They’d agreed that if they had any chance of being together, they needed some time apart.

Jessie pulled away and held him at arm’s length. He looked different than she remembered. Still remarkably handsome with his five-o’clock shadow and tousled hair, still fit and sexy. But not as tense through the jaw or as tight around the eyes. Maybe this was Michael, relaxed.

“I missed you, too.” As she put the tulips in a vase and set them in the sun, the awkwardness of everything unsaid settled between them.

“It’s a balmy forty-five degrees outside,” she said, her insides a bundle of nerves. “Want to have our coffee on the porch?”

“Yours is hot chocolate.”

Jessie smiled. He’d remembered her order from Kramerbooks. Michael picked up the bulky newspaper from the floor and grabbed their drinks. She put on a jacket and they went out on the small porch. It faced west, along with two white rocking chairs and a huge pot of pale yellow pansies.

They sat in the crisp morning air, rocking.

“Congratulations.” He raised his cup to her. “Ms. Commissionperson.”

Jessie blushed. She hadn’t gotten used to being
someone
. She hoped she never would.

“Was that politically correct?” he asked with an impish smile.

“Much more than what I’ve heard or read from other people. I’ve gotten President’s Girl, Nimble-minded Neophyte, and my favorite from a blog, Fresh Crumpet on a Tray of Crusty Scones.”

He grinned. “How do you work in a food analogy on a bioethics blog?”

She shook her head and shrugged.

Rocking in rhythm, they looked out over the vineyard—rolling hills with endless rows of grapevines, dormant and waiting for spring.

Michael finished his coffee and handed her a section of the newspaper—a fresh-off-the-press
Washington Post
—that he’d folded into a rectangle. She scanned the headlines of two small articles.

City Council to Increase Snow Removal Budget.

Yacht Arsonist Identified.

Her stomach lurched. She stopped rocking.

Robert Durand, a Canadian native and ex-convict, has been identified as the man who used Molotov cocktails to set fire to the yacht of deceased Counselor of Science and Technology for Canada, Louis Philippe Lesort, in late January. Durand subsequently set himself aflame, and his body was later recovered from the Washington Channel. Authorities used dental records to confirm Durand’s identity.

Jessie curled her toes inside Sam’s boots and looked at Michael. He’d also stopped rocking.

“Turns out Durand had a
War and Peace
–length rap sheet,” he said. “My guess is that Philippe hired the guy—probably to drive the SUV that hit you, and definitely to torch the yacht. Because Philippe was aboard, too, he probably figured he could make himself look like a victim and get rid of you at the same time.”

Jessie thought about how she’d gone aboard the yacht with Philippe so willingly. She started to berate herself but stopped short, reminding herself, as she often had to, that it was all behind her. Philippe was dead. Michael had shot him.

“How are you feeling…about Philippe?” she asked.

Michael gazed at the horizon. “I’m okay. His death is certainly on my conscience. I can’t help but feel sorry for Liam, and even for Elizabeth, to some degree.”

“She’s been through a lot,” Jessie said, “and she’s handled it with grace. She’s actually bringing Liam to visit next weekend.”

Michael smiled approvingly, then his expression turned serious. “Living with the guilt is worth it.” He reached over and clasped her hand. “You’re alive.” After a few moments he asked, “How are you holding up?”

She rocked, slowly and steadily, finally ready to have this conversation with him. “I wish I’d done things differently. I wish I’d stayed away from Talmont and hadn’t asked you to break into Ian’s lab. I wish you hadn’t had to kill a man because of me. I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve forgiven you for all that,” he said, his sincere tone soothing her almost as much as his words.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m trying to forgive myself. For lots of things. For letting Sam go. I have regrets.” She looked at him and held his gaze, hopeful. “But I also have dreams.”

He stood and tugged at her hand. “Let’s go inside.”

Jessie led him into the cottage and he closed the door behind them. He took her face in his hands and smoothed his fingertips over her cheeks.

She had longed for this moment and imagined it countless times. But she couldn’t have imagined the anticipation that rose within her, the quickening of her pulse, the tingling in her blood.

He touched his lips to hers with a kiss so tender it brought tears to her eyes.

How she wanted this man.

His lips lingered, and she melted into him, their kisses building with passion and urgency. He wrapped her in a strong embrace, pressing her tightly against him.

