An Eligible Bachelor

“So tell me what you believe my type is,” Wade persisted.

“I’ve heard what people say about you, and in this case I believe they’re right.”

The left corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “You listen to rumors?”

“Sometimes. When it might affect my son.”

He nodded, almost as if he approved her decision. “And rumor says…?”

“You have two criteria.” Geneva held up one finger. “Female…” Then a second. “And breathing.”

Taking her hand in his he unfolded her third finger. “Don’t forget ‘beautiful.’”

He gripped her with a gaze so intense that Geneva became lost in the forest-green depths of his eyes.

He cleared his throat and cast her a wolfish grin. “Guess that makes you my type after all.”

Dear Reader,

As senior editor for the Silhouette Romance line, I’m lucky enough to get first peek at the stories we offer you each month. Each editor searches for stories with an emotional impact, that make us laugh or cry or feel tenderness and hope for a loving future. And we do this with you, the reader, in mind. We hope you continue to enjoy the variety each month as we take you from first love to forever.…

Susan Meier’s wonderful story of a hardworking single mom and the man who sweeps her off her feet is Cinderella and the CEO. In The Boss’s Baby Mistake, Raye Morgan tells of a heroine who accidentally gets inseminated with her new boss’s child! The fantasy stays alive with Carol Grace’s Fit for a Sheik as a wedding planner’s new client is more than she bargained for.…

Valerie Parv always creates a strong alpha hero. In Booties and the Beast, Sam’s the strong yet tender man. Julianna Morris’s lighthearted yet emotional story Meeting Megan Again reunites two people who only seem mismatched. And finally Carolyn Greene’s An Eligible Bachelor has a very special secondary character—along with a delightful hero and heroine!

Next month, look for our newest ROYALLY WED series with Stella Bagwell’s The Expectant Princess. Marie Ferrarella astounds readers with Rough Around the Edges—her 100th title for Silhouette Books! And, of course, there will be more stories throughout the year chosen just for you.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

An Eligible Bachelor

Carolyn Greene

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This book is dedicated to Sean Eastwood, who has taught a lot of people about the power of love.

And to Charles and William Hine who inspire me.

Also, many thanks to Byron Foutch for sharing his knowledge of birds and their nesting habits.

CAROLYN GREENE

has been married to a fire chief for more than twenty years. She laughingly introduces herself as the one who lights the fires and her husband as the one who puts them out. They are a true opposites-attract type of couple and, because of this, they and their two teenagers have learned a lot about the art of compromise.

Coming together…mentally, physically and spiritually. That’s what romance is all about, and that’s what Carolyn strives to portray in her highly entertaining novels. Says Carolyn, “I like to think that after someone has read one of my books, I’ve made her or his day a little brighter. You just can’t put a price tag on that kind of job satisfaction.”

Dear Reader,

Fifteen years ago, a baby boy with a big personality came into my next-door neighbors’ lives. Doctors diagnosed him with a rare genetic disorder, Joubert Syndrome, and predicted that little Sean would never sit up, talk or even smile.

Although it’s known that Joubert Syndrome is genetically transmitted by both parents, testing is not currently available to determine whether they are carriers. Typical features of Joubert Syndrome, caused by a malformed or missing part of the brain (cerebellar vermis), include alternating episodes of panting and non-breathing in babies, poor balance and coordination, abnormal eye and tongue movements and decreased muscle tone. In addition, there are developmental delays and some degree of mental retardation is common. Since this is such a rare condition, it often goes undiagnosed or is misdiagnosed as Dandy Walker Syndrome or Cerebral Palsy.

Fortunately, Sean was too young to understand the doctor’s grim prognosis. Today, he sits in his wheelchair, communicates through sign language and wears an ever-present smile. His mother served on the first Board of Directors for the Joubert Foundation, and the family has met others from all over the world with children like Sean and subsequently shared their experiences and struggles with me.

