Wendy Marcus – Secrets of a Shy Socialite (страница 1)
Recent titles by Wendy S. Marcus:
THE NURSE’S NOT-SO-SECRET SCANDAL
ONCE A GOOD GIRL …
WHEN ONE NIGHT ISN’T ENOUGH
These books are also available in eBook format from www.millsandboon.co.uk
Praise for Wendy S. Marcus:
‘Brimming with complex characters,
Secrets, mystery, passion, wit, intrigue and romance,
this beautifully written book has it all.’
‘This is one hot book,
and it is sure to please the readers that enjoy
hot, spicy reads and a ripping fast pace.’
‘Readers will not be able to resist the rising tension
that builds to a crescendo. Don’t be surprised if you
devour this romance in a single sitting!’
‘Readers are bound to feel empathy for both the hero
and heroine. Each has a uniquely disastrous past and
these complications help to make the moment when
Jared and Allison are able to give their hearts
to the other all the more touching.’
Secrets of A Shy Socialite
By
Wendy S. Marcus
CRAVING HER SOLDIER’S TOUCH is dedicated to Army Specialist Adam Bivins and to men and women around the world who risk their lives to fight for the freedom of others. SECRETS OF A SHY SOCIALITE is dedicated to Mary Ritter and Stella Turk: two vibrant, courageous and strong women whom I am honored to call my friends.
With special thanks to:
My wonderful editor, Flo Nicoll, for believing in me and always helping me find my way when I veer off track.
My supportive husband, for calling from work at the end of each day to ask what he should pick up for dinner.
My three loving children, for making me proud of the wonderful people they are growing up to be. I am truly blessed.
CHAPTER ONE
IF THERE was an easy way to explain why she’d impersonated her identical twin sister, lured a man into bed under semi-false pretenses, then left town without a word to anyone, and not come off sounding like an insincere, inconsiderate, immoral hussy, it required more brain power and finesse than Jena Piermont had at her disposal.
“You’ve been home for two weeks,” Jaci, Jena’s twin, said, leaning back on the sofa and lifting her fuzzy-slippered feet onto the coffee table. “I think I’ve been pretty patient, but it’s time for answers.”
Past time. Where had she been? Why did she leave? How long would she be staying? And the biggie: whose genetic contribution was partly responsible for her adorable six-week-old twin baby girls? Jaci didn’t know enough to ask about the impersonation part of Jena’s explanation dilemma. Soon enough.
“I’m almost done.” Jena arranged the baked brie and slices of crusty French baguette on two large plates and added them to the tray holding the crudité and
Now, to reveal the truth before the other invitees arrived at their little pow-wow. Unfortunately the news she most wanted to share, to discuss with her sister and get her advice on—the real reason she’d returned to town and would be staying for a few weeks—had to remain secret. If everything went as planned, fingers crossed, she could pull it off without Jaci ever finding out.
Jena swallowed then used a napkin to blot the unladylike clamminess from her palms. Grace under pressure. She inhaled a fortifying breath, lifted the tray and carried it to the coffee table. “Move your feet.” She arranged the delectable treats beside the sparkling water and bottled beer.
Justin liked his beer.
“Stop,” Jaci said. “You always do this when you get nervous. Flit around, straightening up, preparing snacks.”
Jena dropped the pillow she’d been in the process of plumping and rearranging on the loveseat.
“Just sit down.” Jaci patted the sofa beside her. “Tell me why you’ve been so quiet lately. What has you so upset? Before the guys get here.”
The guys. Jena considered excusing herself and running to the bathroom to vomit. But that would waste precious time. So she sat. She could do this, would do this. “I love you,” she reminded Jaci.
“I love you, too,” Jaci said, studying her. “Why do you look like you’ve got an olive stuck in your throat?”
Because that’s how she felt. Okay. No sense putting it off any longer. Tonight was the night. “Justin is the father,” Jena blurted out, her gaze fixed on her lap. “Of the twins,” she clarified—as if clarification was needed.
