The Virgin's Secret Marriage Read online

  “We’re both going to get a lot more weddings because of this one,” Helen murmured happily.

  Emma nodded as the catering crew continued to clean up the last of the glasses, and the twenty-seven-piece orchestra disbanded for the evening. Hard to believe that she and the widowed mother of the ex-love-of-her-life had become fast friends, as well as business associates. But then, the fifty-six-year-old mother of six with the short red hair and amber eyes did not know that Emma had ever dated or even met Joe. It wasn’t that Emma meant to keep anything from Helen Hart. Just that she had never known how to bring it up, when Joe obviously hadn’t. And maybe it was for the best, anyway, since Emma was still bitter about the quick and easy way Joe had dumped her, for the sake of his career.

  “It’s just too bad all our clients aren’t as easy to work with,” Emma murmured, as she headed toward the office she leased in the business wing of the Wedding Inn.

  Helen sent her a sympathetic glance as Emma took out the secret-service-style earpiece and microphone she wore during weddings and put them away. “You’re thinking about the Snow-Posen nuptials next week, aren’t you?”

  Emma nodded. Gigi Snow, the mother of the bride, was a real pill. And then some. Emma knew that she and Helen would both have their hands full the following week, pulling everything together for what was shaping up to be central Carolina’s most expensive wedding of the year. “But tonight I am not going to think about that,” Emma stated determinedly. Tonight, she was exhausted. So much so, in fact, she was thinking about doing what she rarely did, and nixing the drive back to her apartment in nearby Raleigh.

  “You headed back to Raleigh?” Helen asked as she walked with Emma out onto the wide front porch of the palatial three-story white brick inn. They stood on the semicircular pillared portico, with the black wrought-iron railing and a half dozen steps down on each side.

  “Actually, no. My parents are out of town for the weekend, so I think I’m just going to go over to their estate and spend the night there,” Emma said, watching the employee cars and service vans continue to leave the parking area at a steady rate.

  Helen’s face creased with concern. “Be careful. It could be dangerous going into such a big house late at night, alone. And that place of your parents is so isolated.” Helen paused, acting as much like Emma’s mother as her own. “Do you want me to call Mac and have someone from the sheriff’s department escort you?”

  Emma shook her head. “Don’t be silly. There’s no reason to bother your son. I know the recent spate of burglaries are all anyone has been talking about, but honestly, it isn’t as if the thieves have done much but help themselves to a few very expensive sets of golf clubs, and the occasional pantry or wet bar. No one’s been hurt in any of the break-ins.”

  “Because no one’s been home when any of the break-ins occurred,” Helen countered sagely. “The victims have all been out of town, or away for the evening. There’s no telling what could happen if the thieves came face-to-face with someone they were burgling.”

  A shiver went down Emma’s spine as she considered the possibility of that happening to her. Forcing herself to remain calm, she countered, “My parents have a state-of-the-art security system.”

  Helen frowned, even more worriedly. “Mac told me the thieves have been getting around those.”

  And as Holly Springs sheriff, Mac Hart would know, Emma realized uneasily. With effort, Emma pushed away her fear. “Really,” she promised Helen. “I’ll be fine.” All she needed was a long soak in a hot bath, some cozy pajamas and a good night’s sleep.

  Determined to achieve all three within the hour, she strode wearily out to her BMW. As she made her way through the sleepy little town and drove out to the estate her parents had purchased just two years ago, Emma couldn’t help but think how much her life had changed from the time she was a little girl. Her parents were rich now beyond their wildest dreams, but when she had been in elementary school her father and mother—both of whom had come from modest middle-class backgrounds themselves—had still been struggling to turn Saul’s Sandwich Shops into a national chain. Margaret and Saul had traveled so constantly, in fact, that they had been forced to put Emma in an all-girls boarding school in Virginia.

  Always a serious student, Emma had excelled in the rigorous academic atmosphere. Free to devote themselves to selling franchises and opening new Saul’s Sandwich Shops, Margaret and Saul had achieved the nationwide success and fame they wanted. By the time she’d graduated from high school and had gone on to Brown University in Rhode Island, her father had realized yet another long-held dream of his and purchased an NHL hockey team, the Carolina Storm.