For more information about Joubert Syndrome, go to the Web site at http://www.joubertfoundation.com, or send a self-addressed stamped envelope care of Mary Van Damme, Joubert Syndrome Foundation, 12348 Summer Meadow Road, Rock, MI 49880.

All the best,

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

The first thing Wade noticed was a red shoe, sitting like a misplaced rhododendron blossom among the clusters of blue hydrangea balls. And beside it a denim skirt and two shapely female legs protruding from the window. One foot sported a shoe that matched the one in the bush.

Not bothering to suppress a grin, Wade grabbed the shoe from the stalky branches and closed the distance between them. The woman’s little boy threw him a shy smile and moved back to watch.

Geneva wriggled, trying to squeeze her way inside with sheer willpower, but the bottom edge of the pull-down window bit into the small of her back, forcing her to give up the battle she’d been fighting for several minutes. This was all because of a couple of birds who were more successful in their life plans than she had been.

A light May breeze swept past, teasing the hem of her denim skirt and grazing her bare calves. If she pulled her knees close to the house and pointed her toes, she could touch an espadrille to the wooden planks of the small patio deck flanking her apartment at the back of her landlord’s old Victorian house.

Her toddler son poked her rump with his tiny finger. “Funny mama.”

Funny, indeed!

The embarrassment of being found like this—after only one day in her new place—was of less concern than the humiliation she would feel at having failed to live up to the agreement she’d struck with her landlord. Sean, her landlord’s nineteen-year-old disabled brother who occupied the apartment adjacent to hers, might be able to give her a hand. But one of the terms of her lease was that she’d be available to help Sean when needed. If she had to seek help from the young man she was supposed to watch out for, Wade Matteo would be justified in doubting her ability to perform the simple job. Worse, he might revoke the lease she’d recently signed.

And if she lost this apartment—with its reasonable rent and beautiful surroundings—she’d be forced to move back to the city. Then her chance of saving for a down payment on a house would disappear. And along with it, her dream of giving her son the roots she’d always longed for would vanish.

Jacob fidgeted behind her and proceeded to dance an awkward jig. “Gotta go potty.”

Of course. When it rained, it poured…so to speak.

His agenda for the afternoon—go through his black book, call some of the women who met his criteria and try to sweet-talk them into giving him what he wanted—would have to wait.

When he had returned home a few moments ago and pointed the nose of his elegant black sports car toward the garage at the left side of his house, he had heard a woman’s voice. Considering his new tenant’s domestic tendencies, Wade had assumed she was singing as she did her housework. During the past week, the lovely Ms. Jensen had been cleaning and gradually moving her belongings into the apartment.

Not that he was surprised. The first time he’d met her to show her the apartment, he’d immediately pegged her as a young June Cleaver. The single mother didn’t have the high-heeled shoes or strand of pearls, or even a husband, as the old-fashioned TV character had, but he knew with certainty she had the nesting instinct. And that spelled danger.

Long ago he’d learned to pick up on such clues, and less than a minute after he’d met his attractive tenant, he had mentally hung a Do Not Touch sign on her. And, as if to ward her off, a long-standing superstitious habit prompted him to rub the Bachelor of the Year pin on his collar. Women who sang while they did housework were definitely off his list of possibilities.

He crossed the driveway to the deck behind the attached apartment. Amusing as this might be, he’d have to make this quick. His little black book held promise for a fruitful evening.

“Sean?” Her cry was plaintive now, as if she’d given up hope that anyone would come to her rescue.

Odd that she would be calling his brother for help. The Joubert syndrome that weakened Sean’s muscles forced him to walk with crutches and prevented him from lifting heavy objects. It was Saturday afternoon, so the teen was no doubt driving his cart around the course as he picked up trash, retrieved lost golf balls and chatted with the country-club guests.

Geneva stiffened as if she must have felt the vibrations when he crossed the wood-planked patio.

From her facedown position, she pushed a hand out the window and motioned him closer. “I thought you’d never get me out of this mess. Do me a favor, and don’t mention this to your brother, okay?”

