Mad About You
Mad About You
(a collection of beloved romances)
by
Stephanie Bond
Get ready to love, laugh, and sigh...
Book 1: License to Thrill
a romantic mystery
by
Stephanie Bond
She’s between a rock and a hard body...
Prologue
Surrey, England
"JAMES, DARLING, I knew you would come." The stunning blonde set a champagne glass on a small marble table and gracefully rose to her feet.
James Donovan strolled into Lady Tania Mercer's sitting room and lowered a friendly kiss onto her raised red mouth. "I've never been able to refuse you, Tania."
"Almost never," she corrected him, then smiled languidly. "I'm afraid this favor will be a bit more arduous than a night in my bed, James."
His mouth quirked. "My lady, I doubt if even the British government could manufacture an assignment
that
demanding."
Tania scoffed prettily and offered him a drink. While she mixed him a martini, James studied his former lover. Their brief affair had ended more than five years ago, before he retired from the British Secret Service. Tania had been a pleasant diversion from his unpredictable and often dangerous job. She'd wanted more than he could
offer her, more than he could offer any woman, but they'd parted on congenial terms.
Lady Mercer moved in interesting circles and always had her finger in mysterious pies, so whatever the "favor," he had a feeling it would be more entertaining than hunting and gaming on his estate, which had grown tiresome. "I have to admit your invitation has piqued my curiosity."
She handed him his drink and laughed, a tinkling sound. "I figured after six months of inactivity, you might be getting restless."
James pursed his lips to suppress a smile. "I haven't been
completely
immobile."
She raised a finely arched brow. "I was referring to your daytime activities, James."
He raised his glass toward her. "You know me well, Tania."
She inclined her head in agreement, touching her glass to his before taking a sip. "What would you say to a business trip to the States?"
He angled his head, surprised. "I've actually been toying with the idea of an extended holiday in New York City."
"Unfortunately, this job would take you to the West Coast, to San Francisco."
Nodding agreeably, he said, "I can combine the trips. What exactly did you have in mind?"
She swirled the liquid in her glass and shrugged. "It's really quite mundane compared to your usual exploits, I'm sure, but I need an armed guard to accompany a courier and a piece of art to a museum there."
"Are you dabbling in fine arts now?"
"It's a letter, actually. A very old letter which recently
came into my possession. I have reason to believe it is extremely valuable."
"It sounds like a simple enough job. Why do you need me?"
Her mouth formed a lovely pout. "I need someone I can trust, and to be honest, I'd hoped we might be able to pick up where we left off once you returned."
But James's mind was elsewhere. In truth, her request had come at a good time. He'd been asked to consult on a case of improprieties at a London museum, but he’d postponed answering because his knowledge of the industry was so slim. This trip would allow him to pick the brain of a trained courier and perhaps he could offer assistance upon his return from New York.
Tania stood and slid her hand down the front of his linen shirt. "I could join you in the States once I've settled my affairs here. I love New York this time of the year, and I've missed you, James."
He accepted her full-body kiss with only a mild stirring, a fact that irritated him. He was obviously losing his edge if he could conjure up so little interest in such a beautiful and skillful lover as Tania.
Apparently his lackluster response did not go unnoticed. She drew back, a frown marring her perfect brow. "Have you found a serious love interest?"
"No," he said rather sharply, then laughed. "You forget who you are talking to, my dear."
She sighed dramatically. "I see you are still enjoying your reputation as untouchable, James."
"Well," he murmured, dipping his head to hers again, "I wouldn't go quite that far."
Chapter One
"TESTOSTERONE," KAT MCKRAY said, viciously squeezing a dribble of juice from the lemon wedge into her water glass. "Testosterone is the root of the world's problems."
"Mmm," her best friend, Denise Womack, agreed as she sipped her tea.
"Overbearing men, everywhere I turn." Kat pounded her fist on the cafe table. A waiter who had stopped to refill their drinks eyed her warily and moved on. She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses higher on her nose. "If you ask me, hormone therapy would be the surest route to global peace."
Denise arched an overplucked eyebrow. "Speaking of hormones, Kat, yours are running high today." Then she nodded knowingly. "You need a man."
Kat's mouth fell open. "You're delirious—that's the last thing I need."
But her red-haired friend only grinned. "You, my friend, are horny."
