Led into Temptation. Cara Summers

didn’t just look like the priest she’d fantasized about when she was fourteen. He was a priest. And the realization had shot the attraction she’d been experiencing into overdrive.

      No. This was not going to happen to her again. Willing her legs to work, she turned away from the railing and made it to one of the small love seats before she collapsed.

      Leaning back against the cushions, she stared straight ahead, forcing herself to concentrate on the details—the pale green paint she’d selected under Jillian’s direction, the oriental rug with its pastel colors, the gleam of the honey-colored wood beneath. Gradually, the image of the man—the priest—she’d just seen in the courtyard dimmed, and a flame of anger burst to life inside of her.

      This was all due to that piece of parchment paper she’d drawn out of Hattie’s box. Her fantasy crush on Father Bouchard had happened so long ago, and she’d outgrown it. She’d been a young, impressionable fourteen when she’d read The Thornbirds. That was when the idea of making love with a priest had first taken hold of her.

      All the girls at the school had had a crush on Father Bouchard. The confessional had never been busier. One would have thought from the long lines that Our Lady of Solace boarding school had become a den of iniquity. She’d even figured out how to spend extra time with the young priest by volunteering to clean the sacristy each day after he’d said Mass. That was when he always lingered and found the time to listen to her. And talk to her. Later she would record in her diary each word he said, no matter how casual, and each smile he gave to her.

      In her mind, in that place where fantasy/puppy love flourished, she’d fallen in love with Father Pierre Bouchard. She’d even taken to writing her name as Naomi Bouchard over and over again in her diary and notebooks. All simple, innocent things.

      In the beginning, the fantasies she’d spun in her mind about Father Bouchard had also been innocent—taking long walks, their hands and arms brushing occasionally. But the heat that had rushed through her at every imaginary contact hadn’t been so innocent.

      And eventually, her fantasies had become more explicit, at least as explicit as she’d been able to spin them at fourteen. And even though she knew it had to be a sin to continue to indulge in them, she’d never confessed them to anyone. Until today when she’d told Avery.

      When Father Bouchard was transferred to a small parish near Monte Carlo, she’d cried herself to sleep for weeks. But the fantasies had gradually faded. She’d put them out of her mind years ago. Up until the day she’d drawn that parchment paper out of Hattie Haworth’s hatbox.

      THE MOMENT NAOMI disappeared into her room, Dane cursed himself silently. Ms. Brightman was definitely going to be a problem for him.

      Bottom line—he wanted her. And she was his best link to the man he was determined to find. Anyone who thought you could mix business with pleasure didn’t make a successful businessman.

      With an inward sigh, he faced what he’d known from the first moment he’d set eyes on her. This was not going to be a simple job. At the top of the list of possible complications was the fact that he was impersonating a priest. His game plan was to convince Naomi to confide in him. That would call for some up-close-and-personal time with the woman.

      And even if he was tempted, as he already was, to make a pass at her, to do so could blow his cover and cost him what chance he had of nabbing Michael Davenport.

      She’s off-limits, MacFarland. He’d just have to get more deeply into the role of being a priest. Think holy and celibate thoughts. His ability to assume different personas had always been his primary survival skill. And to be forewarned was to be forearmed.

      The laughter pierced his concentration first. But it was only when a young couple entered the courtyard from the steps to the beach that Dane realized he hadn’t moved since Naomi Brightman had disappeared from the balcony. And he hadn’t taken his gaze from the open door to her room.

      Was he waiting, hoping for her to come back out?

      Way to go, MacFarland. Disgusted, he strode to the entrance of the main lobby. He had a job to do. And step one was to arrange a personal meeting with Naomi Brightman. He spotted Avery Cooper behind the registration desk and started toward him. Avery might look more like a bouncer in an upscale club, but according to the research Ian had done, the man had graduated top of his class from Harvard Business School. And from what Dane had gathered from their reunion at the pier, he was a friend to Naomi. That made Avery Cooper a good man to have on his side.

      And the perfect man to arrange his first meeting with Naomi. Tomorrow, Dane decided. That would give her time to settle in, and it would buy him a little time to get deeper into his role.

      As a priest, Dane reminded himself. A very celibate priest.