Malone's Vow

A knock sounded at the front door. He must have locked himself out. She dabbed at her eyes again, ran her hands through her hair and went to open the door. But it wasn’t Liam on the steps, it was a bellman with a load of gaily wrapped boxes in his arms. There were more boxes in the Jeep he’d parked alongside the villa.

“Packages for you, Miss Warren.”

“There must be some mistake. I didn’t order—”

“No, ma’am. Mr. Malone did.”

“But…” She stepped back as the bellman started past her. It took two trips before he’d transferred everything from the Jeep. Jessie looked from the boxes to the bellman’s smiling face. “I don’t—I’m afraid I don’t have anything to—”

The man’s smile broadened. “Mr. Malone took care of that.” He put his hand to his forehead, flipped her a brisk salute. “Enjoy the day, ma’am.”

Jessie nodded. “You, too,” she said, or thought she said, as the door swung shut. For a few minutes she just stared at the packages. Then, carefully, she unwrapped one, then another and another. Silk skirts, cotton tops, cashmere shawls and lace underwear spilled onto the bed.

“Liam,” she said, laughing with delight, “oh, you crazy, wonderful man.”

She took off her robe, let it slip to the floor, pulled on a cropped white top and a long, gauzy skirt and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright with pleasure, her mouth was pink from Liam’s kisses, her hair was a mass of curls and waves. She hardly recognized herself. What had become of Jessica Warren? Who was this woman in the mirror, wearing such beautiful things, her hair loose, her feet bare, all propriety and dignity forgotten?

Jessie’s smile faded. And how could a heart soar, then break, all in the same moment?

“Liam,” she whispered, “how can I let you go?”

Falling in love wasn’t supposed to be like this. But, oh God, it was.

* * *

FALLING IN LOVE wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Liam walked slowly along the shoreline, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He’d left Jessie on the patio, lying sleepily in the sun after they’d consumed a room service breakfast so huge even he’d laughed, and he’d been the one who ordered it. It was just that she’d smiled and said “you” each time he’d asked her what she wanted for breakfast and he’d felt honor-bound to take her up on the offer. When he finally reached for the phone, he hardly knew his own name so he’d ordered waffles and eggs, pancakes and bacon, biscuits and toast, strawberries, mangoes and coffee.

They’d eaten on the patio, and it was a good thing the villas were heavily screened by bougainvillea, because when Liam groaned and said he couldn’t eat another mouthful, Jessie made a stern face and said he had to finish what he’d ordered. Laughing, she’d fed him a strip of crisp bacon. But when he reached the final bit and sucked her fingers into his mouth, her laughter had died, and they’d made love on the chaise longue, with the hot sun beating down.

Great. He was thinking what it was like to make love with Jessie and turnin

g himself on.

“Malone,” he said lightly, under his breath, “you’re some piece of work.”

Indeed, he was. He was a man in love, and the world had suddenly turned into a wonderful place, and never mind the gray smudge on the horizon, or the brisk breeze. It was a beautiful day, and it would be even more beautiful in—he looked at his watch—in just about five minutes, when the things he’d ordered were delivered to the villa.

After he and Jessie had finished breakfast and made love, they’d showered together. Liam gritted his teeth and told himself not to think about the way Jessie’s skin felt wet, or how her hair streamed down over her breasts, or how he’d soaped her body, all of it, all of her….

He cleared his throat.

They’d put on the robes the hotel provided. Jessie had scooped up her clothing and wrinkled her nose.

“What?” Liam had asked, and she’d laughed and said that only a man would look so perplexed when a woman shuddered at the thought of taking a shower and then putting on the same stuff she’d worn the previous day. He’d clapped his hand to his heart, as if she’d wounded him deeply, accused her of being the female equivalent of a chauvinist pig, admitted she was probably right before dropping a kiss on her smiling lips. Then he’d put on his jeans and sweatshirt. “Stay just the way you are,” he’d warned, “while I undertake a dark and dangerous secret mission.”

And, he thought with smug assurance, he had.

He’d walked to the main building. First, he’d seen to his own things. He kept simple clothing—jeans, T-shirts, chinos and a blazer—in the owner’s suite. He’d packed some of it and arranged for delivery to the villa. Then he’d gone to the gift shop and, well, maybe he’d gone just a little bit overboard.

“I need some things for a lady,” he’d told the clerk. “She’s…” He’d held his hand up, just about at mid-chest. “She’s, uh, maybe so tall. And…” He’d started making curves in the air while the clerk watched politely and he felt his face turning red. “And she’s, I don’t know, a size six or maybe an eight. Her hips are…well, her waist is…”

The clerk had finally shown him some pity. “Lisa,” she’d called, and a girl had come out of what he figured was the stockroom, a pretty girl about Jessie’s height and weight. “Is the lady similar to Lisa, Mr. Malone?”

“Yes,” Liam had answered, because he knew better than to think anybody wanted to hear him babble that Jessie wasn’t similar to any other woman in the world.

The clerk had dismissed Lisa with an imperious wave of the hand. “What kinds of ‘things’ did you have in mind, sir?”