Hiring Cupid

Linden Bay Romance, LLC
www.lindenbayromance.com

Copyright ©2007 by Jane Beckenham

First published in www.lindenbayromance.com, 2007

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

HIRING CUPID

Published by Linden Bay Romance, 2007

Linden Bay Romance, LLC, U.S.

ISBN Trade paperback: 978-1-60202-048-1

ISBN MS Reader (LIT): 978-1-60202-049-8

Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned):

PDF, PRC & HTML

Copyright © Patricia Jane Beckenham, 2007

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The work is protected by copyright and should not be copied without permission. Linden Bay Romance, LLC reserves all rights. Re-use or re-distribution of any and all materials is prohibited under law.

This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or business establishments, events or locales is coincidental.

Cover art by Beverly Maxwell

To my wonderful friend and fellow writer, Melody Knight, for her valued friendship, support, and her constant belief in me. Thanks mate.

Parachute or not, Carly Mason wanted to jump. Too bad the helicopter soared two thousand feet above Auckland and the stranger at her side held her elbow in a vice-like grip.

Okay, so he was a hunk from heaven, but what on earth had she been thinking? She must be nuts.

Fear of the unknown, intense and pungent, ricocheted up and down her spine, her nostrils flaring a fraction as she swallowed a barely audible groan. As the helicopter lurched upward, caught in the updraft, Carly sat rigid, fingernails digging into her palms and blinked back the onslaught of tears.

She chanced a swift glance at the stranger.

Yep, he was one hundred percent pure hunk. There was a twinkle in his eyes. Bedroom eyes. But the man was a chameleon. Hard. Lean. Powerful. Then he smiled, the corner of his mouth curving upward.

Killer smile.

And she melted like some soft centered chocolate.

How appropriate! Chocolate and sex.

"You thought I would forget,
si
?” His dark angled brows arched.

"Forget.” Carly's voice came out more of a squeak than the self-possessed businesswoman she hoped to emulate.

Some hope.

For a fraction of time her reply hung between them and she couldn't look away, even if she tried. How could she forget that rich and earthy voice? It sent a shiver of velvet anticipation scampering through her veins. Forget—a man whose mere presence set her in a spin when she should have been concentrating on bill paying and ordering mile upon mile of watered silk for Mrs. Tamsin Smythe's stately mansion? Forget him? Impossible.

What she had done though was act rashly. Something she never, ever did. She was organized, goal oriented, not some cheerleading bimbo who ran off with the first man who gave her a wink. She wasn't like her sisters.

But as she sank back in her seat, reality hit home—hard.

She had hatched a scheme so blatantly outrageous that it more than shocked her normally calm and reasoned sensibilities—and all because of an invitation for four days in paradise.

Carly eyed the man at her side. He gave her a smooth, nothing-could-be-wrong, I-do-this-everyday sort of grin. His dimples puckered.

Oh, hell.

Her heart palpitated and a fine layer of sweat sheathed her body. She yanked at the neckline of her blouse. It was choking her.

Liar!
It was him. The hunk. Mr. Gorgeous. She gasped for oxygen. Look at her. She was acting like some Victorian uptight spinster. Get a grip.

Okay, so she'd stipulated no hanky panky. What could go wrong? They had separate bedrooms for heaven's sake. But she couldn't deny the facts. She had hired a gigolo.

Don't forget!

"Fat chance."

The words ingrained in gold on the glossy invitation for rest and relaxation in paradise were visible from wherever she stood in her office. They wouldn't let her forget. It was as if they were chasing her, following her every move.

What started as a joke had become her living nightmare and now, as the day of departure grew nearer, the joke was on her.

She had no one.

She was alone.

She had lied.

Trying to bluff her way out of going had proved impossible. Her friends wouldn't let her off the hook.

"Come on Carly, four days on an exotic island, just us and our men."

"Can't wait to meet your man."

"You mean the invisible man."

Carly cringed remembering their inference to the boyfriend she bragged about, but never produced. Right now she wished the ground would open up and swallow her whole.

She picked up the invitation, fingers trailing over the embossed outline of a palm tree beside a blue lagoon. “I'll be a laughing stock,” she wailed and tossed it toward the bin and turned back to her desk, though the sight of piles of fabric, wallpaper samples, and the unopened mail littering it didn't improve her mood.

Barely visible beneath a pile of multi-colored chintz was a gilded frame holding a picture of her and her girlfriends—and their men.

Tania and Martin

Maxine and Frederico.

She caressed the ornate frame, staring at the photo. Though surrounded by friends, she'd never felt so lonely. She may have been smiling in that photo, but deep down she knew the truth she'd carefully hidden and now, every time she looked at the group, a sharp pain of something she couldn't quite understand tugged at her heart.

Dropping it onto the overflowing desk, her gaze returned to the mounting piles of work. She had no time for men. Besides, history told her they weren't reliable.

'D-Day’ however was drawing near and she still hadn't produced the invisible man, described, unfortunately, in superlative detail after several glasses of Cabernet. Tall and devilishly good-looking, who of course worshiped the ground she walked on. Where on earth was she going to find such a specimen in less than seventy-two hours?

