The Marriage Act

By Elissa Ambrose

SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY

After a brazen midnight encounter with a handsome stranger, shy Linda Mailer returned to her quiet life working for Walter Parks. Until she learned she was expecting a baby. And that her mystery lover the baby's father was Detective Tyler Carlton, the man in charge of the scandalous investigation into her boss!

Tyler insisted they marry and give their child a real family. The longer they lived together, the deeper their passion grew. But Linda was wary of Tyler's thirst for revenge against Walter, and feared he was only using her for information. Could Tyler finally let go of the past and in the present find the love he'd always wanted?

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: Jul 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781460853894

Elissa Ambrose

Originally from Montreal, Canada, Elissa now resides in Arizona with her husband, her smart but surly cat, and her sweet but silly cockatoo. She's the proud mother of two daughters, who, though they have flown the coop, still manage to keep her on her toes. After graduating from college with a degree in English literature, Elissa embarked on a career in computer programming. She still hasn't figured out the connection between the two fields, but she believes that all those years in data processing gave her a strong, detail-oriented focus. Two decades and countless programs later, she now serves as the fiction editor at Anthology magazine, a literary journal published in Mesa, Arizona. When not writing, editing, or reading, Elissa can be found trying to master a new spin or jump on the ice rink (translation: trying not to break her neck), or in the kitchen, trying out a new recipe. Besides skating and cooking, she loves to travel. After she completes a manuscript, she and her husband fly to England for a little R&R, in search of the perfect pub.

Book preview

Prologue

He removed the heavy gold chain from around his neck. I want to give you something. You might say it’s the closest thing to my heart. I know it sounds crazy, but I feel as if I’ve known you forever.

He fastened the chain around her neck, and the medallion fell between her breasts. Beautiful, he whispered, but then his face clouded over.

What is it? she asked, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingers.

There’s something I have to tell you. I’m not who you think I am.

Shh, she said, replacing her fingers with her lips. We’re exactly who we need to be.

Chapter One

Linda Mailer was late.

She hurried up the walkway that led to the upscale seafood restaurant, the smell of broiled fish and grilled shrimp mingling with the salty sea air. Waves slapped against the pier below, while behind her the sun slowly descended into the cliffs beyond the Bay.

She glanced at her watch, wondering why she had bothered to show up at all. She didn’t belong here. She wasn’t sure she belonged anywhere. At first, she had refused Sara and Cade’s invitation, but when Cade’s sister Emily had insisted she come, she’d caved in.

How could she say no to a princess? Albeit, Emily was a princess by marriage, but she was a princess nonetheless.

Emily Parks—correction, Emily Eban, Princess of Daniz—had told her she was practically family. Nonsense! The only person Linda was close to in that family was Walter, her employer and Emily’s father, and he wouldn’t even be here tonight. Besides, if she were practically family, wouldn’t that make her practically a princess? Her mouth curved down in self-deprecation. A princess was the last thing she felt like.

In the lobby of the trendy seafood restaurant, Linda tried to ignore her queasiness and checked her coat with the attendant. She looked down at her dress, a shapeless frock that hung loosely on her frame and fell to her ankles. When she’d first seen it on the clearance rack in the department store, she’d known it would be perfect. A dark gray-green, it would allow her to blend into the background.

Gazing around at the decor, she headed toward the Poseidon Patio, where the party was being held. Ornately patterned with shells and conches, the walls had been painted to reflect the depths of the sea. She more than blended in. She could virtually disappear into the backdrop.

She had something to hide, and the dress she was wearing would do the job.

Not that she was showing yet. But she knew she couldn’t take any chances. At the office, she sat all day immersed in ledgers, hardly ever raising her head, but here she would be on display. People would be looking.

And if they looked closely, they might guess her little secret.

Her little secret, as she preferred to call it, was the reason she was late getting to the party. Morning sickness—now that was an interesting euphemism. Sure, she was queasy in the morning, but the feeling persisted all day and night, not even subsiding when she was asleep. Last night, she’d dreamed she was on a cruise in the midst of a storm. The ship was rocking and she was reeling.

Mercy, not here, she thought now, as nausea overcame her. Queasiness was one thing; this was something else. It was as if the restaurant’s decor had sprung to life, as large ocean waves seemed to roll off the walls, threatening to swallow her up.

