Текст книги "Watch Over Me"

Автор книги: Sydney Landon

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

Acknowledgments

As always, a special note of thanks to my agent, Jane Dystel, and my editor at Penguin, Kerry Donovan. None of this would ever be possible without you both and I appreciate all that you do.

Also, thanks to Jenny Sims for all your help.

To Tabitha and Kim, who help me get started each day with good coffee and great conversation!

A huge thanks to all the readers and bloggers who continue to embrace the Danvers series. It always touches my heart at how much you love the characters that I’ve created. Thank you for making them as much a part of your lives as I have.

To my special friends: Amanda Lanclos and Heather Waterman from Crazy Cajun Book Addicts, Catherine Crook from A Reader Lives A Thousand Lives, Shelly Lazar from Sexy Bibliophiles, Christine with Books and Beyond Fifty Shades, Marion Archer, Lorie Gullian, Stacia from Three Girls and a Book Obsession, Shannon with Cocktails and Books, Sarah from Smut and Bon Bons, Andrea from the Bookish Babe, Jennifer from Book Bitches Blog, Tracey Quintin, Melissa Lemons, Chantel Pentz McKinley, Nicole Tallman, Stefanie Eldrige-O’Toole, Tara Thomas, Lisa Salvary, Monique Harrell-Watford, and Jen Maxner.

Don’t miss the next book in the Danvers series!

Continue reading for a special preview of

THE ONE FOR ME

Available from Signet Eclipse in February.

There were some days that just sucked, Crystal Webber thought to herself as she used one hand to rub her aching head and the other clutched at her cramping stomach. Why in the world had she come to work this morning? True, she hadn’t felt quite this sick when she’d left home, but she had been nauseous. She’d attributed it to skipping dinner the night before since she had fallen asleep on the sofa hours before her usual bedtime.

Now, though, she could no longer avoid the fact that she was ill. Her boss had gone to lunch, so Crystal sent her an e-mail explaining the situation before getting rather shakily to her feet. She quickly grabbed the edge of her desk until the room stopped spinning. “You can do this,” she mumbled under her breath as she put one foot in front of the other. She was grateful that she had been promoted a few weeks before to assistant to the director of marketing at Danvers. Otherwise, she would be struggling to make it through the cube farm where her previous desk had been located, where there was little to no privacy and someone would have certainly noticed that she was weaving as if she’d had one too many drinks. Right now she couldn’t take the time to stop to explain anything to her coworkers. Thank God, things were quieter on the management side of the hallway.

She was relieved when the elevator doors opened as soon as she hit the down button. The next few moments passed in something of a daze, and she had no idea that she’d actually made it to the sidewalk outside Danvers until she was blinded by the bright sunlight. As her eyes blinked quickly to adjust, her stomach rolled alarmingly. She was so focused on the realization that she was going to be sick before she got home, she hadn’t even noticed someone standing beside her until a hand touched her arm.

“Are you okay?”

Crystal jumped in shock, then whirled around to see Mark DeSanto looking down at her with concern-filled eyes. Please, no. Fate wouldn’t be so evil as to place the man she’d stalked and lusted after for months in her path today of all days.

Using the last reserves of her strength, she pushed her shoulders back and gave him a bright smile. “I’m fine,” she replied in a voice that sounded weak, even to her own ears. He gave her a skeptical look, and then the unthinkable happened. Her body went into a full revolt, and almost in slow motion, she threw up on a pair of shoes that had likely cost more than her Volkswagen Beetle. Words of apology flashed across her mind, but before she could give voice to them, her world dimmed and then turned black. As consciousness slipped away, all she could think was that she’d met the man of her dreams face-to-face, and she wasn’t going to live long enough to do a damn thing about it.

*   *   *

Mark DeSanto stood in shock as he held the limp body of the woman who had just moments before ruined his favorite pair of Tom Ford shoes. He wasn’t a vain man, but he knew the effect that he had on most women. Hell, he’d had more than a few swoon at his feet, but the whole throwing-up thing was completely new. Now he held a stranger in his arms, with no idea what to do with her. It wasn’t as if he could just lay her on one of the nearby benches for someone else to find—could he? No, he discounted that option, regardless of how appealing it sounded.

When he’d seen her staggering, he should have turned the other way and left her to be someone else’s problem. But, as if drawn by some unseen force, he had found himself reaching out and touching her arm, wanting to see the face that belonged to the enticing body, even though he usually preferred tall blondes or redheads.

