Taken Beyond Temptation

“That’s what I’m thinking. But I can’t think of who that might be.”

“Then the sooner I get started the better. What’s my writer name by the way? You’ll have to register me under it.”

“Any objection to going with Jack Ryan?”

“None at all.” But as Avery moved past him, Ian put a hand on his arm. “Just put me in a room close to Jillian’s. In the event you’re not being paranoid, I’d like to be close in case the threats escalate.”

Avery’s expression hardened. “You think she might be personally in danger?”

“You’re afraid of that, too,” he said. “That’s part of the reason you don’t want the sisters informed about the threats. If they thought the hotel was really in danger, they’d all come back.”

Avery studied him for a moment. “I’m glad I called you, Jack. Let’s get you registered.”

3

AS JILLIAN STEPPED OUT of the law offices of Bisson and Tanner, she barely restrained herself from doing a happy dance right there on the sidewalk. Ever since she’d decided that interior design was where her true talents lay, she’d been dreaming of eventually opening her own store. But it hadn’t been until she and her sisters had bought Haworth House and turned it into a hotel that she’d started to believe she could turn her particular dream into a reality.

Oh, she knew she was taking a risk—starting a new business venture so soon after opening the hotel. But once she’d seen the Kellys’ bookstore on Main Street and discovered that it was available, she simply hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to buy it ahead of schedule. A whole two years ahead of schedule.

Walking to the edge of the sidewalk, she glanced up and down the main street of the small village that was becoming so familiar to her. The sharp, sudden blast of the ferry’s horn had her turning right to watch it pull away from the dock. Brightly colored umbrellas adorned the patio of a restaurant close to the water. Across the street from where she stood was the crowded coffee shop, Uncommon Grounds, with its green-and-white-striped awnings. In the block up from that was a gift shop and a bank, and directly across from the real estate office was what was going to be her new antique store.

Just thinking about it had her heart skipping a beat. The key in her hand and the papers she’d just signed in Myron Bisson’s office had made it really hers.

The Kellys, a couple in their seventies, had run a bookstore there for over forty years, but they’d wanted to have more time to visit grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Right now they were in Ireland doing just that. They’d signed the papers before they’d left, and the key had just been waiting for her.

Opening her fist, Jillian stared down at it. Risk taking was not new to her. And she’d paid the price for her tendency to rush into things. But convincing her sisters to buy Haworth House had paid off, and she just had a feeling she was on a roll.

This time she gave in to the impulse to do a little happy dance. A part of her wanted to run up the street, open the door of the old bookstore and just look at the place that was now hers.

Another part of her wanted to share the good news with someone. She could call Avery, of course. He would have come with her if he could have gotten away. Instead she started up the street toward Molly Pepperman’s boutique on the corner. Molly had been the first friend she’d made in Belle Bay, and she’d introduced her to the Kellys. And now they would be fellow retailers.

She’d taken a few steps toward her destination when her attention was diverted by a silver-toned SUV pulling into a parking space directly across from her. Something moved through her then—and she sensed who the driver was even before he opened the door. It was him—the tall, lanky stranger she’d nearly smashed into and very nearly kissed.

While she’d been in Mr. Bisson’s office, she’d been successful at putting that memory out of her mind. But as he emerged from the car, the details flooded her system with a vengeance. He took his time locking the car, and all the while awareness prickled along her nerve endings, her pulse raced, and the air seemed to thicken around her.

She couldn’t drag her gaze away from him as he headed down the sidewalk toward the pier. The worn jeans and T-shirt hugged a long, lean body, and the aviator sunglasses added to the appeal. The man had a great deal of eye candy going for him.

Something close to panic bubbled inside her. The eye-candy factor didn’t fully account for the intensity of her reaction to him. On the ride into town, she’d almost convinced herself that her initial response had been the result of her near-death experience. But why was it happening again?

Her heart was thudding, her blood heating in her veins. It was ridiculous. The man was a perfect stranger.

And that was when the memory slammed into her—a bare-fisted punch that had her backing into a nearby planter and sitting down hard on the edge.

Good grief. Could her reaction to this man be related to the parchment she’d pulled out of that damn fantasy box she’d found in Hattie’s secret room?

No. She pressed her hands to her head to stop the spinning. Hattie Haworth’s fantasy box was something that only a very few people were aware of. She and her sisters knew. And Naomi had probably told Dane. In the media blitz surrounding the arrest of Naomi’s exfiancé, Michael Davenport, the fact that Hattie’s ghost was alive and well, so to speak, at the hotel had leaked to the press. But the existence of her fantasy box had been kept private. And she’d never told anyone—not even Naomi and Reese—the fantasy she’d pulled out.