That decided it. She wouldn’t stay. She had no intention of spending her Saturday evening either trying to avoid small talk with people she hardly knew or hiding in the bathroom, bending over the porcelain throne. After the nausea had somewhat subsided, she headed back to the coat check.

Linda, hurry! We’re just about to start dinner.

Linda cast a rueful glance at Sara Carlton, Emily’s sister-in-law. Correction, Sara Parks, now that she was married to Cade. Lately, it seemed as if everyone Linda knew was getting married, and although she was happy for them, sometimes she couldn’t help but feel annoyed. It had nothing to do with her not-married-and-never-had-been status; on the contrary, matrimony was not one of her life’s priorities. Simply, newly married couples always seemed to probe into what they considered her sad-single state, and now that Sara had spotted her, it was too late for a getaway.

Smiling brightly, Sara approached her. Chic in a three-quarter-length silk dress, she didn’t merely walk; she floated, as though some of her sister-in-law’s new royal status had flowed into her through osmosis. Come, I’ll show you to your table, she said, but first, I want you to meet my twin brothers.

Actually, half brothers. The office had been buzzing for weeks about Tyler and Conrad Carlton, the surprise sons of Walter Parks. The identical twins and Sara had shared the same mother, but what made the situation even more complex was that Cade Parks, Sara’s husband, was also a half brother to the twins, through Walter.

Illegitimate, Linda said to herself, recalling the gossip. Such an outdated term, yet apparently it was still used. She shuddered. It was such an ugly word. Would people use it to describe her child?

Her thoughts returned to Walter and his family. Even though the DNA testing had confirmed his paternity, he refused to acknowledge his two grown sons. Linda felt a wave of guilt. Like Walter, she should have refused to come to the party, which was being given by Sara and Cade to welcome the twins into the family. Shouldn’t her loyalty lie with Walter? Although, she had to admit, Cade and Emily—his legitimate children—always treated her well, making sure to include her in every family function. As much as she hated social gatherings, it would have been rude of her to refuse this invitation, just as she had never been able to refuse any of the others.

Strangely, even Walter had insisted that she go. It was as if he wanted to attend the party but was sending her in his place. The notion, of course, was preposterous. He wanted nothing to do with that side of his family. He’d made that clear—to her, to his family, even to the press.

Sara led the way to the ornate banquet room, toward her handsome new husband. When Linda’s gaze turned to the man next to Cade, her heart stopped beating.

Standing next to Cade was Thomas McMann.

The man she’d run from two months ago.

Sara’s face was beaming. Linda, I’d like you to meet my brother, Conrad Carlton. Conrad, this is Linda Mailer, the woman I’ve been telling you about. I’ve placed you at the same table, since you two have so much in common.

This couldn’t be. There had to be an explanation. A lot of men looked alike. When they’d met two months ago, she hadn’t been wearing her glasses, and the bar had been dim. They’re all the same when the lights go out, her mother used to say.

She studied him surreptitiously. He looked like a lot like Thomas, but something was different. Something she couldn’t name. The longer she studied him, the more obvious it became that he wasn’t the man she’d spent the night with.

She collected her breath, then looked back at Sara. Like every other newlywed Linda had ever known, Sara wanted to play matchmaker. But even if Linda were interested in meeting someone, which she emphatically was not, Conrad was the last man she’d choose. So much in common, Sara had said. Not in this lifetime, Linda thought. According to the gossip in the office, Conrad was wild and carefree, always up for a party. She, on the other hand, was as exciting as a potato. Her idea of a challenge was balancing a checkbook.

No, Conrad Carlton, alias Party Animal, alias Ladies’ Man, wasn’t her type.

Then again, she wasn’t sure she had a type.

Say something, she ordered herself. Make small talk. Smoothing a wrinkle in the fabric of her dress, she mumbled, Uh, I hear you’re a rancher.

He looked at her through cold, green eyes, as though she had materialized from nowhere. And I hear you’re an accountant. I’m sure you get this all the time, but I have to ask. Why would someone with your looks choose such a staid profession?

She regarded him warily. Someone with her looks? Was he nuts? Was he flirting?

I like figures, she said, then looked down at the floor. Good grief, how could she have said something so moronic?

Apparently he was deaf, because he looked at her as though she’d uttered the most interesting tidbit he’d heard in years. So, done any personal audits lately? he asked.

