Secret Desire

Secret Desire
Gwynne Forster

Their lives spared and nerves shattered in a harrowing robbery, fiercely independent widow Kate Middleton and her young son are rescued by Luke Hickson, a ruggedly handsome police captain still reeling from a calamity of his own. Neither Kate nor Luke expects, much less welcomes, the instant spark of attraction.But when trouble strikes again, Kate realizes there's only one place she feels safe–in Luke's strong embrace….

Secret desire

Secret Desire

Gwynne Forster

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

Acknowledgments

To Walter Zacharius for his wisdom and courage in disregarding the notion, then current, that African-Americans would not write romance novels with African-American heroes and heroines worthy of publication, and that the African-American public would not buy and read them. Thanks to his foresight, sagacity and conviction, we African-American writers now need only produce work of high quality, and publication is assured. To my editor, Evette Porter, who skillfully eases the bumpy road to publication; to my agent, Patty Steel-Perkins, who knows well the ladders and pitfalls of this publishing business; and to my husband, who loves and supports me and is always there for me.

Dear Reader,

After the publication of Beyond Desire, which won a Gold Pen award, well over a hundred of you wrote me letters asking for Luke Hickson’s story. As the older brother of Marcus Hickson, the hero of Beyond Desire, Luke figured prominently in that story. And because of his personality, it took me a while to settle on a vehicle in which to present him as a romantic hero. Luke loves challenges and handles them with dispatch. Several of you wrote that you wouldn’t mind having a guy like Luke, and what woman would?

Don’t forget to look for my other Kimani series romances. Private Lives is the story of Allison Sawyer, a woman seeking respite from unhappiness with a man who’d sworn to love her. She finds joy and love unexpectedly with tough loner Brock Lightner, a private investigator. The heat that sizzles between them will almost burn your fingers as you turn the pages, and Brock’s tenderness with Allison’s five-year-old son will tug at your heart. Kimani Romance will release Private Lives in March 2009. Be sure to look for it. And don’t forget my latest Kimani Arabesque title, What Matters Most, which was published last month and is the second book in a partnership between Harlequin and St. Jude Children’s Research Hospital. It’s a story of love and compassion and, as usual, a torrid romance.

I enjoy hearing from my readers, and in particular visiting book clubs in person and talking to members by phone. Please write me at GwynneF@aol.com or by mail at P.O. Box 45, New York, New York 10044. If you’d like an answer, please include a self-addressed stamped envelope. Visit my Web site, www.gwynneforster.com, and join my book club at GwynneForsterBookClubOfFansAndReaders@YahooGroups.com.

Fond regards,

Gwynne Forster

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

Chapter 1

“Thank you kindly for nothing.”

“You got more than you deserved.”

“I didn’t seek what I deserve. No amount of money can compensate for the ten years of emotional hell I endured with Nathan Middleton.” Kate Middleton waved the check. “This is for my son’s future.”

She stared at Joshua Johnson’s thin pinched lips, hollow cheeks, and cold pigeon eyes, then swung around and headed for the door. With her hand on the knob, she let her gaze sweep the staid office of Johnson and Jackson with its ancient markings of respectability, including the graying old man—attorney for her late husband’s estate and a friend of the Middleton family—who didn’t raise his head to look at her. She took it all in, opened the door, walked out and closed it gently. Then she turned around, wiped her feet on the doormat, headed down the hall and didn’t look back.

Nathan Middleton hadn’t intended to set her free, but that was what her husband of ten years had done when he mocked fate by test driving a new-line sports car. While he’d lived, he’d done his best to rule and control her, pampered her and tried to stash her away in their elegant home. Her rebellion had been a source of increasing friction between them. For ten years, she’d fluttered around with clipped wings, but now she’d show them all, including her in-laws, who’d told their son that he’d married beneath his status. The world would know that she could manage her life and take care of her child.