  Emma had been excited about the purchase and wanted to attend the games, meet the players, but her father—ever protective—had strictly forbidden it. Hockey players were bad news for women, he had said. If only she had listened to him all those years ago… But she hadn’t. And instead had directly disobeyed him, and had regularly gone to see a minor-league AHL team in Providence, Rhode Island. She had been enthralled by the physical agility, speed, skill and determination of the young, handsome players. One in particular, a sexy southern boy and North Carolina native, had really caught her eye.

  Emma sighed. She knew better than to let herself think about that. If she did, she would be up all night, dreaming of a guy with tousled light brown hair and golden brown eyes….

  Scowling at her inability to get past what might as well have happened in another lifetime, she punched in the security code, watched the gates open, then drove up the lane. To her relief, the ten-thousand-square-foot house and grounds were as quiet and tranquil as ever.

  She let herself in the slate-blue southern colonial, with the white shutters and slate-gray trim, and made her way up the front stairs to her bedroom at the far end of the hall.

  Emma pinned her hair up on the back of her head. She washed the day’s grime off her face and took off her clothes while the tub filled, then sank chin-deep into the fragrant bubbles.

  As she soaked, her thoughts turned once again to Joe Hart, and the sexy, frustrating-as-all-get-out havoc he had wreaked on her life. They had never made love. But she still couldn’t forget the heat of his kisses, or the tender evocativeness of his touch. Still couldn’t stop wanting him or wishing they’d…

  Scowling, Emma got out of the tub. And that was when she heard it. The sound of something—someone—moving around on the first floor, directly below her. In the workout room, or sauna…maybe.

  Emma froze, panicked at the realization she was not alone. Then reached for the phone on the bathroom wall and, still dripping water and bubbles everywhere, swiftly punched in 911. She barely had time to whisper what was happening before Sheriff Mac Hart himself was on the line. “Emma. I want you to sit tight,” he warned briskly. “Don’t even think of going to confront whoever is in the house.”

  In the utter silence of the big house, Emma heard the distinct sound of a door shutting. Another opening. A deep-throated male cough. A crash as something dropped. A muffled exclamation, swearing. She knew what Mac had said, but she was not going to sit there like a sitting duck and wait for whoever was in the house to find her, alone and unarmed. Shaking with a mixture of adrenaline and fear, she pulled her floor-length navy-blue robe on around her and belted it tight. She needed a weapon with which to protect herself. And she knew just where to find one.

  JOE WAS HALFWAY UP THE REAR staircase when he heard the thud of someone crashing into something in the dark, and then the faint, scuffling sounds of someone moving stealthily along the upstairs hallway. Since there was no staff there, no one from the Donovan family, it had to be an intruder.

  His body still glistening from the long swim in the indoor pool and the soak in the hot tub, he ducked back, out of sight. Heart pounding, he leaned against the inner staircase wall, wishing he had a lot more on than a towel around his waist. Damn it. The last thing he needed was a thief successfully burgling Margaret and Saul Donovan’s place when he was hou
se-sitting.

  That would be a great way to begin his tenure on Saul’s team!

  On the other hand, saving the day might win him a few brownie points. And those he could use.

  Easing his way soundlessly back down to the first floor, he slipped into the kitchen pantry, figuring he had surprise on his side. He needed protection, and as his hands closed on a wooden handle, he knew he had found it. Now all he had to do was wait for the intruder to come a little closer and turn his back, and Joe would take the broomstick and knock the interloper flat before he knew what hit him.

  Joe stood next to the crack in the pantry door, peering out.

  The large kitchen windows had no covering, but the moonless night offered little illumination. The room was so dark he could just barely make out the figure of a person, a half a foot or so smaller than he. Wrapped in some sort of dark garment or clothing that went all the way to the floor and obliterated even a hint of skin. The interloper had his back to Joe and was rummaging around in the kitchen drawers, a little too noisily and in too much of a panic for Joe’s comfort. Figuring he had to act fast before his opponent found the sharp blade of a knife to use on him, Joe rushed out of the pantry. The shadowy figure whirled and came at him, arm raised. He ducked. And something heavy—a marble rolling pin—whacked the counter beside him.

