Always Look Twice

Table of Contents

‘‘Geralyn Dawson demonstrates what is best about
the romance genre. . . . She writes with
tenderness, passion, and absolutely gripping
suspense. With her full-blooded characters and
rip-roaring plots, Dawson always delivers.
’’
—Lisa Kleypas,
New York Times
bestselling author

‘‘Dangerous, romantic, always well-written . . . the narration remains smooth, the dialogue compelling, and the attraction between the leads palpable.’’

—
Romantic Times

‘‘Outstanding! An author after my own heart. . . . Witty, creative . . . a perfect read for adrenaline junkies or addicted romance readers . . . a top pick.’’

—Romance Readers at Heart

‘‘Dawson continues to weave superb storytelling with sexy characters . . . excellent! I’m anxiously awaiting the third book in the series.’’

—The Romance Readers Connection

‘Combines romance, humor, and adventure to create a light, entertaining read.’’ —
Affaire de Coeur

‘Dawson takes two very appealing leads and shakes and stirs them up to create another winner. . . . Matt and Torie’s chemistry sizzles from the moment they meet. . . . Dynamic characterizations, crackling and often-funny dialogue, a hot romance, and a nice touch of suspense make
Never Say Never
a top contender for your October reading list.’’ —BookLoons

‘‘Read Geralyn Dawson and fall in love!
’’
—Christina Dodd,
New York Times
bestselling author

‘‘Dynamic characters, folksy writing leavened with tension and suspense, and a steady dose of steamy romantic interludes . . . create a truly enjoyable romance.’’

—
Booklist

‘‘Dawson pens a complex, intricately plotted novel, and creates a community full of offbeat characters and circumstances.’’ —
Romantic Times

‘‘The feel-good book of the month. The wonderfully funny, poignant romance has just the right balance of humor, sensuality, and engaging characters to make it a treasure. Ms. Dawson has written a book that gives you that warm glow.’’ —
Romantic Times

‘‘Warm and delicious enough to satisfy the sweet tooth of any reader. Geralyn Dawson leaves me hungry for more.’’

—Teresa Medeiros,
New York Times
bestselling author

‘‘A terrific fairy-tale romance.’’ —The Best Reviews

‘‘With her trademark emotional storytelling and many touches of humor, Ms. Dawson has penned another winner.’’ —A Romance Review

Also by Geralyn Dawson

SIGNET ECLIPSE
Published by New American Library, a division of
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First published by Signet Eclipse, an imprint of New American Library,
a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
First Printing, September 2008

Copyright © Geralyn Dawson Williams, 2008

All rights reserved

SIGNET ECLIPSE and logo are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Fifteen years ago, I dedicated
my first book this way:
For Steve
Thanks for the time, the understanding,
and the support.
You’ve shown me what a true
Texan hero is all about.

Twenty-one books and a few novellas later, I am blessed to know that some things never change.

Acknowledgments

I want to thank Sally Sorenson and Will Sankey for their help with things Hawaiian. Colorado girl Nicole Burnham helped get me to Telluride. Christina Dodd showed me Seattle, Mary Lou Jarrell took me to Kansas, and Mary Dickerson put her Philly Girl experience at my disposal. Thank you, my friends!

Thanks, also, to my editor, the
wonderful
Laura Cifelli, for loving the Callahan men and being such a joy to work with.

Chapter One

Mark Callahan sucked a peppermint while his bloody hands clutched the coarse holds of the blue-black rock face. Halfway up the two-hundred-foot cliff, he searched for the next foothold. Below him, ocean swells crashed violently against the rocks. Above him, a three-quarter moon and a sky full of stars cast a silvered light across the land. When the wind blew just right, he could hear soft music and occasional laughter drifting from the grounds of the estate called Hau’oli.

From the Zodiac anchored at the base of the cliff, his brother Matt’s voice sounded in his earpiece. ‘‘You doing okay, bro?’’

‘‘Nice of you to ask,’’ he drawled in reply, the sarcasm in his voice unmistakable as he rolled the hard candy around his mouth.

‘‘You scared the shit out of me during that slide. I dropped my mike. Took me a couple minutes to find it. What happened?’’

‘‘I damn near fell—that’s what happened. The wall pancakes from ten feet of solid basalt to ten feet of fractured, crumbly rock. Lost my footing. Sliced my hands to hell.’’