Usually talkative Jaci sat mute.
Jena peered over at her. “Say something,” she prompted.
“I’m … surprised. That’s all.” Jaci shifted on the couch to face her. “I knew you had a crush on him in high school.”
Not really a crush. More like a fascination-attraction-day/night dreamy type thing for the totally wrong type of boy. A silent plea for rescue from a mundane existence cluttered with more responsibilities than any teenager should be burdened with. An illicit mental visit to the dark side where the expectations and judgment of others meant nothing and Jena could indulge in the forbidden. Break the rules. Go wild. Have imaginary sex.
“And I’d thought maybe you were considering him as a husband candidate to meet the terms of our trust,” Jaci went on.
Never. Okay. Maybe once, or a few times during random episodes of pregnancy-induced psychosis when out-of-control hormones caused gross mutations to the brain cells responsible for rational thought. Moments of weakness when Jena had actually entertained the possibility of Justin protecting her from the machinations of her brother, providing a home for her and their daughters, and taking care of the three of them.
But Justin didn’t want her, and Jena refused to be any man’s second best, which didn’t much matter right now, anyway, since getting married no longer occupied the top spot on her list of priorities. Staying alive for her daughters did.
“I had no idea you two were …” Jaci began. “I mean, I haven’t seen you together in years. Neither of you mentioned that you … kept in touch.”
They didn’t, not technically, unless stalking him on social networking sites counted. Some childhood habits—like an unhealthy interest in all things Justin—were hard to break. Jena picked at a chipped fingernail she kept forgetting to file down, preoccupied with caring for the twins and worrying about the future and Jaci being attacked … “It was one night.” She couldn’t look at her sister. “We met up at Oliver’s.” A favorite restaurant/bar where Justin and Jaci often hung out. And now for the worst of it. “He thought I was you.”
“What?” Jaci screeched. “You did
She couldn’t change what’d happened or the outcome. All she could do was own up to it. She looked Jaci in the eye. “It was the anniversary of Mom’s death. I’d had a horrible fight with Jerald.” Their pompous, older half-brother who’d been aggressively trying to manipulate them into marrying any one of a dozen of his equally pompous business associates. “I had to get out of the house.” A.k.a. the Piermont Estate where she and Jerald each had a wing. “We’d spoken earlier and you were still so depressed over Ian returning to Iraq. I decided to surprise you with dinner.” And that’s how it’d started, with a kind gesture to cheer her sister.
“I ordered a glass of wine while I waited for the takeout and noticed Justin sitting across the bar. Alone. With a couple of empty, upside down shot glasses lined up in front of him.” Normally she would have simply blended into the crowd and stared at him from afar, attraction battling better judgment. But, “One of the bartenders noticed me and called out, ‘Jaci, take him home before I toss him out of here.’” Boy had Justin perked up at the mention of Jaci’s name. “At the time, it didn’t seem to matter who he thought I was, as long as I got him home safely.”
“You mean to tell me,” Jaci crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Jena, “during the ride in the Piermont limo, the walk from the parking lot up to the fifth floor, and while you were stripping off each other’s clothes it never crossed your mind that maybe you should clue him in to your real identity?”
Of course it had. But close proximity to Justin had caused an arousal spike that forced it away and relegated it to the spot where she stored all the unwelcome thoughts and memories she’d accumulated through the years, corralled deep in the recesses of her brain. Instead she’d allowed herself to enjoy his company and the freedom that came with pretending to be Jaci who balked at the rules and did and said what she wanted, when she wanted. Just like Justin.
For the first time in her life, Jena didn’t overanalyze, didn’t weigh the pros and cons or think about what a person of good moral character would do. Instead she’d focused on what she’d wanted, what she’d needed more than anything at that specific moment in time—comfort, a caring touch, a brief sojourn from real life—without a care for the consequences. And look where it’d gotten her. “I’m sorry.”