“And why wouldn’t you want him to know?”

“Mr. Matteo?”

“You can call me Wade.” Out of habit, he fell into his come-a’calling voice…a deep, rich tone that he’d cultivated to go along with his playboy persona.

She wiggled her toes, and he knew instinctively that he’d gotten to her. “Would you please lift this window off my back?”

Geneva tried to keep the panic out of her voice. Like it or not, she was at his mercy.

“How do I know you’re not a burglar? Maybe I should call the sheriff.”

“Come on, you rented the place to me just last week. You know who I am.”

“Now that you mention it, I do recognize the legs.”

Geneva automatically tugged at her skirt to make sure she wasn’t showing him more than just lack of coordination with the window.

Her ex-husband, Les, would have a field day with her predicament if he were here. Fortunately, he and his relentless put-downs were long gone now. She only hoped her landlord had more restraint.

Geneva grew warm when she remembered the first time she’d seen Wade. With looks like his, it was easy to understand why women practically stood in line to go out with him, and she had responded to his blatantly masculine charm by blushing and succumbing to a fit of shyness. Once again he was making her feel inexperienced and naive…which, come to think of it, she was.

Strong male hands gripped the small of her back, and Geneva stiffened at their touch.

“Bear with me a moment,” he said, his arm nudging her bottom as he braced his elbows on either side of her hips in an attempt to push the window up.

Although he’d started out teasing her, his actions were now matter-of-fact. Even so, she felt embarrassed at being caught with her rump up and her guard down. Geneva’s abdomen chaffed against the frame, but there was little she could do with the window pressed firmly against her back. The thin scarlet T-shirt had worked its way loose from the waistband of her denim skirt and did little to cushion her from the wood biting into her body.

A moment later the window shuddered upward and Geneva was freed from its grasp. Backing gingerly out of its clutches, she gathered her son close, then smoothed the tangle of brown curls that fell over her shoulders.

Momentarily forgetting to thank her rescuer, she lifted the hem of her top and inspected the damage. There was no blood from the scrape on her side, but a broad patch the size of her palm flamed a bright pink, and tiny ridges indicated where the skin had barely been broken.

Wade leaned close and made an appropriate noise of sympathy that somehow made her feel better.

“That’s gotta hurt like he—” He interrupted himself, his gaze darting to Jacob. “—a lot.”

Suddenly remembering she was exposing her midriff to a man who was not a doctor, Geneva jerked the fabric down without bothering to tuck it back into her skirt. She set about fussing with her clothes in an attempt to cover her awkwardness.

“You look great,” he said in an obvious attempt to reassure her but, coming from him, the words served as a reminder to beware the reputed philanderer on her doorstep. He took her shoe from his hip pocket. “You dropped this, Cinderella.”

Geneva reached to take it from him, but he had already knelt before her and cupped the heel of her bare foot in his hand.

“I feel like a regular Prince Charming,” he announced as he slid the canvas shoe onto her foot.

Self-consciously, Geneva moved backward. The deck railing prevented further retreat.

“What? I don’t bite.”

She looked down at her feet and wondered why the heel he had cupped in his hand still burned from his touch. “That’s not what the neighbors say.”

She hadn’t actually meant to say the words out loud, and she was all set to apologize, when he threw his head back and laughed. The deep sound of it wrapped around her, making her glad to have caused such a reaction, even if it had been accidental.

“Ah, so my reputation precedes me.”

He didn’t seem upset at having been the topic of discussion. Instead, he seemed amused by it. Perhaps he was used to such an occurrence.

“Let me put your fears to rest,” he said, his gaze capturing hers with such an intensity that she couldn’t have looked away if she had wanted to. “You’re not my type.”

With an involuntary squaring of her shoulders, she found herself annoyed rather than relieved by his declaration. There was nothing wrong with her. She was reasonably attractive, in pretty good shape, intelligent and, as a bonus, she was quite handy with most things domestic. And although her ex-husband had tried to make her believe otherwise, she was very easy to get along with.