‘‘Well, be careful. We don’t have time for you to climb the cliff twice.’’

His brother’s sympathy overwhelmed him, so Mark responded, ‘‘Bite me.’’

His foot found purchase on a narrow ledge and he ascended another step. Filling his lungs with salt-scented air, he looked up. Fifteen minutes more, he figured as the last of his peppermint melted away. Maybe twenty. He had plenty of time.

Mark knew what he was doing. He’d climbed more-dangerous cliffs in his life under far worse conditions. One instance in the mountains of Afghanistan stuck out particularly vividly in his mind. Wind blowing like a sonofabitch. Gunfire from down below pinging off the rocks all around him. Tonight’s climb was a walk along the Brazos compared to that.

Besides, he’d prefer the challenge of a cliff to what awaited him above. He was crashing a party, the kind with expensive food and liquor and women—women whose smiles were as plastic as the boobs on their chests. Not at all his idea of fun.

He adjusted his night-vision goggles, then spied another foothold. He worked steadily, capably, and quietly until he reached the top of the cliff. ‘‘I’m here. Signal Luke.’’

‘‘Roger.’’

‘‘No, not Roger. Luke,’’ he murmured back, easing the tension with the old, bad joke.

Mark cautiously lifted his head and studied the area in front of him. Solar lamps and spotlights illuminated the area. Beyond a short hedge of flowering bushes, lush green grass stretched toward the house some thirty yards away. To his left he spied a resort-style pool and tropical waterfall and spa. A tennis court lay off to his right. This stretch of land along the cliff was the only section of the estate’s border not fenced, though his research had indicated the existence of a buried cable perimeter-intrusion-detection system. Judging by the presence of guests milling on the lawn, the protective alarms were disabled for the evening, just as he’d anticipated.

Excellent. His gaze swept the area, then snagged on a woman dressed in red facing away from him.
Whoa.
He popped another peppermint into his mouth and savored.

The gown exposed most of her back and clung like a second skin to a shapely, world-class ass. She was tall and lean, and she wore her auburn hair piled high on her head. The long slit in the back of her dress revealed shapely legs that stretched on forever. From this angle, anyway, she was one fine example of womanhood. He wished she would turn around. Wished he was closer so he could see her more clearly. Something about her called to him.

He’d outgrown porn queens years ago.

Seconds later, the first explosion sounded, followed quickly by another, then a third. Luke’s distraction successfully alarmed the guests strolling on the lawn and sent them scurrying for the protection of the house.

The woman in red took off in the opposite direction, toward the pool area. Hmm. Curious.

A guard rushed past Mark’s position, pulling his sidearm as he ran toward the booms. Luke’s string of high-explosive, not-legal-in-the-good-old-USA firecrackers was doing its job.

Mark pulled himself up over the crest of the cliff onto level surface. He ducked behind a flowering bush, stripped off his black jumpsuit, and used it to wipe the blood from his hands. After stashing the suit and his climbing shoes in the shrubs, he removed his dress shoes from his pack and slipped them on. A quick glance confirmed that no one was looking his way, so he shot the cuffs of his tuxedo, stepped out onto the lawn, and strolled toward the house.

Glass doors led into a sumptuous formal living and dining suite with a wall of floor-to-twelve-foot-ceiling windows that provided a panoramic view of the Pacific.
Bet the daylight view takes a man’s breath away. Kinda like the woman in red.

The guests stirred in concern over the commotion outdoors until security personnel began circulating word of firecrackers and troublemaking teenagers at the neighboring estate. Mark accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and returned his attention to his surroundings, idly noting the opulence of the furnishings and design of the luxurious estate. The style was classic Louis XV, with magnificent marble and murals, crystal chandeliers, and embroidered silk draperies that framed Technicolor views of the Pacific Ocean.

Obviously, porn paid exceptionally well.

The estate’s owner, Harvey P. Selcer, was a second-generation pornographer who used his father’s string of adult bookstores to launch Selcer Films back in the 1980s. A B-school graduate, Harvey brought modern marketing techniques to the industry, and today Selcer Entertainment Group was sometimes referred to as the Microsoft of the porn world. Now in his fifties, Harvey had billions in the bank, a Hugh Hefner reputation, and Howard Hughes paranoia.