"Couldn't make him a nerd, or a plain Harry, could you?” Carly wailed aloud and eyed the invitation as if it was a summons from hell.

Her cheeks stung as she remembered the graphic details she'd spouted and a wave of rampant desperation shook her normally serene composure. How could she have been so stupid? Perhaps she could sleep through it, say she'd caught some grisly plague and couldn't go.

Own up
.

Carly chose to ignore that piece of internal advice. There had to be a way out. She picked up the folder containing the job specifications for the hotel chain, but her mind wasn't on the job. She couldn't concentrate. Her mystery man got in the way—again.

Perhaps Adonis could get chicken pox, be deranged, and in jail for murder. “Hell and...” Carly bolted upright and gathered the scattered papers from the hotel file. She needed to work. Not think about men.

Perhaps then the problem will go away
!

If only, she prayed.

Ahead, as the murky night blurred with the blackened asphalt Carly battled to concentrate on the road. She gritted her teeth and her hands tensed on the steering wheel. She should have left work earlier, but instead pushed herself to finish the last drawing for the hotel complex.

Get a life
.

She did—have a life that is. One she enjoyed immensely. Her business was her life.

As she glanced into the car's mirror she caught the reflection of a flickering single, golden beam. It loomed out of the darkness, alone, closing in on her and filled the car with an eerie glow. Automatically she stiffened and a ripple of fear trickled down her spine, gut churning. She tested the car door to make sure it was locked, chastising herself for taking the back road where the dense hedgerows that clung to either side of the narrow winding road were suffocating in their close proximity and blanketed any view. The route was meant to be a shortcut, but now in the depth of the night it seemed to meander forever. She pressed down on the accelerator and the car instantly sped up, but the beam of light, still clearly visible, continued to trail mile after long mile behind her.

Practicing deep breathing, Carly managed to rein in her fanciful thoughts when a fractured boom pierced the night. The car jerked sideways, the steering wheel whipping from her grip as the right front wheel began to thump with a bone-jarring jolt.

Damn it, she had a flat tire.

Hastily, she yanked the wheel back, righting the car, swerving to miss a culvert.

She pumped the brake.

Nothing. No pressure, no resistance.

Staring down at her foot as if it would explain why the brake wasn't reacting, she tried it again and pushed harder and harder.

Still nothing.

Dear God. Carly's stomach lurched. She was going to crash. There was no way out. No brakes and only three tires. The grating scrape of metal against metal rent the air—then nothing—no movement or sound, except for the hum of a single engine echoing in the silence.

Carly's heart thudded so hard in her chest she thought it would explode and her breathing came in harsh short gurgles. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second and she counted slowly to ten, trying to collect her scattered wits.

"Need some help?"

She jerked sideways, trying to look up and move back at the same time, whacking her head in the process against the door. She let out a yelp and stemmed the threat of tears, choking back a fearful sob as she looked up into the eyes of a stranger. Instinctively, she pulled away, wishing the daunting outline of the lone man silhouetted by the flare of the bike's headlight would disappear.

There was no one here to protect her.

So what's new?

Carly gave a tiny internal shrug.

With stubborn pride, she bit back the very real fear, though inside a flock of butterflies did an up-beat tango in her stomach.

"I ... uh, yes.” Remembering common sense to meet your foe at eye level, she ungraciously hauled her five foot ten inch frame out of the car and clutched her car keys in the ball of one fist, letting the pointed edge of the key poke between thumb and finger. She was battle ready if need be.

Grateful for the lighting of the moon that haloed them as if they were in their own illuminated cocoon, she pulled herself to her full height and gazed into the bluest eyes she had ever seen—blue and unfathomable. He was powerfully built, with the broad stance of an athlete and the aura of being in charge—totally. It unnerved Carly and she stepped back a fraction.

"The tire is flat,” she muttered apologetically, feeling foolish at stating the obvious. On auto-pilot, she operated on sensory, rather than brain cell. “And the brakes."

"Sounds bad."

It was. Very bad. And his nearness set Carly on edge and drowned out any sensible thoughts. Her nostrils flared as she inhaled the spicy scent of his cologne, recognizing the tang of citrus and cinnamon. The exotic perfume wrapped around her, conjuring up visions of the desert, of men riding bareback. Very sexy. Very tempting. And definitely all male.

Beneath her silk blouse her nipples grazed against her lacy bra and she felt a scalding heat stain her cheeks, liquid desire spreading through her body. It pooled where it had no right to make her feel. Not here. Not now, in the middle of the night, on a lonely back road with a total stranger.

Whoa! Back up. What was she thinking?

Never mind thinking, what was her body doing? Her wayward reaction had set her off balance, as if she were two people.

Her body. Her brain.

And that fact alone ignited a fear in Carly she hadn't dealt with for a long time. Things like this didn't happen to her. She had no time for love. She wasn't interested.

Sounds like a mantra
.

Perhaps if she said it enough, she would finally believe it. Carly frowned and ignored her own reasoning.