Joan had to get her mother back on the phone. She had to explain. She had to fix this.
“I’ve been having wild sex with Samuel.”
That stopped Joan in her tracks.
“Yeah. That’s right.” Heather stuffed her thumb against her chest. “Me. Stuck-up Heather Bateman has been on her… Okay, never mind the details. My point is, I have spent my entire life doing uptight things with uptight people that I never really liked, all because I let our parents tell me what was right and wrong instead of judging it for myself.”
“Wild sex?” Joan blinked, not quite getting past that point in the conversation.
Heather leaned forward, staring directly into Joan’s eyes. “Things that would curl Mom’s hair. Things that would curl your hair. And I
liked
it.”
“With Samuel?” How had Joan missed this? They seemed to be growing close, but…
“And you know what I’m going to do at the music festival?”
“You’re staying for the music festival? With Samuel?”
What had happened to her perfect sister? Heather always said and did the right things. She’d never insult their mother. She had always put Joan to shame.
“Yes,”
said Heather.
“Has Samuel given you something to smoke?”
Her sister cracked a smile. “No. But I’d do pretty much anything he told me.”
Joan raised her eyebrows.
“It’s a whole big world out there.” Heather nodded sagely. “But, back to you.”
“No. Back to why you’re staying for the music festival.”
“Oh. Right. I’m playing fiddle tunes. Out there on the stage for all the world to see. I’m going to use my own name. I’ll ask them to put me on the posters. And I’m going to send an invitation to every single one of Mom and Dad’s friends.” Heather gave a
so there
nod.
Okay. That was going to be bad. Her parents would be having coronaries over Heather’s behavior. Still. It was one night, one event, arguably something for charity.
“That’s still not as bad as—”
“Loving Anthony?”
Joan froze. “I don’t love Anthony.”
Heather laughed. “He’s been your best friend for ten years. You shared secrets with him that you didn’t even share with your family.”
“That’s because—”
“Because he understands you, the real you. He knows you and he loves you just the way you are. Face it, Joanie, you don’t have to pretend with Anthony, and he doesn’t have to pretend with you.” Her voice softened. “Don’t you want that? Don’t you want that for the rest of your life? To be you, just
you?
”
Joan swallowed. She drew a breath into her tightening chest. To be with Anthony. To come off the stage at the Charlie Long show and have somebody smile and congratulate her and pull her into his arms.
To have a book launch, a real book launch. To talk to fans, to answer their letters instead of logging on to the unofficial Jules Burrell site under an assumed name. To stop hiding and lying and pretending.
Her eyes teared up, and she blinked furiously.
“Do it, Joanie,” Heather commanded. “Anthony’s right. You have to take control of your life.”
“But Mom and Dad—”
“Will get used to it.” Heather reached out and rubbed her arm. “What? They’re going to disown both of us?”
Joan shook her head weakly. She didn’t suppose her dad would let that happen.
Then she remembered what she’d just done to Anthony. The way she’d behaved. The things she’d said—today and in the past couple of weeks. He must be so tired of her psychotic behavior. Even if he agreed to stay working as her agent, he’d probably remain in New York and restrict their communication to faxes and e-mail. She didn’t blame him.
But it didn’t mean she didn’t owe him an apology, recompense for being so shortsighted and self-centered.
She squared her shoulders. “I’m going out there.”
“Good for you.” Heather smoothed back her sister’s hair and wiped the damp streaks from her cheekbones. “You’re gorgeous. Go get ’em.”
Joan took a deep breath, excitement buzzing to life in every fiber of her being.
T
HE TELEVISION
was playing at the Indigo police station. Those who weren’t occupied with the interrogation of Nash Dinose were clustered around the small set, watching reporters alternate between interviewing Samuel live and segueing to experts for speculation about his parents and Samuel’s possible claim to the Dinose fortune.
That part hadn’t sunk in with Anthony yet. With Nash in jail, Samuel was the only apparent heir to an industrial empire. He wondered if Samuel was ready to cope with that. Then he realized that a man who could cope with gunshot wounds, alligator bites and Heather Bateman all in the same week probably wouldn’t be fazed by multimillion-dollar business decisions.
Joan appeared on the screen, and Anthony’s gut contracted. He’d pushed his cruel words to the back of his mind, planning to ask himself later what the hell he had thought he was doing swearing at Joan’s mother.
Something inside him had snapped. He didn’t care who the Batemans were, or what the consequences might be. He wasn’t going to stand back and let anyone treat Joan that way. It didn’t matter if it cost him his client, his job or his life.
He stood up from the hard bench, drawn to the television set where she was now talking. Perhaps she was disavowing him, publishing and the entire popular fiction world all at once.
“—by my agent, Anthony Verdun—”
Hello?
“—of Prism Literary Agency.”
What the hell was she doing?
“It’ll be released in March by Pellegrin Publishing. We’re all extremely excited.”
She paused for a second, but Anthony couldn’t make out the reporter’s question.
“I’ll do
Charlie Long Live
again any time he asks. It was a wonderful experience.”
Another muffled question, while Anthony shook himself, trying to figure out if this was a hallucination of some kind.
“The details haven’t been nailed down yet, but I’d say a book tour is very likely. My schedule’s been erratic this summer, trying to make deadlines. But I’ve got some free time now. I’m sure Anthony will set something up.”
Anthony slumped back down on the wooden bench. Had somebody drugged her? Had somebody drugged him?
“Thank you all very much,” said Joan. “But I have an—” She paused to listen. “Oh. I think my backlist is on the Pellegrin Publishing Web site, and the unofficial Jules Burrell Web site has loads of information. Thank you,” she called as she walked away.
