Silver and Spice
Authors: Jennifer Greene
Silver and Spice
By Jennifer Greene
Jake Rivard has been back in Grosse Pointe for only twenty-four hours, and already banker Anne Blake’s well-ordered world is in chaos. Again. Every time the man with the sexy silver-gray eyes shows up, she falls into bed with him. And every time he walks away, there’s an ache in her heart she can never ease. Now that she has the stable life she’s always craved, Anne’s not about to let him seduce her again. No matter how much she wants him to.
Jake’s not leaving this time without Anne by his side. He’s determined to marry her, despite her insistence that their relationship doesn’t work outside of the bedroom. All he asks is that she spend two weeks with him in Idaho’s Silver Valley, managing his finances. And if it will prove to her that they have more in common than lust, Jake’s prepared to keep his hands to himself for the whole trip.
But is two weeks enough time to convince Anne that the only thing standing between them is the wall she’s built around her heart?
Previously published.
Dear Reader,
I’m so thrilled that Carina Press is offering this book to readers again. I’ve received many letters from readers over the years wishing they could read the books I wrote as Jeanne Grant, and now you can. Carina Press will be publishing fourteen Jeanne Grant books over the next several months (two titles every month!). I’ve gotten quite a kick rereading these stories, which were my first published books. We’ve made a few editorial tweaks, just to replace some outdated references, but this is the core story that I wrote so many years ago and which has been out of print for more than two decades.
Silver and Spice
is one of my favorite books I’ve ever written…and at this point I’ve written more than eighty. The story won a Silver Medallion from RWA…and topped several bestseller lists at the time—but that isn’t why I love it…
The story is about a heroine who comes “undone”—literally and metaphorically—when she’s around the one man who has always rung her bells.
She always believed that he wasn’t the marrying kind.
She always believed that he was the type of man that a woman would be crazy to marry.
He’s a bad boy. A wolf. Irresponsible, irrepressible, untamable.
But sometimes the depth of love just can’t be explained. Even when “everything” is wrong…sometimes love is “right.”
I hope, so much, that you enjoy the story—and feel free to write me!
Jennifer Greene
www.jennifergreene.com
p.s. Next in the lineup is
Ain’t Misbehaving
, which features a very different kind of hero.
Anne was restless.
Just behind her, hothouse orchids festooned the curved mahogany banister. As she wandered outside onto the Cords’ terrace, she saw a trio of musicians playing Haydn, their foreheads glistening beneath Japanese lanterns. On the lawn by the pool, four long tables, draped in Irish linen, were laden with gourmet fare. Oysters, raw. Sautéed frogs’ legs. Crackers heaped with Russian caviar. The little black blobs were mounded high, Anne noted wryly. A
bit
of caviar denied the true taste; a
mound
delivered the appropriate experience. Tuxedoed waiters circulated between house and yard bearing trays of champagne in hollow-stemmed glasses. Anne considered dryly that Loretta Cord’s “only a simple Sunday barbecue, darling” had been rather an understatement.
She shouldn’t have come, Anne told herself as she went back into the house. Many nights she might have enjoyed the Cords’ gala, but tonight wasn’t one of them. Tonight she was in a strange mood; she felt like taking a midnight walk in her bare feet when the rain was pelting down, for instance. Knowing she wasn’t the walk-in-the-rain type made her feel even more irritable. And because she was rarely so out of sorts, she felt triply annoyed with herself.
She knew why Loretta had invited her. Oh, Link—the sweetheart—had undoubtedly been the one to propose her name for the guest list, but subject, of course, to his wife’s approval. And Loretta, naturally,
had
approved. Yes, Loretta Cord knew that a banker is a wonderful friend to have when one’s mink isn’t paid for. Actually, Loretta’s mink had been paid for, but the lady always covered her bets.
Others at the party had not been so clever through the recession. Certain pairs of eyes shifted from Anne’s as she wandered from room to room. It always happened. As a trust officer, Anne really didn’t know or care whether anyone regularly overdrew his or her checking account, but people assumed she was privy to all their financial transactions and reacted instinctively. When one saw a police car in the rearview mirror, one slowed down to the legal speed. When a priest wandered by, one stopped screaming at Jimmy and kissed the little monster. And when a banker ambled into the vicinity, one miraculously remembered every financial misdemeanor of one’s life.
Taking a sip from her first glass of champagne, Anne knew that she could make the effort, transcend the touchy social barriers, and even have a good time. These were neighbors if not close friends, and moodiness really wasn’t her scene. It was just tonight… She sighed and continued to prowl restlessly through the Cords’ spacious house, which was a mansion even by Grosse Pointe standards.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a hallway mirror and frowned broodingly. Her ash-blond hair was waist length; tonight, as always, it was appropriately roped, tied and tamed with pins. Her back was covered only by a latticework of black raw silk that seemed more bare space than fabric, though in front the gown demurely stretched to a high-banded collar. Well, perhaps “demurely” was not precisely accurate. The bias cut in front very definitely emphasized her pert, rounded breasts, unremarkable in size but rather sassily uptilted. At the waist, the gown gave up teasing and simply fell to the floor. As she strolled the length of the hallway, a slit in the dress revealed a slim long calf and thigh.