The woman he’d followed through the doors of Danvers, though, was one he’d caught glimpses of in the hallways and lobby of the office many times in recent months. For some reason, he’d never gotten a good look at her face. He’d recognize her ass anywhere, because that body part was usually facing him as she walked in the opposite direction. She was petite, but she had curves in all of the right places. Today her long brown hair hung in loose waves, which stopped just inches from her delectable backside. She was wearing a black skirt, which reached her knees, but the slit in the middle had shown shapely thighs as she walked. When she had lifted a small arm, rubbing her neck, the top she wore had edged up, and Mark was surprised to see a tattoo on her lower back. Yeah, completely not his type, but damn did he want to see her face.

She seemed to be everywhere he was lately, and he was ready to meet his mystery woman so that he could move on. Anything beyond that was doubtful. He didn’t like to muddy the waters where he worked—that wasn’t to say he’d never made an exception, but he tried not to.

When she’d jerked around to face him, he’d felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his body. He wasn’t a man given to romantic foolishness, but there had been songs written to describe women like her. Wide eyes that looked almost violet in color. Plump pink lips that made a man’s cock sit up and take notice, and the kind of flawless peaches-and-cream complexion that some women tried to achieve through thousands of dollars’ worth of cosmetics purchases.

He had still been gaping at her as she assured him that she was fine before she further shocked him by vomiting and promptly passing out. She had been seconds away from her beautiful face meeting the unforgiving concrete when he’d caught her. As he stood with her light weight in his arms, a black Bentley sedan pulled to the curb. His driver, Denny, who was also his cousin on his mother’s side of the family, got out of the car, gawking as if unable to believe what he was seeing. As far as the employer-employee relationship, theirs was very informal. They’d grown up together, and although Mark’s family had money from the DeSanto side, Denny’s did not. Denny had proposed that he become Mark’s driver and assistant years ago when Mark had taken over the family business. It had worked well for both of them. Denny was paid more than probably anyone else working in a similar position, and Mark trusted him implicitly.

“I’m almost afraid to ask what you did to that girl, but if I’m going to become some kind of accessory, then I guess I need to know,” Denny sighed in resignation.

Mark shook his head helplessly. “I have no idea. She was weaving as she walked. Then she got sick and fainted.”

Denny wrinkled up his nose as the smell of the vomit finally reached him. “Shouldn’t we do something with her? I mean, do you think she’s drunk?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” Mark snapped. “I didn’t smell any alcohol, and it’s barely midday. Also she just left Danvers, so it seems unlikely.”

“Then we need to get a doctor. She obviously has something wrong with her,” Denny pointed out.

Rolling his eyes, Mark said, “You think? Open the car door so I can get her inside.” Denny jogged ahead and had the door ajar when Mark reached him. “Here, you’re going to have to hold her for a minute. Then you can hand her to me.”

Denny held his hands up, trying to back away. “She’s got puke on her. Can’t you just get in with her? There’s no need to ruin both of our clothes.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Denny, I’ll buy you a new suit. Just take her for one second.” Mark wouldn’t have believed how hard it was for two men to juggle such a tiny woman if he hand’t witnessed their spectacle. Finally, as Denny gently handed her off to him and shut the door, Mark slumped against the leather seat with her curled against him. Since he had no idea what her name was, he rubbed his hand along her leg as he said, “Angel, open those eyes and look at me so I’ll know you’re okay.” He continued to say variations on the same thing. He had almost given up when she shifted in his arms.

Suddenly, the violet eyes that had captivated him earlier were looking at him with something close to awe. He was too stunned to react when she lifted her hand and stroked it down the side of his face. “Oh, Mark . . . can we please have sex this time before I wake up?” she asked before dropping her head back to his chest. If not for the soft snore that her mouth emitted, he would have been checking her for a pulse.

He was chuckling at her words, when it hit him. She’d called him by name. His angel wasn’t deliriously asking for sex from a stranger. She wanted him. He had no idea who she was, but for the first time in a very long while, he was interested in knowing more.

He’d become so jaded where women were concerned that he rarely cared enough to ask their names anymore. They were just strangers passing through his life for a few hours. This beauty seemed different, and as soon as she was conscious and coherent, he intended to find out who she was. She’d already accomplished something that no one in years had. She was in his arms, and regardless of the circumstances, something about it felt strangely right.

About the Author

Sydney Landon is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of Weekends Required, Not Planning on You, Fall for Me, Fighting for You, and Betting on You. When she isn’t writing, Sydney enjoys reading, swimming, and being a minivan-driving soccer mom. She lives in Greenville, South Carolina, with her family.

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