Flustered, Kit could only gasp in outrage. "That's
ridiculous—just because I've had it up to my eyeballs with pushy men, doesn't mean I'm...anything."
"Let me guess—Napoleon's being a pain in the ass again?"
"Again? He didn't stop long enough to
resume."
"So why do you put up with the little dictator? He couldn't run the museum without you."
Kat sighed and tore off a chunk of buttered roll. Her friend didn't know it, but she was planning her escape in two months, she just hadn't yet chosen a destination. "I've been giving serious thought to leaving Jellico's."
"Good. There are dozens of museums and galleries in San Francisco that would pluck you up in a minute." Her friend popped a cherry tomato into her mouth for emphasis.
Kat cupped her hand behind her ear and tilted her head.
"What are you doing?"
"Listening as my father turns over in his grave for me even thinking about leaving Jellico's."
After a wry laugh, Denise said, "You've already made your mark there—why else would they have chosen you to handle the exhibition of the King's letter?"
"Alleged
King's letter," Kat said. "It hasn't been authenticated yet. And this is a prime example of my boss lowering the standards of the museum by agreeing to show a document that might not even be genuine."
"I saw an interview with the owner on the national news last night—she's convinced it's real."
Kat laughed. "Lady Mercer has a vested interest in spreading that rumor—American collectors are clamoring for an invitation to bid on the letter."
"She'll be rich."
"If
it's genuine."
"What do you think?"
Kat chewed her bread. "I think it's highly suspicious when a two-hundred-year-old historically significant document suddenly appears."
"The news segment said the letter has been hidden between the pages of an old book and packed away in a trunk."
Pursing her lips, Kat shook her head. "Seems a little pat to me."
"It happens, doesn't it?"
"Sure," Kat conceded with a shrug. "It hasn't been so long since an art collector attended a party and noticed a Michelangelo statue on a stairway newel post in the host's home. The owners had no idea of its worth."
"Wow," Denise said, her eyes shining. "And now a love letter from King George III has come to light—you have to admit it's kind of romantic, Kat."
"
If
it was written by King George III," Kat said wryly. "Besides, I think the collectors are more interested in the part about him being sympathetic to the American Revolutionaries than about the naughty talk to a mistress."
"Have you read it?"
"No," Kat said. "I just know what the newspapers are reporting, same as you."
"Imagine, something worth so much money sitting right under your nose. Wouldn't it be great if that hideous gargoyle on my fireplace mantel turned out to be worth something? Of course, it wouldn't have to be a mint—I'd settle for a measly thirty-five thousand, two hundred and fifty dollars."
"Still trying to buy your condo?" Kat asked sympathetically.
Denise nodded. "I've got six weeks to come up with the down payment or I'll have to move."
"Got any rich relatives?"
"Not any on the verge of dying, unfortunately."
"You could marry my boss," Kat suggested cheerfully. "And then get him off my back."
Denise made a face. "I'm not getting on
my
back to save yours."
"And why risk making that new boyfriend jealous?"
"Kat, I keep telling you, this guy is just a friend."
"So what's his name and when will I meet him?"
"Never mind, okay? What time does the letter arrive?"
Kat pointed her fork. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to shoot you."
"I only asked because I need to borrow your washer and dryer tonight."
"Again? As much as your appliances break down, I'd think you'd be glad to move."
Denise adopted a drawl. "It ain't perfect, but it's home."
Kat squinted, mentally moving through the remainder of her day. "Besides the arrival of the infamous love letter, I have to develop a schedule to inventory our vaults. Arrrgh! I'm glad it only comes once every three years—I'd rather have a mammogram."
Denise eyed her friend's large breasts and ran a hand over her own flat chest. "Ouch."
Kat laughed. "I should be home by seven o'clock."
"Thanks." Her petite friend flagged the waitress, then plopped down a couple of bills and some change.
"See you tonight," she said, then waved and scampered off.
Kat watched her retreat, noticing several male heads turn. She scanned Denise's picked-over salad, then frowned and glanced down at her own plate of fettuccini Alfredo. "I'm starting a diet," she murmured, then twirled the noodles onto her fork. "Tomorrow."
But as she walked back to the museum, Kat pushed aside thoughts of her snug waistband. The manuscript would arrive by courier from London around three o'clock. Upon arrival, she and the courier would note the condition of the document, then place it in the vault for the evening, where it would await the ministrations of a team of international experts on eighteenth-century British manuscripts.