The Airman's E-Mail Order Bride (Heroes of Chance Creek Book 5) (5 page)

Because she would answer. Colt couldn’t shake her that easily.

Ping.

Another e-mail. From Helena. Colt sat up on the motel room bed and pulled his laptop closer. This time he’d trash the message—right after he read it. He’d made his offer to Melanie and he hoped she would take it. Helena wasn’t right for him at all.

Okay, you don’t want forever and you don’t want romance. How about a three-month-long adventure you’ll never forget? I’m something special, in bed and out of it, and I promise you won’t regret spending some time with me. Come on, Colt—if you’re not going to marry for real, your fake marriage should be something special, right?

Give me a chance.

Her words intrigued him. He looked at Helena’s photograph again and somehow knew it didn’t do her justice. She would look sexier than the woman onscreen, just like Heather did. She’d be more real—rougher around the edges. Just like Heather. She’d laugh at his jokes, match him drink for drink, and take all his hard-earned money when they played poker. She’d throw her head back when he moved inside her and cry out his name when she—

Shit. Who was he kidding? Colt moved impatiently on the bed.

Still, he read the e-mail again, and couldn’t help comparing it to Melanie’s earlier note. Melanie was all facts and common sense, like he wanted his fake wife to be. Helena was a bundle of energy and excitement. Her references to sex were part of the attraction. He’d been alone a long time and his body ached for female company as much as he tried to deny he wanted it.

Before he knew what he was doing, he was typing a reply.

Helena,

I’m already well on my way to being engaged to a woman who would suit me fine; she wants nothing from me but my money. Next week I’ll meet her at the airport and I suspect I’ll be a married man before the month is out.

But I’m not engaged yet.

He hit send before he could stop himself, wondering all the while what game he thought he was playing. Melanie was everything he needed. There’d be no fuss from her when the deal was done and it was time to walk away.

Helena was a wild card whose next move he couldn’t predict. Was that what attracted him to her—his affinity for trouble? She might remind him of Heather, but she was a total unknown.

Colt took a swig of beer, picked up the remote and clicked the TV on.

This time when the laptop pinged, it was Melanie writing back. He dropped the remote again.

Colt,

Sounds good. I’ve attached all the necessary information for you to purchase my plane tickets. See you on the 7th.

Melanie

Now that was a woman he could deal with, Colt thought. Why couldn’t everyone be as sensible as she was? If Helena wrote again he wouldn’t answer, he decided, and closed the laptop’s lid with a snap. But as he picked up the remote and turned up the volume on the television he knew he was fooling himself.

He would read it. And he just might write back.

I’m not engaged yet.

Heather’s heart plummeted as she hid in the bathroom at her grandparents’ condo and read through the latest e-mail from Colt. After she had answered his last message, she had put away her phone during her flight and hadn’t allowed herself to look at it again until she was alone. She’d been so sure he wouldn’t answer at all she’d thought she’d never want to look at it again. He’d answered, but that was little consolation. Not engaged yet but nearly there. That meant someone else had answered his wife-wanted ad. Someone more suitable.

Fear twisted her insides. She was losing him. Her references to the past hadn’t snared his interest. Neither had her promise of future excitement. What else could she do, tell him who she really was?

No. Definitely not.

Tell him she’d take half the money to act as his wife?

No, Colt had never been thrifty.

Sext him?

Heather bit her lip, her face warming with the audacity of the idea. Could she do that? Colt sounded awfully matter-of-fact these days. Had his time in the military hardened him until he didn’t even care about the physical side of life anymore?

She stifled a laugh. Colt? Turn his back on sex? She doubted it.

But how did one go about seducing a man over the Internet—a man she hadn’t seen in years? She thought back to their one time together. Colt had loved every bit of their fumbling lovemaking. So had she—until guilt kicked in afterward. What she remembered most was the time he’d lavished on her breasts. Even in high school they’d been ample. They’d embarrassed her until Colt got his hands on them. He’d made her see how glorious they were—at least in his eyes.

She looked at her phone and then down at her cherry red holiday sweater.

She couldn’t.

Could she?

Today she’d followed Camila’s advice and ditched her bland work pants for a pair of jeans that hugged her curves. Her supple leather boots completed the outfit. She’d been relieved when she’d stood in front of the mirror this morning to see she hadn’t lost her looks.

Now she shrugged at her reflection. Maybe she could do it. She tapped a finger on the counter. Might as well give it a try. What could it hurt, after all? Colt didn’t know she was Helena, and as much attention as he’d lavished on them twelve years ago, there was no way he could identify her from her breasts.

Making up her mind, she yanked off her sweater and tank top then unstrapped her bra and shrugged it off. Looking at herself frankly in the mirror, she was happy to see the years hadn’t left their mark on her body yet. She tucked one arm under her chest to plump the girls out and held her phone in her other hand, aiming it at her reflection. She snapped a couple of shots.

“Heather? What are you doing in there?” A sharp rap at the door startled her and she almost dropped the phone when she heard her mother’s voice.

“Shit!”

“Heather? What’s going on?”

She rolled her eyes. Seriously—there were two other bathrooms. “I’m taking pictures of my breasts and sending them to a stranger!”

“Ha, ha. Hurry up—Grandma’s got dinner on the table already.”

“Be right there, Mom.” Stifling the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl, Heather flicked through the photos, chose one, cropped it so that her face didn’t show and sent it to Colt with the message,
Glad you aren’t engaged yet—sending you this would be wrong if you were. Good-night.

Maybe that would get his attention.