Nature had endowed her with vulnerable, deep-set eyes of a soft green, heavily lashed and accented with slim, arched brows. Nature had also bestowed on her a cameo-fragile complexion, high, delicate cheekbones, a nose just a little too long, and distinctly shaped, petal-soft lips.
Anne had never been grateful for nature’s gifts, however. She had chased the vulnerable look from her eyes with subtle gray eye shadow; she had used foundation and blusher to make her skin seem less fragile; and she had expertly lined her delicate mouth with lip pencil and then gloss. She’d learned a long time ago to make a little makeup go a long way. Overall the image was flawless, aristocratic—an image Anne expected of herself. She had hidden all of her natural touch-me looks inside a not-to-be-touched perfection.
Exactly the goal.
With a sigh, Anne strolled into the living room to join the other party guests, determined to shake herself out of the brooding mood. She was talking to Blaire Culverton when she saw
him…
the wolfish profile and sand-silver hair, pagan shoulders stifled in a black tux. He had his arm around a little brunette with beautiful, straight white teeth. He kissed the woman lightly, laughing…and—for no reason that Anne could tell—looked up.
His eyes captured hers before she could look away. Silvery-gray eyes. Predatory eyes.
They shifted slowly up and down the black silk dress, the carefully applied makeup and the well-constrained hair; just as slowly, a crooked half-smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. Anne could guess the picture he had conjured up in his mind, of each layer of perfection peeled away at the slow, lazy pace that would suit him. His jaw firmed as the smile suddenly left his mouth and the wolfish eyes met hers again and his gaze bored into her. The message was starkly sexual, not a playful come-on or invitation, but a bold claim of possession.
I’m going to have you…
Don’t hold your breath, she thought fleetingly, but her face went pale. Not that she couldn’t hold her own with a wolf here and there. She was thirty-one, no child. Yet her palms were oddly cold and damp, her throat ridiculously dry. And her heart was beating a mad tattoo…
She put an arm on Blaire’s shoulder and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, murmuring an apology for having to leave the arresting conversation on supply-side economics. In a graceful swirl of black silk, she deliberately wended her way out of the living room and into the hall, near the banister with the orchids. There were people there, lots and lots of people…
“Anne? Darling, I haven’t seen you in so long!” In a cloud of
Chanel
and rose chiffon, Jane Harrison gathered up Anne for a buss and a hug. The two women laughed and settled on the third step of the long stairway. “I’m
so
glad to see you after all this time!” Jane exclaimed. “I’ve got all sorts of things to tell you…”
The caterers were even willing to deliver champagne to stair-sitters, and Jane Harrison had the same sort of effervescence as the sparkling wine. Their friendship had initially been created by sharing any number of totally erroneous concepts about love, life and sex—late at night over potato chips—at the private high school they’d both attended. After fifteen years, Jane was still the talker—
her
children,
her
interests,
her
divorce—while Anne still listened, not unhappy to dole out numerous affectionate servings of compassion, as long as Jane didn’t expect her to bare her own soul. But Jane certainly never did that, so gradually Anne felt her limbs relax again, her pulse obediently slow as Jane chattered.
Twenty minutes lapsed, full of laughter and old memories, before another tray of champagne lilted past and Jane rose and stepped forward to retrieve fresh glasses for the two of them. Out of nowhere, Anne felt a shivery touch at the nape of her neck.
Jane turned around, her blue eyes widening as she took in the retreating figure in a black tux. When he was out of sight, she grinned impishly at Anne, setting down both champagne glasses. “Did you see that hunk?” she whispered appreciatively, sighing as she refolded the rose chiffon over her chunky legs. “Wonder what he was doing upstairs?” she added with a wicked little smile. “You don’t know him, do you? What’s the matter, darling?”
“Nothing.
Oh, of all the ridiculous… I seem to have lost some hairpins.”
They both searched. Nothing remotely resembling a hairpin was anywhere near the stairs. With a smile, Anne cut off the conversation with Jane and maneuvered quickly down the hall to a bathroom. Apprehensively, she forced herself to look in the mirror. The loss of a half-dozen hairpins made a difference to a mane of hair that reached her waist. The style, rearranged, was of necessity less severe, with looser loops and curls that were not anywhere near as…perfect.
She’d taken merely four steps into the living room when she realized that
he
was there. This time he was talking to a cluster of men, his tux jacket open and one of his hands loosely in a pocket as he laughed. The strong features and silvery eyes again reminded her of a wolf. On the endangered species list in many parts of the world, wolves. Anne, normally sympathetic to that cause, couldn’t seem to raise any compassion. He managed to turn toward her before she could back up and out of sight.