At her skeptical “hmmph!” Wade raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to elaborate on that?”

“Not really.” She lifted her chin, determined to set some ground rules. “Your personal life is none of my business, and I don’t care what type of woman you prefer as long as you’re discreet about it.” She ruffled her son’s hair. “It wouldn’t do to have a certain someone asking questions about the birds and bees because of our neighbor’s activities.”

Besides, she’d already shared a roof with one skirt chaser. She had no desire to repeat the experience.

“You think you have me pegged.”

She took Jacob’s hand and started toward the house, but he intercepted her. Her gaze fell squarely on the broad wall of his chest, which blocked her view but presented her with an even better one.

“So tell me what you believe my type is,” he persisted.

Geneva crossed her arms in front of her and immediately regretted the action when it caused the shirt to rub her sore spot. “I’ve heard what people say about you, and in this case I believe they’re right.”

The left corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “You listen to rumors?”

She looked down, pausing a moment to send Jacob to ride on his tricycle. When he was engaged in his play, she admitted to Wade, “Sometimes. When it might affect my son.”

Such as when she’d heard whisperings that Les was seeing another woman during his supposed business trips. She hadn’t stuck her head in the sand then, and she wasn’t about to start with Wade Matteo.

He nodded, almost as if he approved her decision. “And rumor says…”

He was not going to let up until she told him, so she may as well deliver it with both barrels. “You have two criteria.” She held up one finger. “Female…” Then a second. “…and breathing.”

Taking her hand in his, he unfolded her third finger. “Don’t forget ‘beautiful.”’

Then, failing to release her hand, he gripped her with a gaze so intense that Geneva became lost in the forest-green depths of his eyes. Right now she felt less like Cinderella, whom he’d mentioned earlier, and more like Little Red Riding Hood. What big, dark eyes he had.

He cleared his throat and cast her a wolfish grin. “Guess that makes you my type after all.”

Geneva blinked. This was getting out of hand. Pulling away from his touch, she sought to escape into the relative safety of her new home.

“Thank you for helping me out of my predicament.” She withdrew her fingers from his grasp as casually as if they’d been shaking hands and sidestepped him to go back to the window. Flashing him a grateful smile, she added, “Next time I’ll find a stick to prop the window open while I’m climbing through.”

Wade moved toward her. His expression was no longer hungry, but filled with concern. “Next time you lock yourself out, just ask me for the spare key. There’s no need to risk getting hurt.”

“Oh, I didn’t lock myself out.” She wondered if, like her ex-husband, Wade would laugh at her sentimentality. Letting go of the window, she knew she couldn’t go through life reacting to her ex and his hang-ups. Just because Les didn’t share her love for babies didn’t mean all men were like that. And just because this particular man—crisp slacks, muscle-hugging shirt and raw masculinity—seemed less like a family man than any she’d ever met before, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t understand her softhearted reason for finding an alternate entry into the house, no matter how inconvenient it might be.

Nodding toward the decorative summer wreath on her one and only outside door, she gave him the short version. “A couple of squatters have moved in without paying rent.”

With a frown of dawning comprehension, Wade crossed to the mat in front of the door.

Standing on the ornate braided script that spelled out Welcome, he considered the irony. For him, her body language had spelled out Go Away. Not that he could blame her. Although he’d joked about her not being his type, it was clear they both saw danger signals in the other.

Lifting his gaze to the grapevine wreath she’d placed there a couple of days after signing the lease, Wade felt her presence as she came up behind him. He inhaled her scent and tried to place the wholesome aroma that tugged at his memory. As ridiculous as it seemed, he could have sworn she smelled like fresh-baked cookies. Or maybe cinnamon strudel.

Letting out a large breath, Wade reminded himself to stay focused on the matter at hand. He needed to get her inside—and quickly—so he could put a safe distance between them.