Two hundred and ninety thousand dollars, a pittance of an inheritance for her and her child from the only son of a rich family—but it was more than she needed to get her life in order. She stepped out into the street, tightened her jacket against the sting of the brisk April breeze, inhaled the Grosse Pointe, Michigan, air, and smelled its familiarity. She had to get out of that town, away from that house with its memories of what Nathan had told her about her in-laws and their unfair estimation of her. She walked rapidly, her mind bursting with visions of her future. For many of her thirty-eight years, life had shortchanged her, but she meant to correct that—beginning right then.

Four months later, having returned with her son, Randy, to Portsmouth, Virginia, where she’d had her only teaching job, the only place she knew besides Charleston, South Carolina, and Grosse Pointe, Kate embarked on her new life—managing the bookstore that she’d purchased with a portion of the money from Nathan’s estate.

“You don’t need that sitter. You can leave your boy here with me while you’re at your store,” Madge Robinson, her building superintendent, said. “I take care of the kids that live in this apartment building while their mothers and fathers are off to business.”

Kate looked from the gnarled fingers and wrinkled and heavily veined hands to the lined, weathered face and the hair that hadn’t grayed or ever been dyed, and she wondered how many of life’s barbed-wire fences and spiked gates the poor woman had scaled. She jumped at every opportunity to baby-sit, and Kate suspected that the occasions gave her a chance to talk with her neighbors. Lonely hardly described her. She exhibited the energy of a fifty year old, but the appearance of an octogenarian.

“I’ll take you up on that, Madge,” Kate said, though she didn’t want to be beholden to Madge or anyone else. “And I do thank you,” she added, “but I want him to love books so, for now, he can sit in my store after school and read. When you do keep him, I’ll pay you the going rate for sitters.” She knew Randy would rather not be under her watchful eye, but she had to repair the damage that his father’s overindulgence had caused, and that meant keeping a right rein on him.

Luke Stuart Hickson hugged Amanda and Amy, his sister-in-law and niece, and walked with Marcus to his car. “It’s time you got to work on settling down, Luke,” Marcus said to his older brother. “We’d be happier if your life was what you want it to be, and we know it isn’t.”

Luke inserted the key into the lock, opened the door of his blue Buick LeSabre, and looked off into the distance. “Yeah, but it isn’t something I can manufacture. You know that. Don’t forget that you backed into paradise kicking and screaming.” He let a grin crease his mouth at the memory of it. “And look what you found. If I had a woman like Amanda, I wouldn’t be here with you right now. See you next weekend.”

An hour and forty minutes later, Luke turned off Route 17 onto Greenwood Drive in Portsmouth and headed home. He thought about what he’d do the rest of the day, his coveted Sunday off, and decided to get a bag of hamburgers and fries, pick up some Sunday papers and spend the day lolling around. He drove up Deep Creek Boulevard, stopped at Burgundy for the red light, and did a double take. Making certain that his eyes hadn’t fooled him, he backed up, stopped and got out. No, it wasn’t a mirage.

His steps quickened as he neared Kate’s Friendly Bookstore.

A woman and small boy peered at him from behind the door, handcuffed together, their faces pressed to the glass. It didn’t take him a second to figure out that they were prisoners. He tried the door. Locked, as he’d guessed. Too bad he wasn’t wearing his uniform. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulled out his badge, and held it so the woman could see it. If she recognized it as a policeman’s identification, she didn’t show it.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, but the woman didn’t respond. Instead, her eyes grew larger, and tears began to trickle down the boy’s face. He tried sign language, but got no response. There goes my Sunday. He tried to signal that he’d be back, then went to his car, got a knife and screwdriver, and picked the lock.

“I’m Detective Captain Luke Hickson,” he told them when he got the door open. “What happened?”

She didn’t appear to believe him, so he showed her his badge again. He gave her points for her caution; she had good reason. “I was locking up last night, and a man pushed us into the store, took the money from the cash register and said he was going to shoot us. I begged for mercy for my son, and he handcuffed us, took the store keys and locked us in. We’ve been here since nine last night. I’m…I’m so glad you came. My son, Randy, is starving.”

He looked at her more closely. She had to be tired and miserable, but you’d never guess it from her bearing. She had an aura of dignity, strength and soft femininity, and she earned his respect when she didn’t apologize for inconveniencing him. That would have smacked of dishonesty.