Mala stared at the man, hard, as her heart freefell straight to her pelvis.
And her brain warped back twenty years to a time when nobody knew that Spruce Lake High’s senior class president had a secret crush on a bad-ass kid whose ice-chip blue eyes regularly sent chills of forbidden promises down her spine, even though he never—not once—returned her smile.
A boy with sinfully thick, caramel-brown hair and the sharply defined, beard-shadowed face of a man; a boy whose lean, muscled body had filled out his worn, fitted jeans and T-shirts like nobody’s business, whose direct, disquieting gaze spoke of innocence lost but not regretted. He had appeared out of nowhere, a month into their senior year, only to vanish six weeks before graduation. Mala hadn’t seen him since.
Until today.
Dear Reader,
A new year has begun, so why not celebrate with six exciting new titles from Silhouette Intimate Moments? What a Man’s Gotta Do is the newest from Karen Templeton, reuniting the one-time good girl, now a single mom, with the former bad boy who always made her heart pound, even though he never once sent a smile her way. Until now.
Kylie Brant introduces THE TREMAINE TRADITION with Alias Smith and Jones, an exciting novel about two people hiding everything about themselves—except the way they feel about each other. There’s still TROUBLE IN EDEN in Virginia Kantra’s All a Man Can Ask, in which an undercover assignment leads (predictably) to danger and (unpredictably) to love. By now you know that the WINGMEN WARRIORS flash means you’re about to experience top-notch military romance, courtesy of Catherine Mann. Under Siege, a marriage-of-inconvenience tale, won’t disappoint. Who wouldn’t like A Kiss in the Dark from a handsome hero? So run—don’t walk—to pick up the book of the same name by rising star Jenna Mills. Finally, enjoy the winter chill—and the cozy cuddling that drives it away—in Northern Exposure, by Debra Lee Brown, who sends her heroine to Alaska to find love.
And, of course, we’ll be back next month with six more of the best and most exciting romances around, so be sure not to miss a single one.
Enjoy!
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
What a Man’s Gotta Do
Karen Templeton
KAREN TEMPLETON,
a Waldenbooks bestselling author, is the mother of five sons and living proof that romance and dirty diapers are not mutually exclusive terms. An Easterner transplanted to Albuquerque, New Mexico, she spends far too much time trying to coax her garden to yield roses and produce something resembling a lawn, all the while fantasizing about a weekend alone with her husband. Or at least an uninterrupted conversation.
This RITA® Award-nominated author loves to hear from readers, who may reach her by writing c/o Silhouette Books, 300 E. 42nd St., New York, NY 10017, or online at www.karentempleton.com.
Dedication
To my mother—known these days as Grandma Kay—who has steadfastly supported whatever harebrained thing I’ve ever wanted to do. A mother five times over myself, I now understand just how much courage that sometimes took.
Acknowledgments
To Roger Huder, not only for his crash scene rescue team expertise, but because he also gamely helped me find a way to place my hero in the middle of things. And to Marilyn Pappano, who read an early draft of the scene in question and didn’t say, “You’ve got to be kidding.” Many thanks!
In memory of
Kathy McCormick, M.D., my steadfast advisor on all things medical for several years. You will always be remembered for your patience, generosity and kindness.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
Chapter 1
Eddie King never had understood what it was about him that seemed to shake people up. Not that the pregnant lady frowning at his résumé on the other side of the cluttered, pockmarked desk seemed particularly shook up, exactly. But Eddie was hard-pressed not to notice that Galen Farentino hadn’t yet quite looked him straight in the eye, either, even though she was the one doing the hiring.
He supposed a lot of people thought he was a bit on the eccentric side, if not at least worth keeping one eye on. For one thing, old Levi’s and cowboy boots didn’t fit most folks’ expectations of what a five-star-quality chef was supposed to look like. Then when you factored in his refusal to get riled up about much, his preference for keeping to himself, the way he kept flitting from job to job after all these years…hell, in somebody else’s shoes, he’d probably keep one eye on him, too.
Eddie linked his hands over his stomach, thinking how much the cramped office tucked behind the restaurant kitchen still looked pretty much like it had two decades ago. His peripheral vision caught the photo on one corner of the desk, a wedding shot of his prospective employer and some huge, dark-haired man in a tux. One of the man’s arms possessively encircled his bride’s waist, while the other supported a tiny blond girl on his hip. All three of ’em wore sappy grins.
Eddie glanced away, like the picture hurt his eyes.
He idly scratched his prickly cheek, thinking he needed a shave, bad, after that long drive from Florida. It was crazy, coming all the way up here when this job wasn’t even in the bag yet. And why he’d been led to come back to Spruce Lake, he’d never know. Molly and Jervis had both passed away years ago, so it wasn’t like he had any real ties to the place. And anyway, Eddie usually steered clear of small towns, much preferring the anonymity of the big city. But that ad in the trade rag on his former boss’s desk had just kinda leapt out at him, and since the thought of spending the winter someplace where they actually had winter was not altogether unattractive, he’d figured what the hell. Since it’d been years since he’d applied for a job he hadn’t gotten, he wasn’t too worried about getting this one. And if he didn’t? No big deal. He’d just move on.
He was real used to moving on.
“Your references are very impressive, Mr. King,” the redhead now said, more to his résumé than to him. He guessed her to be around his age, but she mustn’t’ve been in Spruce Lake back then, since he didn’t recognize her. Then she looked up, reluctantly almost, her face not much darker than that white turtleneck sweater she had on underneath her denim maternity jumper. She’d said on the phone that both her doctor and her husband had ordered her to go easy for the remainder of her pregnancy, and that she then intended to take at least six, possibly eight, weeks maternity leave after that. So the job would last four, five months at the outside. Which suited Eddie fine.
As if reading his mind, she said, “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve worked in—” she glanced again at the résumé, then back at him “—eight different states in nine years.”
“Yes,