Double Trouble
Double Trouble
by
Deborah Cooke
First things first: I’m the bad twin. While my sister, Marcia, has the perfect family in the perfect suburb, I’ve been making my living as an Internet advice columnist and designing Web sites in my downtown loft. I always thought I had the right answer—and hair color—for any occasion.
That is, until Marcia ran up loads of debt and ran out on her husband and kids, and I was left helping to pick up the pieces. Her husband, James, is a lawyer who I hate on principle alone.
But for a guy who’s just lost his job, his marriage, and his expensive toys, he’s keeping it together—and making me rethink my feelings toward him. It’s not that he’s traded in his conservative suits for sexy jeans. It’s that he’s not giving up what’s important to him, and oh baby, I’m a sucker for a guy who hangs tough.
That doesn’t mean I’m ready to step into Marcia’s designer shoes now that she’s gone A.W.O.L.
And it doesn’t mean I’m going to fall for James’s easy charm... not again, anyhow. Besides, I’ve had a lifelong policy of not being mistaken for my twin and I’m not backing down on that one now—no matter how convenient it might be for a certain sexy (and persuasive) man...
Double Trouble
“For a fast-paced, captivating story of romance, family relationships, and following your heart, DOUBLE TROUBLE is not to be missed.”
~ Romance Reviews Today
“A fun, funny, Sex in the City kind of tale.”
~ The Romance Reader
“This quirky, funny book made me laugh while tugging at deeper emotions.”
~ All About Romance
“[Cooke’s] cutting-edge romance proves that not all identical twins are alike while giving the reader insight into Web etiquette that is as entertaining as the story.”
~ Booklist
Double Trouble
was originally published under the pseudonym, Claire Cross.
Deborah Cooke also writes as Claire Delacroix and as herself.
This re-release has had only minor corrections from the original text. It is essentially the same as the original print edition, although there are minor variations.
Copyright 2001, 2012 Claire Delacroix, Inc.
Published by Deborah A. Cooke
All Rights Reserved.
Cover by
Kim Killion
.
Digital Design by
A Thirsty Mind
, 2013
ISBN: 978-1-927477-15-1
Digital Edition
Excerpt from
One More Time
Copyright 2006, 2012 Claire Delacroix, Inc.
Excerpt From
Love Potion #9
Copyright 1999, 2011 Claire Delacroix, Inc.
Without limiting the rights under copyright preserved above, no part of this book 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 holder and the publisher of this book.
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.
The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
;
While I was writing
Third Time Lucky
, I realized that I’d want to tell the stories of Philippa’s brothers as well. The family dynamics in the Coxwell household interested me, and I was intrigued by how differently the various siblings had dealt with the conflict there. I wanted to see all of the brothers end up in a better place, and because I’m a romantic, I knew that love would heal their wounds. The most intriguing brother to me was James, who appeared to be the perfect oldest son and the one most likely to fulfill his father’s many ambitions. It struck me that James couldn’t be that happy, and I decided to throw him a few curveballs.
I never expected Maralys, but in hindsight, I should have. James is an assertive hero, probably the most alpha hero I’ve ever written. It only made sense that he’d find his match in a woman who wasn’t afraid of him, and one who gave as good as she got. I had to write this story in Maralys’ point of view, in first person, because that was the best way to both capture her voice and hint at her many secrets. I had a wonderful time getting to know her, although I thought all along that the plot twist was painfully obvious. It clearly isn’t to many people as they find it shocking, but there won’t be a spoiler here from me.
I’ve had the opportunity to republish my Coxwell series for a while, but
Double Trouble
kept me from doing so. When I wrote this book, people were not so familiar with the Internet and its quirks, and Maralys’ job as a web designer was pretty exotic. My editor and I decided to include a lot of explanations in Maralys’ patter to ensure that readers understood what Maralys was talking about. So, on the one hand, that seems like too much explanation in our times; on the other, I couldn’t see how to take it out without completely rewriting the book. I didn’t want to do that, because I like how well it holds together. Once I ripped it apart, I thought it would end up being less rather than more. I finally decided to republish this book—like all of my other backlist titles—essentially as it was published in the first place. Consider it a snapshot in time. We can all easily believe that twelve years later, Maralys is queen of another technological realm!
Double Trouble
was originally published in a mass market edition, then later reprinted in a trade paperback edition. One of the challenges in publishing this series was in the packaging of it—I’ll talk about that more in the reader letter for
One More Time
, but these new covers, by Kim Killion, were partly inspired by the Brazilian edition of
Double Trouble
. That cover illustration showed a couple from the knees down, with the woman putting her toe on the leg of the man, who was wearing a suit. Her pose looks provocative, exactly as I imagine Maralys to be, while the man’s pose looks both conservative and restrained. That would be James.
I also chose to republish the Coxwell series as Deborah Cooke books, since I now publish contemporary paranormal romance under my own name. I continue to write historicals as Claire Delacroix, so my Claire Cross time travel romances have been republished as Delacroix books.
I’m very excited to be able to offer my first contemporary romance series in these new editions, and to have them available in both print and digital formats. These were books that I loved writing and it’s been a treat to revisit them. Maralys still makes me laugh.
I hope you enjoy reading James’ and Maralys’ story.
