Stephanie James - Second Wife.pdf - Stephanie James - SilverWitch

„You Were There Long Enough To Acquire A Lover,“

Flynn reminded her gently, his tawny eyes gleaming.

Heather felt the warmth rush into her face, but she kept her voice cool. „No, Flynn. I dated one of the

owners of the company, but there was no love involved. I never had a lover while I was working at

Construct. I got used.“

Flynn’s jaw tightened. He was aware of the prowling tension in himself and the wariness in Heather. He’d

known it wasn’t going to be easy. He’d known she wouldn’t run back into his arms. He’d told himself to be

realistic. But for the first time, Flynn faced the reality of the task that lay ahead of him. He’d burned her

badly, and she wasn’t going to willingly risk returning to the source of the fire.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to Silhouette! Our goal is to give you hours of unbeatable reading pleasure, and we hope you’ll

enjoy each month’s six new Silhouette Desires. These sensual, provocative love stories are both

believable and compelling – sometimes they’re poignant, sometimes humorous, but always enjoyable.

Indulge yourself. Experience all the passion and excitement of falling in love along with our heroine as she

meets the irresistible man of her dreams and together they overcome all obstacles in the path to a happy

ending.

If this is your first Desire, I hope it’ll be the first of many. If you’re already a Silhouette Desire reader,

thanks for your support! Look for some of your favorite authors in the coming months: Stephanie James,

Diana Palmer, Dixie Browning, Ann Major and Doreen Owens Malek, to name just a few.

Happy reading!

Isabel Swift Senior Editor

STEPHANIE

JAMES

Second

Wife

Published by Silhouette Books New York

America’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

S ILHO UETTE BO O KS

300 East 42nd St. Ne w York, N.Y. 10.017

All rights reserve d, including the right to reproduce this book or portions there of in any form whatsoeve r. For

information addre ss Silhouette Books, 300 East 42nd St. Ne w York, N.Y. 10.017

IS BN: 0-373-05.307-X

First Silhouette Books printing O ctobe r 1986

All the characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is pure ly coincidental.

SILHO UETTE, SILHO UETTE DESIRE and colophon are re gistere d trade marks of the publisher.

Ame rica’s Publisher of Contemporary Romance

Printed in the U.S.A.

STEPHANIE JAMES

readily admits that the chief influence on her writing is her „lifelong addiction to romantic daydreaming.“

She has spent the past nine years living and working with her engineer husband in a wide variety of places,

including the Caribbean, the Southeast and the Pacific Northwest. Ms. James also writes under the name

Jayne Krentz and Jayne Castle.

One

He stood on the sidewalk in front of her house, feeling as grim and resolute as if he were going into battle.

The analogy was far too apt.

There was always the outside possibility his sweet enemy would take one look at him, throw herself into

his arms and surrender without firing a shot. But Flynn Rammage didn’t waste much time tantalizing

himself with that false hope. It was highly unlikely things were going to be that simple, not after what he’d

done to her eight months ago. Maybe he didn’t deserve to have it that easy.

Eight months ago he’d been too embittered and too filled with rage to realize what Heather Devaney

was offering. He’d seen gentleness and mistaken it for weakness. She’d offered love and Flynn had seen

vulnerability. He’d been a wolf on the hunt and Heather had been the unwary victim.

Eight months ago he’d been a fool, Flynn told himself. He’d thrown away gold because he hadn’t been

searching for it. He’d been looking for a target and Heather had gotten in his way. She had become the

target.

Flynn took a deep breath of the warm evening air and started up the walk to the front door of a small,

shabby house. It was hard to imagine Heather in such a place. Weeds choked what was left of the lawn.

There were cracks in the pavement that led to the steps. The screen door was loose on its hinges, the wire

mesh ruptured in several places. The whole house badly needed a coat of paint.

Flynn automatically surveyed the modest little bungalow with an expert’s eye. He wouldn’t have bet

fifty cents on the soundness of the structure, and he could just imagine the condition of the electrical wiring.

What in hell had made Heather leave her cheerful little apartment and move in here?

Overhead the Tucson sky was filled with stars, however, and in spite of the physical condition of the

house, he knew it belonged to Heather. Flynn was grateful to have finally run her to ground. The lights in

the windows of Heather’s home, wherever it was and whatever condition it was in, would always promise

warmth and love and happiness. She carried those qualities within herself. They were all items Flynn had

been missing for a long time. He was prepared to fight to regain them.

Heather Devaney shook off the faint trickle of uneasy awareness she’d experienced more than once

during the day and flung open another closet door. Her imagination had been unusually active all afternoon

for some reason. More than once she’d stopped a cleaning project to walk over to a window and glance

outside. There had been nothing to see, of course, just the quiet residential street in front of her new home.

She didn’t understand why she had a vague feeling of being watched. It annoyed her, but it didn’t really

alarm her. This was a good neighborhood even if it was a little run-down, and she was delighted to have

finally taken possession of her house. She wasn’t going to allow an overactive imagination to upset her on

her first night in the place.

She eyed the dust balls inside the closet with an air of undaunted determination. The real estate agent

had promised the house would be thoroughly cleaned before she took possession, but it was clear his notion

of a clean home differed from her own.

It didn’t matter, Heather decided as she closed the closet and went across the room to take a closer look

at some marks on the wall. She was going to have the rooms repainted, anyway, and when that was done

she could do a proper cleaning. Tonight she would concentrate on the bathroom and kitchen. At least all the

appliances worked, she reminded herself cheerfully. Considering their age, that was saying something.

She leaned down to study the wall marks and came to the conclusion they represented the artistic

endeavors of a three-year-old. Not bad, really. A slight leaning toward minimalism, but a nice sense of color

and line. The kid had promise.

For a moment Heather allowed herself to dwell on the image of a child playing in the house. Then, with

a faintly wistful expression, she straightened and reached out to touch the sagging drapes. No doubt about

it, they would have to be replaced. Just as well.

She didn’t like the beige shade, and the fabric struck her as heavy-looking for a home in the desert.

Heather wanted the crisp look of miniblinds for this room. It was going to be her guest room.

She released the handful of drapery and walked out into the hall with a deep feeling of satisfaction. A

home of her own. It was a small place, a tiny two-bedroom bungalow in the charming southwestern style,

with arching doorways and a mock adobe look. True, it needed a lot of work, but it was the first place she

had ever owned, and it was hers alone. Every last mortgage payment. She grinned to herself and sauntered

into the kitchen.

There was a bottle of wine on the old tile counter, a nice pizza red that was waiting for the arrival of the

pizza and Heather’s guest. She considered helping herself to a sip or two while she waited for Lee. He was

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