Sara and Cade stood by quietly, watching the exchange. From the expression on their faces, Linda could tell they were pleased. She’d hoped that now that she was thirty, the pressure from others to follow in their matrimonial footsteps would slack off, but so far it hadn’t. Why did newly married couples always feel the need to spread their happiness? She was referring to those well-meaning yet nosy people who for some altruistic reason—or sadistic, depending on what view you took—were eager for her to experience the same bliss they claimed to be experiencing. So what if half those blissful couples ended up in divorce court?

She looked back up at Conrad’s face. The way his eyes were assessing her body seemed to suggest that he wouldn’t mind doing a personal audit of her.

She flinched under his gaze. It was unnerving how much he looked like Thomas. Something else unnerved her, as well. Conrad had a twin brother…an identical twin brother…

No. I hadn’t been wearing my glasses that night, she reminded herself, and then cast her unsettling thought aside.

She was sure that Sara had asked him to be attentive. Why else would he be flirting with her? Her cheeks grew warm. Just what she needed—a pity date. He was obviously waiting for her to reply, but she felt as tongue-tied as a competitor in a peanut-butter-eating contest. If she couldn’t get through one minute of small talk, she didn’t have a chance of making it through dinner.

He wasn’t flirting, she decided. He was mocking her. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had made her profession the target of a joke. Not that she cared. Maybe to some people accounting seemed boring, but the truth was, if she had to confess to one passion in life, it would be numbers. She loved the feeling she got when preparing a spreadsheet, or when all her bank statements reconciled, or when she was off by a mere cent and, after methodical and careful backtracking, could pinpoint the error. There was truth in numbers. Working with them gave her a sense of order.

Her gaze shot to the doorway. Maybe after everyone was seated, she could make her escape. Maybe no one would notice.

Excuse me, he said abruptly. I think my date has arrived. He turned away, and a moment later he was talking to a sultry blonde in a short black cocktail dress that seemed to have more material in back than it did in front.

Sara’s mouth dropped open in shock, and her cheeks went pink with embarrassment. I’m sorry, Linda. I had no idea he’d invited someone to the party. I was sure the two of you would hit it off. You’re a very basic sort of person, and so is he. Like I said, the two of you have a lot in common. When Linda didn’t respond, Sara continued, No, really. How much more basic does it get than living off the land? Underneath all that bravado, he’s really a down-to-earth, practical person. Like you. Oh, I know he has a bit of an attitude, but that’s just a veneer. He’s having a hard time accepting everything that’s happened.

Linda frowned. Conrad might have issues, but the notion that he had anything in common with her was preposterous. Furthermore, going through a rough patch didn’t give a person a license to be rude.

But maybe he couldn’t help himself. Maybe he didn’t even know he was being rude. She seemed to have that effect on men.

She realized it had a lot to do with the way she dressed, the way she carried herself. She’d learned that people paid a price for enjoying themselves, and now she went out of her way to show the world—specifically the male portion—that she wasn’t interested.

It can’t be easy for him, she said charitably. Or his brother, she added, thinking about what Sara had told her about Tyler Carlton. Moody, she’d described him. Linda couldn’t decide which trait was less desirable, moodiness or rudeness. Evidently, each brother wore his scars differently.

Speaking of brothers, Sara said, waving at someone across the noisy room, do you realize how remarkable this whole thing is? Not only are the twins my brothers, they’re also my brothers-in-law! Complicated, isn’t it?

A man across the room waved back. Uh, yes, complicated, Linda agreed, peering through her glasses to get a better look at him. Weaving his way through the crowd, he slowly approached them, and for the second time that evening her heart came to a halt.

Was this déjà vu or had she simply lost her mind? How could she make the same mistake twice in one evening?

But this time she wasn’t mistaken. This time it was him.

Thomas McMann. The man she’d slept with on the night of her thirtieth birthday.

The memory of that warm August night came back in a rush. How her best friend and roommate, Sadie Heath, had convinced her to have a makeover for her birthday. How they’d gone to the piano lounge in that fashionable hotel on Nob Hill. How Linda had met a man at a table by the bar.

How his lips had felt against her neck as the elevator made its slow ascent to the third floor, where he’d rented a room.

She remembered how she’d felt the next morning when she’d spotted the gun on the bureau.

Sheer, cold terror.