All my best—
Deborah
----
Subject
: what to do dating blues
Yo Aunt Mary -
Ancient uncle kicked, Mom says all 2 go 2 funeral FRIDAY NIGHT!
=8-o
lame.com—I could be meeting Mr. Right instead. Wah! :-(
Yr advice?
Hot_Chic
----
Subject
: re: what to do dating blues
Dear Hot_Chic
Go... in something sleek and black.
The heir might need solace—and yr Fri night might not be wasted after all.
;-)
Aunt Mary
***
Uncertain? Confused? Ask Aunt Mary!
Your one stop shop for netiquette and advice:
http://www.ask-aunt-mary.com
----
I
propped my chin on my hand and stared at the message. Maybe I was getting bored with this gig. Aunt Mary certainly had lost a bit of her sparkle—she was sounding more like a cranky old bitch than an irreverent livewire these days.
But then, it was only nine at night and I was just waking up.
I saved the response without posting it to the board—just in case lightning struck in the wee hours of the morning—yawned and stretched. The truth of it was that I shouldn’t even have been out of bed yet, but I hadn’t slept well. Something had kept me awake today. Guilty conscience, maybe. Ha. Hole-digging types in the street below, more likely.
I was still warm and fuzzy, halfway between sleep and wake. But there were lots of messages for that sage of netiquette, Aunt Mary. Time for some rocket java to fuel the keyboard merengue.
The phone rang when I was elbowing some space on the cluttered counter for the coffee bean grinder. You’ve got to grind your own, you know, if you want a decent cup of brew.
“Auntie Maralys? Is that you?”
It wasn’t such a weird time for my nephew to be calling, but something about his tone made me forget my coffee. I would have bet my last buck that this ten-year-old kid was never uncertain of anything, but he sounded... lost.
He had my attention but quick. In fact, he was giving me hives. I don’t
do
kids. Don’t handle dependence and vulnerability real well. The only reason I can deal with my nephews is that they’re getting older—I think of them as very small adults and it’s okay.
Mostly.
But now, Jimmy was doing a “make my boo-boo better voice” and I felt my bile rising.
“Sure, Jimmy, it’s me. How’s it going?” Maybe I sounded a little more cheerful than necessary, but it seemed to reassure him.
It certainly reassured me.
“Houston, we have a problem,” he said, slipping into a routine we often used. In this scenario, I was NASA control and he was captain of the intrepid space voyager, Calypso. To say that Jimmy was a space nut would be the understatement of the century.
It worked out all right—kind of a meeting of the minds in technogook land.
“Roger, Calypso. I copy.” A problem to which I was the solution. I was already making a good guess as to what the deal might be. My sister, in case I haven’t mentioned it, is a selfish hare-brained idiot. “What are your coordinates, Calypso?”
“Um, at the pool.”
“You have swimming lessons tonight?”
“Roger, Houston. Exercise maneuvers have been completed.”
A long pause followed. Time for those latent psychic abilities to kick in. Sadly, they missed their cue. “Can you describe the nature of your problem, Calypso?”
“Um. Auntie Maralys...”
His voice quivered and I shivered right to my toes. Just having clutchy, needy people on my phone—well, one person really, but it was enough—made me want to break and run.
I closed my eyes and forced myself to guess what was up. Eenie meanie jelly beanie. “Have you made contact with your shuttle, Calypso?” I was thinking that my twin and I were going to have to have a serious talk if she couldn’t even remember to pick up her kids from swimming.
“Uh, no, Houston. There is no sign of the shuttle. Rendezvous may have been aborted.”
Now, I was mad. This was typical Marcia, imposing on everyone else and scaring the crap out of her kids, just so she could... what? Get her nails done? Probably something stupid, feminine and frivolous like that.
“And your back-up shuttle, Calypso?” I tried to keep the edge out of my voice because we all knew that James worked more hours than any human alive. “Do you have its coordinates?”
Jimmy faltered. “California, I think.”
I bit back a scream, then took a deep breath. It wasn’t Jimmy’s fault that morons were allowed to breed. “Okay, Calypso, I copy. Let’s review the checklist—are you currently at the scheduled rendezvous point?”
“Roger, Houston.”
“How long have you been at the rendezvous point, Calypso?”
“Since eight-thirty, after class ended.”
“At my mark, your shuttle is precisely thirty-two minutes late. Please confirm, Calypso. Mark.”
“That is correct, Houston. Thirty-two minutes and counting.”
“Please confirm, Calypso, whether you are on a solo mission. Your mission orders are inaccessible to me at this juncture.”
Marcia’s boys are just two years apart, spitting images of their father, and practically joined at the hip. I always thought it was weird for them to be so close—Marcia and I nearly murdered each other when we were kids, after all—but maybe my sister found it more convenient to keep them at the same place at the same time.
Maybe they secretly did hate each other’s guts in healthy sibling fashion. The prospect always cheered me.
“No, Houston. Lieutenant John is also aboard this mission. His class is done, too.” Jimmy’s voice dropped with uncertainty and he sounded like a lost little boy again. “Auntie Maralys, everyone has left.”
I damned my sister silently to hell and back, then wished that there really was something to the psychic bond between twins. At least then I could make a guess as to what Marcia was up to.
On the other hand, I really didn’t want to know more than I already did about how she thought. My very own twisted sister. I must have beat her to the line when they were handing out common sense.