“See?” She brushed his arm as she pointed to the bottom curve of the wreath. “It’s inside that clump of brown grass.”

He had to look close to see the grass that had been added after she’d hung it. It was hidden behind an ornamental bird covered in blue-dyed feathers, and the dried strands camouflaged well within the door decoration.

Leaning in, he got a glimpse of a black-crowned head and an unblinking eye fixed on him. Their gazes held for a split second before the panicked bird darted from the creative nest, its flapping gray wings whirring so close that the breeze hit Wade’s face.

Dodging to avoid a collision, he bumped into Geneva, who had been hovering near his elbow.

“I told you,” she said as if he’d doubted her word. “Now look inside the nest.”

Wade hesitated, wondering what further surprises lurked within the otherwise ordinary-looking wreath. Curiosity soon got the best of him, and he chanced another approach to peer inside.

This time he was rewarded with a glimpse of a small speckled white egg tucked away in the down-lined nest.

Geneva leaned toward him, her head almost touching his as they examined the fragile contents. Wade inhaled again. The scent of her, a light vanilla fragrance mixed with something else, made him hungry. And not for food.

“I noticed it this morning. After last night’s rain, the door was sticking as I tried to close it. So I gave it a firm tug and a bird flew out, like it did just now.” Reaching forward, she secured a stray bit of grass behind the fake bird that served double duty as sentinel and nest anchor. “It’s a wonder the egg didn’t fall out.”

And a good thing, too, or his maudlin new tenant would have been wracked with remorse and self-blame. “A bird that looks like yours makes its nest in the eaves of the clubhouse porch every year. Our golf pro says it’s a tufted titmouse. There will be four or five eggs in there by the end of the week. You’re going to have company for another month or so until the babies fly away.”

Geneva’s reaction to that bit of news was to grab a loose tendril of hair that had escaped from the clip at the nape of her neck and twist it around her finger. No fancy manicure for her. Her fingernails had been filed to a serviceable length and covered with a clear gloss. Feminine yet unpretentious, just like Geneva.

Wade thought of the woman he’d been with last night. Her nails had been overlaid with acrylic tips of unrealistic proportions, painted a bright magenta, and each imbedded with a tiny diamond-like chip. He doubted they would survive normal day-to-day working conditions, not that they had to. The important thing was that they hadn’t hampered her ability to fulfill his need.

By now, Jacob had bored of circling his tricycle around the dogwood tree beside the deck. The little boy whose cinnamon-brown eyes and light olive skin matched his mother’s, clutched the front of his pale green shorts. Toddling to Geneva, he tugged her skirt and gave her a pleaded Mommy!”

She stooped and picked him up. “Oh, I’m sorry, honey. I forgot all about your problem.” Her eyes met Wade’s, making it clear he was the reason for her distraction. The gesture reminded him that it would be better for both of them to handle this situation with expediency.

She was heading back to the window, the boy in her arms. Although Kinnon Falls was a small town populated by law-abiding folks whose main concern was raising their families in a slow-paced, peaceful environment, he didn’t like the idea of his new tenant entering and leaving through an unlocked window. A nestful of birds wasn’t worth the risk.

“No, wait,” he said, stopping her with a hand to her arm.

Her skin, smooth and warm, enticed him to explore further. To move in a gentle caress up over her shoulder and trail across her collarbone to the beckoning hollow at the base of her throat. Her eyes shuttered as if his touch had sent her to a similar place of longing. He knew the look, knew that she was a woman who was passionate about life and who could be equally passionate in bed. But she was also passionate about a lifestyle he wanted to avoid.

He withdrew his hand from her arm. “You can go in through the connecting door inside my house.”

The delicate wings of her eyebrows drew together, causing a narrow crease above her small nose. He knew without asking that she was considering his reputation.

“Just for now,” he assured her. “Until we can figure out another solution.” He would have offered her a key to his house but, considering her wariness toward him, he thought it best to wait on that.