‡

H
e’d opened Helena’s
e-mail.

He’d clicked on her attachment, too.

Now Colt gazed at a pair of breasts that begged to be touched, kissed, fondled—

Hell.

He shifted on the bed, surprised by the sudden rush of libido the image conjured up. Women’s breasts had been the last thing on his mind these past few months. He was no saint. He’d seen his fair share of them and normally he had no issue maintaining control around a woman’s body, but he hadn’t been expecting these, not in an e-mail from sentimental Helena, and now he was half-hard and distinctly uncomfortable.

He pushed away the laptop, got up and paced the room. Coming back, he tugged the computer closer and took another look before pushing it away again.

He didn’t plan to meet Helena, let alone fool around with her, but it had been a long time since he’d been with a woman, and the image filling his screen was definitely eye-catching. Why had he thought Helena had augmented her bust? These were obviously natural.

He looked again. Narrowed his eyes. Wait a minute. Colt’s sharp gaze traveled upward to Helena’s neck. In the photo she’d sent earlier, the ridges of her collar bone had been so sharp he’d noticed them before he’d been distracted by her similarity to Heather. In this photo, they weren’t nearly so prominent. Intrigued, he toggled between the two and spotted something else: a small mole just below the hollow of her neck on Helena’s newest photo that wasn’t there on the original one.

He shut his eyes a moment, remembering another woman with a similar mole. Heather had squirmed when he kissed the small brown mark at the base of her neck all those years ago, and her movements had brought one nipple into his reach. Colt had bent to kiss that rosy target and they were off and running.

He found more differences between the photos but they were too subtle to confirm anything. Maybe Helena’s first photo had been retouched while this newest one hadn’t. Most men would have been so focused on her breasts they wouldn’t have noticed anything else. Unfortunately for her, he’d been trained to look for details in every aspect of his job.

Gazing at the two photos again, Colt stiffened when he realized something he should have known from the start. Helena had snapped the photo of her reflection in a mirror she was standing quite close to. Behind her was a beige wall that was out of focus.

And if he wasn’t mistaken those were photographs hanging on it. Curious, he got to work.

It took him some time to fiddle with software and blow up the images so he could see them better. When he did, he sat back and swore, disbelief coursing through him.

The images were fuzzy at this resolution but he recognized one face even after all these years. Audrey Ward.

Heather’s mother.

Which meant those breasts probably belonged to the woman he’d once loved.

And walked away from over a decade ago.

No wonder he couldn’t get
Helena’s
e-mails out of his mind. No wonder she had a mole right where Heather had one. Helena
was
Heather.

Which meant Heather wanted him. But why all the subterfuge? Why the fake photo, for God’s sake? Unless she was afraid he wouldn’t answer her e-mail if he knew it was her.

Which was fair. As far as Heather knew, he’d walked out of her life and never looked back. She probably thought he hadn’t loved her and had used the excuse of his father’s death to leave her behind. Maybe she thought he’d already gotten what he wanted: a quick lay in the back seat of her mother’s car. Had she felt used all these years? Regret washed through him.

Now she was giving him another chance, and he admired the bravery it must have taken to reach out to him again. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t married already. Had she… waited for him?

He discarded that idea. She’d probably loved and lost several times over by now. Maybe she’d had an unhappy first marriage. Maybe she was married still, and simply curious about him. That could explain the fake name, too.

He sure as hell hoped he was wrong about that, though. Colt stopped himself. No matter the reason that she got in touch, he still couldn’t be with her. It hadn’t been right back then and it wouldn’t be right now.

He closed the laptop. He simply wouldn’t answer her message. Standing up, he paced the small room, but before he knew it he was back on the bed. He opened the laptop and pulled up her photo again. God, she had the most amazing breasts.

Little minx. She knew exactly what she was doing when she referenced the Impala and sent this photo, didn’t she? She knew damn well he’d think back to the one time they’d made love. She was probably laughing at him right now—glorying in her ability to knock him off-kilter.

Two could play that game.

His resolutions forgotten, Colt had his pants down in a flash, his boxer-briefs, too. A couple of strokes had him standing to attention. It was awkward taking the photo, but after a couple of tries he got what he wanted.

He hesitated before he pressed send. He didn’t intend to follow through with Heather. Shouldn’t life have taught him to avoid trouble by now?

Hell, no. Apparently it hadn’t, and as messed up as things were at the moment, why not throw caution to the wind and really start a fire? He quickly added a message.

Helena

I’m glad I’m not engaged, either, because if I was, sending THIS would be really, really wrong. Enjoy.

Colt

He pressed send and laughed out loud for the first time in months. He pulled up Heather’s photo again.

That was a fantastic pair of tits.

And if he remembered correctly, the woman behind them was pretty special, too.

Heather felt her
phone vibrate in her pocket and tried to resist the urge to take a peek. Her grandmother was carving the roast beef she’d cooked for dinner. The rest of them passed around dishes of potatoes, beans, salad, rolls, and more. She fingered her pocket under the lacy tablecloth as Richard began to dig into his dinner. Her mother debated her grandfather over a program on World War II they’d been watching on television before the meal was served. No one was paying any attention to her.

She slid the phone out of her pocket, but kept it under the table so no one else could see. She tapped in her security code, called up her e-mail program, read Colt’s message, and tapped on the image to take a look.

Her snort of laughter and shock made everyone turn her way. “Sorry,” she said, holding back more giggles as tears sprung to her eyes. “Sorry. Swallowed something wrong.”

“You haven’t even started eating,” her mother protested.