Promoted to Wife (Destiny Bay) (2 page)

She groaned.
For all her thirty years of age, she felt
like a child again. A child caught where she wasn't sup
posed to be. She wasn't ready for this. What could she
do?

The sound of the front door opening rocketed through the hall. It was too late to get out of the house. She was going to have to bite the bullet and do the best she could. Gritting her teeth, she started out onto the landing.
 

Looking down, she expected to see Dr. Stephen Carrington and his wife, Grace, escorting in Calvin Carrington, the elderly grandfather of the entire crew. She didn’t know them really, but she’d seen them all years ago and would have recognized them immediately.
 

So she knew right away—this wasn’t them.
 

This was one man on his own, and he wasn’t the good doctor—or the grandfather. Too young. Too incredibly fit. Too smooth and athletic. Too good looking.
 

It was their son, Rick Carrington, and she was a dead duck.

Rick Carrington! Her father hadn’t said
he
might be involved. What if he recognized her? No, he wouldn’t recognize her. It had been a good fourteen years—and he’d only seen her lurking in the shadows, completely smitten with him, but young and not someone he would have noticed at all.

Still—she’d noticed him!
 

No! She
couldn't face him like this.

“Panic wins
this
round,” she muttered to herself as she fled down the hallway.

Rick Carrington—wow. Talk about dredging up old memories. She’d only seen him sporadically as she was growing up, and he was a good five years older than she was, but he’d been her main crush once puberty hit.

This town—Destiny Bay—sometimes seemed to be crawling with Carringtons—the entire family was a sort of small town royalty. At least, that was the way it had seemed when she was a child and had visited this very place on her breaks from boarding school. Only, she hadn’t come into the mansion. She’d been marooned in the small cottage off the rose garden where the butler lived, watching Carringtons out the window and being told, “Careful, stay quiet, stay still, don’t bother anyone,” so constantly, she’d pretty much learned to resent the Carrington family.
 

She’d spent the last decade and more living down in Los Angeles, far from Destiny Bay, and she’d only come back because she had to help her father get his old job back. She only hoped this wouldn’t ruin her chances. She had been ready to meet the Carringtons with pride and professionalism. She was an adult, after all. She’d thought she’d do fine, b
ut Rick Carrington hadn't entered her calculations.

Maybe he'd only stopped in to check on the house.
Maybe he would grab a sweater from the downstairs hall
closet and go back out again. Maybe he would find the
house empty and take off for the golf course or the polo
field. Maybe, for once, she'd be lucky.

A set of big double doors was standing open. Not
thinking, Terry dashed inside and shut them behind her,
then stepped back to see where she'd landed.

She wasn't completely familiar with the house yet. She’d only been there since the
morning, and this room wasn't one she'd explored. But she thought she knew whose it was.
It looked very much like the master bedroom to her.

“Not the best move,” she chided herself.
 

But it was too late to do much about it. With her hand on the doorknob, she heard his tread on the wide stair
way. He was whistling--and
coming right this way. Of course—where else would he go?
 

“Arrgghh!” she moaned very low, shaking her head. This was ridiculous. She ought to step out and meet him.
She'd pretend she'd been tidying up his room.

“Ah, Mr. Carrington,” she'd say with cool dignity. “So you've returned home early. Might I have a word with
you, sir? You see, I'm the new butler.”

“Certainly,” he'd answer with a flourish. “It's Jeeves,
isn't it? I'd have known you anywhere, my good woman.”

Fat chance.

Nope.
It was either under the bed or
into the closet.

The complete humiliation of being found lurking under a bed was
just a hair more excruciating than the embarrassment of being caught in a closet. She opted for the latter with all due speed—and then heard his hand at the door.

She pulled the double doors closed, backed into the lengthy walk-in closet and into the hanging shirts, blinked once in the darkness, then held her breath. If he would just dump his things and go, she would be fine. As soon as he left the room, she would slip out and take the back stairs down and…

But he didn’t seem to be in any hurry to leave. She could hear him moving through the room. He was still whistling softly. She didn't recognize the tune but it sounded lighthearted. At least he seemed to be in a good mood.
 

And then she turned her head right into a group of hangers and they jangled. It wasn’t very loud. But it was enough, and she knew it. She froze.
 

The whistling came to an abrupt halt. Terry stood very still, hand at her throat, listening intently. Her heart was pounding so hard, she wasn't sure if she'd heard him leave the room. The silence stretched interminably and she began to wonder how long she should wait before coming out. Surely he'd left by now. Hadn’t he? If he’d heard the hangers, he would have done something. He must have been whistling too loud to notice.
 

Now what? She couldn't stay here forever. She had work to do, for heaven's sake. This was getting ridiculous —she'd been a fool to hide in the first place. It was time to put an end to it. She had to show a little maturity.
 

Gritting her teeth, she reached for the door handle—but it was wrenched, quite suddenly, from her grasp. The doors were flung open and there stood Rick Carrington, towering over her menacingly.

Terry gasped, but he didn't say a word. He didn't even look very surprised to find a woman in his closet. His hazel eyes sparkled as he looked her up and down, taking in every uncovered inch of her body. She might have been a new houseplant or a new suit he’d found hanging there.

Terry took a deep breath and wished her hands weren’t shaking. She hated being found this way. Why oh why had she gone into hiding? Too dumb. And to be caught by Rick Carrington, of all people.
 