  Joe swore, swung his broom. His opponent sidestepped briskly and the handle grazed the cabinet before he could get it behind his opponent’s knees. The rolling pin came up in the air again. Joe used the broom like a sword to knock it away. It hit the floor with a loud clatter.

  Mission accomplished, Joe thought as he grunted in victory. Then winced as a knee jabbed viciously toward his groin. He blocked the devastating blow with his thigh, and grabbed his rather puny opponent by the arms, but could do nothing about the towel slipping free from around his waist. A small bare foot jabbed his instep. He grunted, his towel falling completely away as he shoved his opponent up against the counter. The terry robe fell open. Trapped, body to body, in struggling combat, Joe felt the warm, damp softness of female breasts, tummy, thighs. Inhaled the clean scent of soap and a distinctly flowery, female perfume. Shocked to realize this might not be a burglar after all, he dropped his hold on his opponent abruptly and stepped back.

  Before he could speak, she’d grabbed a heavy ceramic cookie jar from the counter and was again trying to whack the hell out of him. Not about to sustain a career-wounding injury in such an ignominious way, Joe caught the woman’s hands, fighting off the skull-shattering blow as cookies flew everywhere. “Jeez, wait! I—”

  “Go to hell, you thug!” she muttered right back. “What right do you have to break in here?”

  “Crimony, lady! I’m not…” Joe swore again, even more virulently as she kicked him hard in the shin and they struggled fiercely for possession of the jar. He almost had possession of it, too, when his surprisingly lush, female opponent let out a long, terrified scream.

  Refusing to let himself get brained by a hysterical female, Joe struggled all the harder, yanking it free, putting it safely aside. To his frustration, she immediately made a grab for something else on the counter—a bottle of wine? He intervened, and she pulled away. He caught her sleeve before she could reach for anything else.

  Not about to let him declare victory, she twisted and turned like a wild thing, her open robe going the way of his towel in their frantic tussling. As her clothing fell free of her and she kicked it away, Joe tried again to reason with her as she frantically grabbed for something else while still screeching loudly.

  Ears ringing, he stopped her and their naked bodies collided, chest to chest. He grabbed onto her arms, to calm her. To no avail. No matter what he did or said, he couldn’t get her to listen to him or stop that deafening screaming.

  Perhaps never would have if not for the sudden blinding burst of light, shining in through the kitchen windows, illuminating them from head to toe, in the shockingly bright and revealing glow of the police spotlight. Shocked speechless, they froze, like two kids playing statue in the yard.

  Joe turned back to his opponent. Caught a glimpse of dark tousled hair, familiar pine-green eyes and soft, stubborn lips, falling open in dismay. He had one second to register just whom he had been tussling with. Oh, no, he thought. “No!”

  And then the all-too-recognizable voice of the local sheriff boomed at them over the loudspeaker. “All right, you two! Hold it right there!”

  Chapter Two

  “You just can’t stay out of trouble, can you, little brother?” Holly Springs’ sheriff, Mac Hart, demanded in an exaggerated southern drawl as he dropped the bullhorn, punched in a security code and burst in through the kitchen door. Three uniformed deputies were behind him.

  Not when it came to Emma Donovan, Joe thought in chagrin as he moved instinctively to shield his female companion. Keeping his taller, stronger body positioned between the glare of the police spotlight and Emma’s lithe but curvaceous frame, he helped her retrieve—and then shrug on—her robe. Not that his gallantry helped all that much. There was enough light reflected off glimpses of her silky smooth skin to let everyone there see she was naked as a jaybird, as was he.

  Keeping his bare backside toward the glare of the spotlight, Joe swiveled from the waist, turning his head and shoulders slowly, so he could get a better look at the group assembled, on the other side of the glass windows. Was it his imagination, or was that a TV news station truck in the drive, and—holy bananas!—were cameras pointed his and Emma’s way?

