“Sean, about that kiss …”
Yeah, it was pretty much uppermost in his mind at the moment. Damn, he hadn’t reacted that fast to any other woman before.
“It was a good one,” he admitted.
If he had his way, he’d be taking his new bride upstairs to her suite. He’d lay her down on the closest flat surface he could find, then he’d hitch the skirts of her dress up and stare down into her eyes as he …
“We can’t do that again,” she said, effectively snapping him right out of his private fantasies.
“Sure we can,” Sean countered, moving a little closer to her. “Kissing’s not sex.”
“It is the way you do it,” she murmured.
His voice soft, his words careful, he said, “It was just a kiss, Melinda. It won’t go anywhere else unless you want it to.”
Dear Reader,
Writing these letters is sometimes hard and sometimes easy … This time, it’s a snap!
The Temporary Mrs King is Sean King’s book, and frankly, I’ve been dying to write about him since he first showed up in his brother Rafe’s book.
Sean is, to the outside world, an easygoing, laid-back kind of guy. He has a quick sense of humor, he’s loyal to the bone and like every other King cousin, family is everything to him. But there’s more to Sean than meets the eye. He’s learned the hard way about betrayal, and the secret in his past haunts him still.
Melinda Stanford looks as though she has it all. She grew up with a doting grandfather on a small, privately owned Caribbean island. She’s beautiful, smart and wealthy—or is she? Her doting grandfather is becoming more demanding lately, wanting to see his only grandchild settled and happy before he dies.
A bargain is struck, more secrets are born and a romance that made me smile all the way through it begins.
I really hope you enjoy Sean’s book as much as I did.
Visit me at www.maureenchild.com and at www.facebook.com/maureenchild. You can also write to me at PO Box 1883, Westminster, CA 92684-1883, USA.
Happy reading!
Maureen
About the Author
MAUREEN CHILD is a California native who loves to travel. Every chance they get, she and her husband are taking off on another research trip. The author of more than sixty books, Maureen loves a happy ending and still swears that she has the best job in the world. She lives in Southern California with her husband, two children and a golden retriever with delusions of grandeur. Visit Maureen’s website, www.maureenchild.com.
The Temporary
Mrs King
Maureen Child
To my mother-in-law, Mary Ann Child.
She raised five sons, so she knows all about dealing
with hardheaded men.
Thanks for everything, Mom. I love you.
One
“I think we should get married.”
Sean King choked on his sip of beer. Slamming the icy bottle down onto the polished teak bar, he coughed until tears filled his eyes. He was forced to blink them away to see the woman who had nearly killed him with six little words.
She was worth it.
Her hair was nearly as black as his. Her eyes were a softer blue than his own and her skin was a pale honey color, telling him she spent a lot of time outdoors. She had high cheekbones, delicately arched black brows and a look of fierce determination stamped on her features.
Something inside him stirred when she licked her lips and, just for a second, he let his gaze drop to appreciate the rest of her. She was wearing a lemon-yellow sundress that showed off a pair of truly amazing legs. Her sandals boasted bright white flowers positioned over toes that were painted bloodred.
Finally lifting his gaze to hers, he gave her a half smile and said, “Married? Don’t you think we should have dinner first?”
Her lips twitched briefly, then she shot a look at the bartender, as if assuring herself he was far enough away to not overhear her. “I know how strange that sounded.…”
He laughed. “Strange is a good word for it.”
“… but, I have my reasons.”
“Good to know,” he said and lifted his beer for another sip. “Bye now.”
She blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re Sean King. You’re here to meet with Walter Stanford—”
Intrigued, Sean narrowed his eyes on her. “News travels fast on a small island.”
“Even faster when Walter is your grandfather.”
“Grandfather?” he repeated. “That means you’re—”
“Melinda Stanford, yes,” she finished for him, then glanced uneasily around again.
For the wealthy, pampered granddaughter of the man who owned this island, she seemed a little spooky.
“Look, would you mind if we took this to one of the tables? I’d really rather not be overheard.”
He could guess why. Proposing to a man you’d never met before wasn’t the most normal way of introducing yourself. Pretty, but she didn’t seem to be playing with all of her marbles. She didn’t wait for him to agree, just walked toward one of the half-dozen empty tables in the hotel bar.
Sean watched her, deliberating whether or not to follow her. Sure, she was gorgeous. But clearly she was a little unhinged, too.
She looked bright as a sunbeam sitting in the dark corner of the once elegant and now tired-looking bar. Thirty years ago, this place was no doubt considered top-of-the-line. But it had seen its day come and go and hadn’t tried hard enough to keep up.
Now, the wood floors had deep scars that several coats of polish couldn’t disguise. The walls were in need of fresh paint and the windows were too small. There were some nice touches though. Sort of art deco, Sean thought. The throughways were rounded at the top, arched with clean lines, which he liked. Round mirrors with tiled edges. Rectangular tables with bowed legs and mosaic inlaid surfaces. The wall sconces were Tiffany-esque with a modernistic thirties sense of style. It was beautiful, but definitely needed a face-lift. If it were his place, Sean would have taken out the front wall entirely and replaced it with glass, affording the patrons a spectacular view of the ocean. And he’d have clung to the art deco style and added a stained glass window filled with sharp angles and curves over the door. The hazards of running a construction company, he supposed. He was forever remodeling places in his mind.
But this wasn’t his bar and he had a beautiful, if a little weird, woman waiting on him. Since he wasn’t meeting Walter Stanford until the next morning and he had a few hours to kill anyway … Sean smiled to himself as he walked toward her.
He took a seat opposite her and leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. Holding his bottle of beer atop his flat belly, he tipped his head to one side, and studied her quietly, waiting for her to explain. He didn’t have to wait long.
“I know you’re here to buy the land on the North Shore.”
“Not exactly a secret,” he said, taking another sip of the icy beer. He took a quick look at the label. A local brew,