Suddenly, the events of the past few weeks fell into place. The thugs coming in and out of Walter’s office. The strange document she’d found in his home. The stories circulating about his embezzling.

Walter had enemies.

Thomas must have known who she was right from the start, before they’d even met at that bar. He’d been tailing her to get to Walter. Had even gone as far as seducing her. All part of a day’s work.

On one level she knew that what she was thinking didn’t make sense. Walter wasn’t even here. But when it came to guns, all logic evaded her. Terror pervaded her body, just as it had that morning two months ago when she’d fled from the hotel.

She had to warn them. Had to warn them all, but the words wouldn’t come. Why did she always get so tongue-tied? She prayed for the scream to erupt, but her whole body felt paralyzed.

He was getting closer. Five feet…four feet…

Panic rose in her throat.

He undid the button to his jacket, reached inside…

And that was all she remembered, before blacking out.

He’d thought she looked familiar, and now, seeing her up close, he knew why. The woman lying on the blue tufted carpet was Lyla.

For the past two months he’d combed the entire city, looking for her without success. In his relatively short career as a law officer, he’d put countless felons behind bars, but he hadn’t been able to locate the one person he’d been desperately seeking.

He didn’t like to ask himself why he’d been so desperate to find her. It wasn’t as if she’d gotten under his skin. No, nothing like that. He just wasn’t used to women running out on him, and he deserved an explanation.

At least, that was what he’d told himself.

Lyla. Hoping to run into her, he’d become a regular at the lounge in that swanky hotel on Nob Hill. He’d figured a girl like her needed action, that sooner or later she’d return to the scene of the crime, so to speak. Return in search of a bigger pot of gold.

Lyla. A looker like her would have no trouble reeling in dates. She could have any man she wanted, and so he’d figured she’d show up at the lounge. She could probably smell the money, from the bottom of the Hill. Which was probably why she’d pulled a disappearing act in the morning. She’d figured out that he was no Donald Trump.

Lyla. Since that night he’d searched every bar in every hotel, asking endless questions—just so he could find her and tell her a thing or two. So he’d tried to convince himself.

Someone call an ambulance!

Sara’s voice jolted him out of his shock, and his instincts took over. He leaned over and felt for a pulse. Then, after satisfying himself that she hadn’t been injured in the fall, he scooped her up in his arms. She’ll be all right, he said to the small crowd that had gathered. Please move aside. Give her some air. Where can I take her that’s quiet? he asked Sara. He tried to sound detached and professional, but he knew he was failing miserably.

Which irritated him. He had no feelings for this woman. None whatsoever.

There’s a lounge in the ladies’ room, Sara answered, looking at him quizzically.

He hurried out of the banquet room, Lyla nestled in his arms, Sara following closely behind. He kicked open the door to the ladies’ room. An elderly woman in an old-fashioned beehive hairdo took one look at him and screeched.

’Scuse me, ma’am, he said, pushing past her. Clutching her purse, the woman sprinted down the hallway.

A teenage girl entered the lounge, stopping in her tracks when she saw Tyler. Oops, sorry, I guess I have the wrong— Her gaze fell on Lyla. Uh, I’ll come back later, she said, backing out the door.

Under the curious gawk of two other women, he gently deposited Lyla onto the couch. Must be those house martinis, the taller woman said. Can we do anything?

Everyone, out! he barked, then immediately regretted his tone. The stranger was only trying to be helpful. She was probably right. Lyla wasn’t sick; she was just drunk.

Nevertheless, he was still concerned. Which puzzled him. What did he care? She was nothing to him.

Agitated, he ran his fingers through his hair. Maybe he’d been mistaken. Maybe the woman on the couch wasn’t the same mysterious creature he’d made love to only weeks before. The woman he’d met in August had been exciting and lusty, with wild red curls tumbling down her neck. This woman’s hair was tied straight back in a ponytail, her dark inviting eyes—her dark now-closed eyes—hiding behind thick-framed glasses. And that thing she was wearing looked more like a sack than a dress, the way it concealed her body from her chin to her ankles.

The night he’d met her she’d been wearing a tight leather miniskirt and a skimpy halter top. He’d seen right from the get-go that she was dressed to advertise. The woman he’d met would never be caught in a tent like this.

Or would she? He had to admit he didn’t really know her. Except, of course, in the biblical sense.