She clutched his hair in her fingers and arched into him. He drew in a sharp breath and lifted his mouth from hers.

“Michael,” she said breathlessly.

He tipped his head toward the bedroom, his lips glistening. “Want to show me around?” He grinned seductively.

Knees shaky, she led him into the bedroom. But he bypassed the high, queen-sized bed and stopped her in front of the cheval mirror. They faced their full reflections. He stepped behind her, swept her hair aside, and trailed velvety kisses up her neck. Heat surged through her body as he reached her ear and whispered, “You’re beautiful.” He gazed at her in the mirror, his eyes full of promises she couldn’t wait for him to keep.

Jessie breathed in the fiery scent of him and exhaled slowly, wanting to remember this feeling of possibility. To relive it again and again and again.

Acknowledgments

Girl Three
was plotted on the balcony of an eleventh-floor condo with a view of the U.S. Capitol. At the time, I was a new resident of Washington, DC, inspired by the city’s energy and charisma—the people, the places, the power. I’ll always remember fondly the hours I spent on that balcony, contemplating this story and gazing over the city that stole my heart.

Soon after our arrival in DC, my husband and I visited Congressional Cemetery, one of the most captivating settings in
Girl Three.
While the once majestic cemetery was left to ruin for many years, The Association for the Preservation of Historic Congressional Cemetery is making progress restoring and preserving this national treasure. The site is now in better repair than I presented it in this novel, yet it’s still in need of funding and work. For visitors and residents of DC, it’s worth the trip to Congressional Cemetery to see the beautiful rolling landscape, magnificent statuary, and Dickensian chapel, and to learn about its famous inhabitants.

I owe special thanks to Liz Pelletier and Heather Howland of Entangled Publishing for seeing the potential in my manuscript, and for the insightful guidance of my remarkable editor, Stacy Cantor Abrams. I want to thank Nancy Naigle—fellow author, positive motivator, and fun-loving friend—for keeping me smiling and writing.

I am grateful to my amazing mom for her unwavering belief in me and her love and encouragement along the way—and I wish my father and my mother-in-law, who have both passed away, were still here with us. I hope they would be proud. To my husband, Mike, thank you for your incomparable patience, steady support, and crazy love. My favorite love story is ours.

Read on for a sneak peek

at Tracy March’s short romance

The Practice Proposal
:

A date, a proposal, and a double-deal…

Liza Sutherland isn’t looking for love, not from a charity-auction date she didn’t even bid on. And especially not with sexy Washington Nationals first baseman Cole Collins—the guy she obsessed over when she was a gangly, awkward teenager. She’s already had a once-in-a-lifetime romance. Now she’s focused on rooting for the Orioles, running her baseball charity, and avoiding players like Cole.

Cole Collins is up for contract renegotiation, but after too many late-night parties, he’ll need a reputation adjustment before he can make the roster. His agent, Frank, pitches Liza as the perfect prop to get Cole his new contract, despite Cole’s rocky past with her family.

When Frank makes Liza a deal she can’t refuse—a bet she will fall in love with Cole Collins or her charity gets a cool half mill—the game is on. But neither bet on the real feelings that surface. Could a practice romance turn into an official forever?

Chapter One

Liza Sutherland would much rather be in a ballpark than a ballroom, and tonight’s black-tie charity gala had gone on way too long. She hoped the who’s-who patrons at her table hadn’t noticed her fidgeting, rolling the tiny beads on her dress between her fingertips. Which baseball teams had won and lost while she’d listened to big-band music and eaten fancy banquet food? She’d have been fine with a foil-wrapped hot dog with mustard and onions and an umpire calling balls and strikes.

Instead, the emcee stood onstage, waving a large white envelope, teasing the audience. The envelope was the last of a big stack, and everyone was wondering whose name was in it. Everyone but Liza. The gala was almost over, and that was all that mattered to her.

She hoped to get home in time to catch a few highlights on the post-game shows.

The emcee cleared his throat loudly. “And the winner of the grand prize in our silent auction tonight—an evening with the Washington Nationals’ All-Star first-baseman, Cole Collins—is…” The audience murmured with hushed chatter, while seemingly every woman there secretly fantasized that their name was about to be called.