She was perfect. She was better than perfect. If Anthony had to design a time in his life when every single professional hope and dream coalesced into a moment of pure brilliance, this would be it.
And it felt terrible. It felt empty. Because Joan wasn’t with him. And because he didn’t want her to be his client. He wanted Joan to be his lover, his best friend, his soul mate.
He was in love with Joan. He’d thought he could settle for less from her, but he realized now that was impossible.
S
HE COULD
finally go home.
Joan should have been a lot happier about that.
She thanked the officer for the ride from the police station. It had taken hours to tie up all the loose ends. But even the thought of her own bed and comfort food couldn’t erase the hollow ache that had planted itself in the pit of her stomach.
Heather was with Samuel. They were staying at his cottage tonight, finishing the cleanup and starting work on the fiddle tunes for the music festival. Alain was thrilled about that. Heather Bateman was a world-class violinist. People would come to Indigo to see her alone.
Things had worked out just fine.
Joan sighed as she inserted her key into the new front door lock Anthony had had installed. Things had worked out just fine when you considered her career, Heather’s happiness and the success of the music festival. Not so fine when you considered Joan’s broken heart.
Her fingers fumbled with the unfamiliar lock as her hands started to shake and stinging tears welled up behind her eyes. Anthony was right. All along, he’d been right. And at any point over the past two weeks, she could have told him so and thrown herself into his arms.
But she was too proud. She was too stubborn. For the sake of pretension and propriety, she’d chased away the only thing that mattered in her life.
Heather was right, too. Their parents would get over it. Joan should have given them the chance to get over it years ago. She should have been honest. She should have held her ground when it came to what she wanted and what she believed in, instead of letting her mother bowl her over.
The stiff lock finally gave way, and she wrestled the door open. Safe inside her house at last, she pushed back against the door, clicking it shut and leaning heavily on its solid weight.
She swallowed a sob.
Anthony was gone.
He was probably on a plane already.
She pressed a shaky hand over her mouth and let the sobs come freely as she slid down to slump on the floor of the entry hall. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her face in them.
“Joan?” came a soft voice.
She drew her head back, blinking a pair of charcoal creased slacks into focus.
Anthony crouched down. “Are you hurt?”
“Anthony?” she hiccupped.
“What’s wrong?”
She scrubbed her palms over her wet cheeks. “What are you doing here?”
He held out a hand and drew her to her feet. “I saw your interview.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Shhh.” He pulled her into his arms, rocking her back and forth.
“You’re not fired,” she mumbled.
“And your mother doesn’t have her head in her ass.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry right back at you. I never should have said that.”
She shook her head. Then she nodded. “Yes. You were right. My parents are going to have to get used to me the way I am.”
“I’m sure your parents love you very much.”
Joan drew back, touching his rough face, gazing into his deep blue eyes, so very, very happy to see him. “But what are you doing here?”
“I was making cosmopolitans. You want to get drunk?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah.” Maybe once she was drunk she’d have the courage to tell Anthony she loved him.
“Good.” Then he drew her into his arms again, holding her tight. “Forget getting drunk,” he mumbled against her ear. “You want to make love?”
Joan’s entire body shuddered in relief. “Yes. Oh, yes.”
He drew back once more, his eyes darkening to midnight. Then he slanted his head and brought his lips down on hers. They were hot and moist, and oh so familiar. She lost track of time and space and reason as his tongue made love to her mouth.
Finally, gasping, they drew apart. He kissed her one last time. “Good. Then since I’m on a roll here, you want to marry me?”
Joan’s heart contracted. Her chest tingled, and she was sure she couldn’t have heard right. “What did you say?”
“That wasn’t quite right.” He touched his forehead to hers. “Joan, I love you.”
Her tears started anew. “I love you, too.”
“In descending order of importance, will you A, marry me. B, make love with me. C, get drunk with me. Because it’s been one hell of a day.”
“It’s been one hell of a week.”
“Say yes, Joan.”
Her broad smile tightened her cheeks. “Yes. To all of the above.”
His arms held her closer. “I saw your interview.”
She nodded. “So you said.”
“My boss offered me a raise.”
“You deserve it.”
“And a partnership.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “Mmm-hmm.”
“So my agent is one of the partners?”
Anthony kissed her tenderly. “Your husband is one of the partners.”
She rocked in his arms. “I like the sound of that. Are we moving to New York?”
“I say we keep both places.”
Joan smiled and nodded against him.
“And Pellegrin already called. They want to talk about your book tour. Nice one, by the way.”
“I thought you’d appreciate that.”
“Were you trying to win me back with that interview?”
“Was I that obvious?”
He shook his head. “You were that perfect. We have a lot of work ahead of us, you and me.”
“That’s the truth. Starting with my parents.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m guessing they’ll be here in a few hours.”
“You talked to them again?”
“No. And that can only mean one thing.”
Anthony stroked her hair. “You going to be okay?”
Joan inhaled deeply, a sense of calm descending over her. “I’m going to be just fine. You, on the other hand, might have a little explaining to do to my father.”
He cringed.
She laughed. “Becoming my fiancé should mitigate his wrath.”
“Stroke of genius on my part.”
“Your genius is why I hired you.”
“I love you, Joan Bateman.”
“I love you, Anthony Verdun.”
He hugged her so tight that he lifted her clear off the floor. “My darling. You are about to take my world by storm.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-5710-2
A SECRET LIFE
Copyright © 2006 by Harlequin Books S.A.
Barbara Dunlop is acknowledged as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario M3B 3K9, Canada.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
For questions and comments about the quality of this book please contact us at [email protected]