“Hi,” she said, raising a hand and wiggling her
fingertips at him. She was relieved to note that her voice sounded light and breezy.
When facing an impossible sit
uation, make the best of it
, she thought a little hysteri
cally.
Just pretend you planned it this way all along
. “Welcome home.”

“Well, what do you know?” he murmured, a slow
smile beginning to soften every angle of his handsome
face. His gaze skimmed across her and he obviously liked
what he saw. “Oh, Johnny, you've really outdone your
self this time.”

“Sorry?” She frowned, hit by a mix of reactions from the start. He didn’t recognize her. Thank God for that. But had he said “Johnny”? Maybe he couldn't
see her very well in the dark closet. “I'm not Johnny. ...” she began.

“Oh, I know you're not.” He nodded, his smile turning
into a grin. “Where's the card?”

She blinked at him. “The card? You mean, my card?”

Darn it all, that would have been a good idea. She should have had cards printed up. Maybe there was still a chance to do that. She could dash down into town and get it done in no time.
 

“I’ll have it for you later,” she promised hopefully.
 

“Later?” He gave her a quizzical look.
 

She nodded, hoping her wide eyes portrayed innocence. “Yes. I just don’t have it with me right now.”

“I don’t buy it,” he said, eyes sparkling. “You’ve got it on you, don’t you? Johnny would insist on that.”

The grin had turned devilish. Terry was totally at sea. He wasn’t acting like a homeowner who’d found a stranger in his closet. So what the heck was he talking about? She stared up at him uneasily.
 

He was taller than she remembered and his shoulders were wide as a lineback
er's, but he carried his frame with a casual assurance that bespoke a certain comfort with his surroundings. The high cheekbones and dark brows emphasized the humorous glint of his light brown eyes. He looked like a man at ease with himself, a man who
didn't often let temper get the best of him.

So that was good.
 

And he was sinfully attractive. He always had been. He was wearing a blue shirt,
open at the neck, and navy-blue slacks that fit with a
razor-sharp crease. His hair was thick, a rich golden
brown with streaks of blond—highlights most likely gar
nered on the polo field rather than any actual manual labor in the sun, Terry thought with sudden snarky insight.
He looked like a playboy through and through, just as
she'd always thought he was.

“There's always a birthday card,” he was saying. His eyes were shimmering with humor and his soft laugh sent warning shivers dancing down her spine.
“I get it,”
he murmured happily. “I'm supposed to search you for
it. Right?”

She stared at him, suddenly realizing what this was about. The man thought she was part of some sort of gag gift or something. And he was out of his mind. She'd expected anger,
maybe, or at least annoyance—but a body frisk she hadn't counted on!

“Wrong!” she answered quickly as he reached for her, putting up her hands to fend him off. “Hold it mister. You’ve got this all wrong.”

He paused in mid reach, blinking at her. “What do you mean?”

At least he stopped. She had to give him credit for that. She’d been working in an industry where predatory men didn’t usually stop advances like this until you got their attention with a large rock to the head. Or at least the threat of jail time.
 

“I think there’s been a big misunderstanding,” she began, but he was already grimacing and he pulled back regretfully.
 

“You’re absolutely right,” he said, looking sad. “This was a great idea. Very inventive. But it isn’t going to work.”

She frowned, more confused than ever. What did he mean? Her being a butler? Nothing he said seemed to connect with anything she was thinking, but she knew she had to defend her position as quickly and thoroughly as possible—just to be sure.
 

“How can you know that? You don’t know anything about me yet. How can you say it isn’t going to work?”

His grin was endearingly lopsided. “You come with special talents, I’m sure,” he said with casual appreciation. “Unfortunately, it’s all for naught. You’re going to have to go.”

“What?” Outrage filled her eyes.
 

“My kids are coming.” He shrugged, just this side of apologetic. “And I’m actually trying to be a good dad. So pretty young female playmates are out. Even if they are birthday presents.” He shrugged again. “Sorry.”

Female playmates? No, he still had the wrong idea about what was going on here. She had to get this straight before he dumped her into the street.
 

She frowned, shaking her head, trying to come across very earnest and honest. Eager to please, anxious to work. Not someone to be tossed aside so lightly.
 

 
“Listen, I wasn’t sent here by anyone named Johnny. I don’t know who Johnny is. I…” She drew in a long breath. “You see, I…I work here.”

He blinked. “You what?”

She raised her head and tried to gather in some sense of dignity, but it was tough, considering. “I’m the new butler.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then he laughed aloud. “Oh come on. I’m starting to sense Johnny’s influence again.”

“No. Really. I have a contract.”

“Baloney. What you have is a great imagination.” He glanced around the closet as though looking for something. “You didn’t bring me a cake or anything?”

She blinked. “A cake?”

“For my birthday.”

“Oh.” He still thought she was a gift from his dopey friend. “Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize… You see, I thought it was going to be your grandfather I was basically here for and….”

“My grandfather! He’s 92 years old.” He made a face. “Lucky I got here first. You would have killed him.”

“No…” She threw up her hands in exasperation. There was no getting through to this man. Then she frowned. “But this is still his house. Isn’t it? He is planning to live here again?”

She knew her father was under the impression that old man Calvin Carrington was returning to the home he loved after a long confinement in a nursing home. That was the whole point—to have the butler who had been so close to him back again to take care of him. The only problem had been—her father had fallen and broken his shoulder—he couldn’t make it. Not yet. So she had come to take his place, just for a month or so.
 

“Sure,” Rick was saying. “But he hasn’t lived here for ten years.”