  Stifling a litany of swear words that came to mind, Joe used his lazy Carolina drawl to disarming affect. “Mind if I grab my towel, big brother?” Aware the light should have been shut off by now, to afford them some muchneeded modesty, Joe glared at Mac. He could see that his law-and-order brother was as quick to jump to erroneous conclusions about his baby brother’s behavior now as he had been about the scrapes Joe had inadvertently gotten into as a kid. “Or were you planning to shoot me?” Joe finished sarcastically. Joe knew Emma Donovan would like to do so.

  A deeply disapproving look on his face, Mac holstered his gun and waved the two deputies to do the same. “Get something on—both of you,” Mac responded, then turned around to face the news crew that had tagged along and pushed their way into the spacious kitchen, too. “And turn those cameras off!” he ordered sharply.

  “No way!”

  Joe recognized Trevor Zwick, the reporter from W-MOL.

  “We’re responding to the 911 call over the police radio, same as you. And this is the estate of Saul Donovan, Carolina Storm’s owner, so it’s news.”

  “It’s also his daughter,” Joe interjected grimly, warning the news crew what they already should have known, that Saul and Margaret would not take kindly to this.

  The young, red-haired cameraman stepped forward to zoom in, as Joe wrapped the towel around his waist and continued to stand, blocking the crew’s view of a still trembling and shaken Emma. “Hey, Joe! Rusty Crowley here. Are the rumors true? Have you signed with the Storm for next season?”

  Joe grimaced. Of all the places to meet with a hockey afficionado. “I can’t comment on that,” he said firmly. Not when the official press conference had yet to be held. Not when he hadn’t had time or opportunity to get his family together and tell them.

  “Then can you comment on why you’re here in a state of undress with Mr. Donovan’s daughter?” Trevor Zwick asked, like the indefatigable reporter he was. “Or why the sheriff’s department was summoned here this evening on a breaking-and-entering report, phoned in by Miss Emma Donovan?”

  Joe looked to Mac for help. If anyone had the authority to disperse them, his brother did.

  “That’s enough questions, guys,” Mac said, reading Joe’s mind and waving the news crew away. “Off the property. Now.”

  The entire three-person news crew looked deeply disappointed.

  “You heard me,” Mac continued, with the full authority of local law enforcement. “There’s no stor
y here.”

  Mac’s deputies moved to enforce his orders. The crew was shooed away, still protesting. Emma turned and disappeared into the adjacent hall, out of sight of the windows. Joe did the same.

  Mac followed and loomed in the doorway from the kitchen. He hit the wall switch, so the room was bathed in soft yellow light. Then he glanced pointedly at Emma, who was now leaning weakly against the wall, an expression of unmitigated anger on her pretty face. “Everything okay here?” Mac asked gently, still studying Emma with professional dispassion. “Or you want me to stay and check it out?”

  Joe turned to Emma and got a really good look at her for the first time that evening. Seven years had passed since the two of them had laid eyes on each other. Whereas before she had been a young girl, still in her late teens, now she was all woman. And he wasn’t just taking in the lush curves of her five-foot-six frame. There was a wisdom and maturity in her long-lashed emerald-green eyes, a knowing curve to her soft ripe lips, a new stubbornness to the set of her chin. She was wearing no makeup. But then, with her elegant features, soft peachy-gold skin and dark, sexily upswept hair, she really didn’t need any to look drop-dead gorgeous. Tucked in the plush navy bathrobe, her bare feet planted determinedly apart, she looked like the rich, pampered heiress she was.

  Joe realized that even though emotionally he could care less about her and wanted nothing to do with her, he was as physically drawn to her as ever. And more telling still, she couldn’t seem to stop hungrily staring at Joe any more than he could stop drinking in the sight of her.

  Which could only mean one thing. Saul Donovan had been right to worry and warn Joe away from his only daughter.

  Because if the two of them were around each other for any time at all…

  Mac cleared his throat. “Well?” he prodded again, impatiently.

  Aware his brother still hadn’t received a full explanation, and deserved one for having been called out to the estate on a false emergency call, Joe turned back to Mac and said, for both their benefit, “I’m a houseguest here.”