His silver eyes were steely with determination. The intent to stalk his prey was so blatant that she caught her breath. And then lifted her chin, turning away with a small smile. The poor man was so arrogant. But just how far did he think he could take his little game in a houseful of people?
She wanted air, anyway. On the terrace, dancers were cuddled up for the torch songs the musicians were now playing. A restless breeze ruffled the white tablecloths on the lawn by the pool; lanterns swayed in the cloudy September night. A very nice, very safe man caught her eye…
She’d occasionally dated Warren Stuart summers, or on college semester breaks. He’d earned his law degree at Harvard since then, and as if his body knew it, he wasn’t nearly as good a dancer as he’d once been. The stiffness lingered even as he tried to hold her close, undoubtedly hoping to forget his wife and two children. So much for safety. Still, Anne closed her eyes, the picture of a lady enjoying herself, caught up in the music and the night and a good-looking man. The slight breeze cooled her, bringing unaccustomed color to her cheeks.
Her fingers curled loosely over Warren’s collar, as his did at her waist. He pulled back, smiling at her. “You always were the best, Anne,” he said warmly. “I
haven’t seen you in so long. Happy these days?”
She nodded simply, and he pulled her close again. The patio around them grew crowded, making it more and more difficult to dance without bumping into someone. When the last chords of the second song died, she drew back from Warren, smiling. “You think we’ve been at it long enough to make your wife jealous?” she asked teasingly.
He laughed, throwing back his head. “If it weren’t for Amanda, honey…”
Warren’s hands were affectionately holding hers, yet like the caress of a breeze she again felt the shiver of fingertips behind her. It was nothing. Just the merest touch at the base of her neck, and then the swift sweep of a hand all the way down to the intimate curve of her hips. Undoubtedly an accident—someone trying to move past the crowd of dancers. Of course. Her smile never faltered, but her hand whipped out of Warren’s, her fingers instinctively closing around the nape of her neck as if she’d suddenly discovered an aching muscle. “I’m going to have a little talk with your Amanda,” she told Warren with a little laugh before leaving him and swiftly making her way off the patio.
Unfortunately, both bathrooms on the ground floor were occupied. Belatedly, she remembered a small one off the kitchen, and smiled apologetically at the harried catering crew filling up trays as she passed. In the tiny square cubicle, she hurriedly refastened the collar that
held up her dress. If she had been any less quick, her breasts would have been on display.
Not
Anne’s style.
There was a million-to-one chance, of course, that the two hooks and eyes had loosened on their own. Most people, she knew, would probably never even notice his resemblance to a wolf. Most people would probably be taken in by the character lines etched deeply between the man’s brows, around his mouth and eyes. A character made up of humor and certainly intelligence and whatever wayward charm had led a group of conservative, prominent men to cluster around him… No one but Anne would have guessed that he was capable of such a
childish,
unforgivable, ridiculous, arrogant…
Anne glanced at the mirror and was taken aback at the sight of her luminous jade-green eyes so unconsciously full of laughter. The devil!
Hurriedly, she slipped back to join the party, this time deliberately seeking her host. She found Link Cord near the pool filling his plate, his wife at his side. Link was sixty, gray-haired and husky, these days sporting iron-gray whiskers that were supposed to look distinguished…and in any case hid a smoothly rounded chin. To Anne, he still very much resembled the neighbor she remembered from childhood—the man who had filled her pockets with silver dollars the day she’d dropped an ice cream cone on the grass, a long time ago. And when he saw her, his dark blue eyes sparkled, the corners crinkling like tiny fans. He opened his arms, and she willingly snuggled into them.
“I was beginning to wonder if you were here, sweetheart. I didn’t see you.”
“I’ve been here and having a marvelous time,” Anne assured him, and then hugged Loretta Cord as well, with a little less enthusiasm. “You’ve done it all exactly right, as always,” she whispered to Link.
He was sensitive about that. Link had come from some rustic cow town in Nebraska, and the exact amount of caviar on each cracker was a critical matter to him, thanks to years of lectures from Loretta. He beamed down at Anne. “Come on, come on. We’ll get you something to eat. And don’t give me any nonsense about your figure. You’ve got everyone in the place outclassed and you know it…”
Obediently, Anne filled up her plate with oysters and crab and frogs’ legs she had no intention of eating, and edged away just a little so that Link and Loretta could greet another guest.
From the corner of her eye, she saw
him
again. He was dancing, his partner a tall, sylphlike woman with a spectacular head of red hair. A lovely woman, really…
The silver-gray eyes met hers. Did he actually understand that once she’d paid her respects to the Cords she was free to leave? The man seemed to have no manners at all, deserting his redhead in the middle of a dance. Rapidly, Anne averted her eyes and frantically searched for a place to set her plate down. The game was fun, but the thought of an actual meeting caused panic to well up inside her.