You will experience all of the sensory delights and adventure that come with being swept away by a stranger.

There was no denying it. The hunky stranger had swept her away. For those few breathless moments on the hillside, she’d forgotten everything else.

Closing her eyes, she tried to clear her mind. She’d been working too hard. There was the stress of starting up her first retail venture and the meeting with Colonel Jenkins tomorrow. If the colonel was pleased with what she’d done at Haworth House, he could take her into the big leagues as an interior designer. And that would give her just the boost she needed to ensure the success of her store. Those were the things she should be focusing on.

Instead, the words on the top of the hatbox blinked on and off in her mind like a neon sign. Choose carefully. The one you draw out will come true.

Being swept away by a stranger had been a secret fantasy of hers when she was fourteen. By then, her reading had graduated from Nancy Drew to romance novels—the ones with bodice-ripper covers that she’d had to hide from the nuns. It had been exciting to read them, even more exciting to daydream her own forbidden and amorous adventures.

In the convent school, she’d always felt more confined than her sisters. Naomi was a scholar and focused on her goal of attending college in the States. And as long as the nuns allowed Reese to experiment in the kitchen, she was as happy as a clam.

But Jillian had always fantasized about escape. No wonder she’d dreamed about being swept away to a more adventurous life by slightly dangerous strangers. In her fantasies, she’d often imagined her hero to be Harrison Ford in his Indiana Jones persona.

On that first night when she’d entered the tower room and Hattie had shown her the secret room, she’d convinced herself that pulling that particular fantasy out of the box was a coincidence. But later when she’d shown her sisters the secret room and hatbox, they’d each drawn out parchments.

And she’d drawn the same one—You will experience all the sensory delights and adventure that come with being swept away by a stranger.

Evidently, the fantasies had struck a personal note with her sisters, too, because they hadn’t shared them. Maybe because of that warning on the top of the box.

Choose carefully. The one you draw out will come true.

The kicker was that Naomi’s already had come true and it had brought her Dane. She’d told them that much on the day after Michael Davenport had shot her. And she’d claimed that Hattie had played a role in saving Dane’s life.

What other kind of role might Hattie be playing? Could a ghost actually engineer which fantasy she and her sisters had pulled out? And what in the world had Hattie used those fantasies for? Why had she hidden them and nothing else in that secret room?

Was the one she’d drawn out going to come true just as Naomi’s had?

Did she want it to?

No. No. No. She was being ridiculous. Opening her eyes, Jillian gave her head a little shake to clear it of the fanciful questions. But as luck would have it, the first person she focused on was the tall, lanky piece of eye candy. Evidently he’d changed his mind about visiting the pier, and he was now directly across the street from her.

As she watched those long legs eat up the sidewalk, her heart gave another little thud, and flames licked along her nerve endings.

He didn’t even glance in her direction.

Good. Because she had better things to do than deal with adolescent fantasies. Or gawk at a man she’d never really met. And didn’t want to meet.

Liar, said a little voice in her head.

Molly’s boutique, she reminded herself as she sprang up from the planter. That had been her destination before Mr. Hunk had come into her range of vision and rudely interrupted her. Turning, she headed toward the corner. Molly probably couldn’t get away to see her new store. But she was always a good listener.

Jillian couldn’t help but stop to admire the window display at Discoveries. Color was everywhere—from the pile of lacy lingerie to the brightly hued sundresses that hung from hangers against a sky-blue backdrop. Molly changed the merchandise frequently, Jillian knew. And it worked. It was just one more marketing technique that she was going to have to talk to her friend about.

Stepping through the front door, she spotted Molly immediately. The petite brunette was standing with a customer in front of the full-length mirrors toward the center of the store. Not wanting to interrupt, Jillian busied herself with one of her favorite pastimes, browsing.

It always amazed her just how much product Molly packed into the space without making it seem overcrowded. The clothing racks that in other stores might offer dresses or pants in a variety of sizes here offered “outfits” complete with shoes, hats, handbags and jewelry. Out of the corner of her eye, she kept track of Molly’s progress with the elderly woman who was carefully inspecting her image in the mirror.

“What do you think, Miss Emmy Lou?” Molly asked. “I like the color on you.”

“You don’t think it’s too young?” the older woman asked.