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The Perfect Man. Carla Fredd
Читать онлайн.Название The Perfect Man
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781472020406
Автор произведения Carla Fredd
Серия Mills & Boon Kimani
Издательство HarperCollins
Renee was taking a risk.
A very big risk.
But it would be worth it, she thought. It had to be.
Meeting Chris Foster again was harder than she thought it would be. He looked nothing like her late husband, Marc, for which she was grateful. She didn’t know if she could go through with her plan if he’d even remotely resembled his brother.
She could do this, she thought. She would do this. She lifted her head and met his steady gaze. His eyes were the color of pale amber, framed by long black lashes. They reminded her of a panther she’d seen on a television documentary. The cat had been a dangerous and deadly predator. She hoped Chris Foster didn’t share those traits.
“I will agree to the terms of your latest offer. If…” She paused and swallowed. Her mouth felt dry. “If,” she continued, “you will find something Marc took from my family.” Please, God, she prayed. Please let him accept my offer….
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CARLA FREDD
Birmingham, Alabama, native Carla Fredd began her writing career in 1992. After several failed attempts to complete her first book, Ms. Fredd used her skills as an electrical engineer to solve the problem—she got help. She took several creative writing classes, joined Georgia Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America. Her first book, Fire and Ice, was released in October 1995 and appeared on the Brentano’s Top 20 Bestselling Mass Market list. Her other works include “Matchmaker” one of three stories in Arabesque’s A Valentine Kiss anthology, and If Only You Knew.
Ms. Fredd resides in Georgia and is currently working on her next project.
The Perfect Man
Carla Fredd
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
Chapter 1
May
Fear clamped around her throat, leaving a cold, metallic taste in her mouth. Renee Mitchell Foster dropped the pen and stared at the initials on the check-in form for her great-aunt’s safe-deposit box. All but the last set of initials were hers. The last entry was made at the end of March and the initials belonged to her husband, Marc, who’d died last month.
Marc had no legitimate reason to have access to Aunt Gert’s safe-deposit box.
The cool air from the air-conditioning vents and her crisp linen pantsuit couldn’t touch the hot wave of fear that had her trembling in the vault of the National Bank of Alabama.
She tried to take a deep, calming breath like she’d learned from years of yoga class. A technique she’d used many times in the past.
Marc couldn’t have gotten access to the box, she thought, trying to alleviate her fears with cold, hard reason when deep-breathing exercises didn’t work.
Her hands shook as she set the card on a table. Slowly she reached inside her purse and took out her Palm. With a few taps of her stylus, she opened the file that listed all the items inside the safe-deposit box and set the organizer on the table.
She lifted the hinged top and looked inside. The thin, black velvet jewelry case, which usually sat on top of all the saving bonds, insurance papers and the deed to her great-aunt’s house, was gone. She could feel the blood drain from her face.
“Oh, God, Marc. How could you take it?”
Renee closed her eyes and leaned her shoulder against the wall of locked boxes to keep from falling. She pressed her cheek against the cold metal. The diamond necklace that her great-aunt treasured and loved was gone. The necklace that she’d placed around Renee’s neck when she was six and made her feel wanted when her parents had left her in boarding school. The necklace was more than a piece of jewelry. It was the one thing her great-aunt had left from the man she’d loved. She’d never let anyone wear it except Renee. Now, it was gone.
She pushed against the wall and stood up straight. Maybe I just overlooked it. Even as the thought materialized, she didn’t believe it in her heart.
She took out every item inside the box, hoping the jewelry case was there under the papers. When she’d pulled out the last item, she realized that her husband had betrayed her yet again. Everything was accounted for except the diamond necklace. Renee added the savings bond, which Aunt Gert received yesterday, to the large stack of bonds inside an envelope marked Savings Bonds. She put everything back inside and checked the table to be sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.
Reluctantly she closed the box and lifted it to put it in its proper place. The one-carat diamond solitaire and matching wedding band flashed under the fluorescent lighting. She would have traded the ring and everything she owned for the missing necklace. She looked at the wedding band then took the box back down and opened it.
Renee slowly slid the solitaire and wedding band off her finger. Her marriage had been a sham and she should have stopped wearing the rings weeks ago. As she put the rings in the box, she wondered what it was about her that made the people she cared for abandon her.
She hadn’t married Marc for love. Theirs had been a marriage of mutual interest. Marc had agreed with her belief that love develops and grows during marriage and she’d been in love with the idea of loving him. Now, she knew that was lie. He’d lied about everything. She closed the box and placed it in the empty opening in the wall.
A few minutes later, she braved the heat and walked to her car. Through the windshield, she watched the heavy, gray clouds billow and roll in the hot Birmingham sky. The dark, rolling clouds matched her mood as hurt and fear circled and expanded inside her.
“Damn him. Damn him,” she said. Her voice was husky as she put the key into the ignition. The V-8 engine roared to life and she pressed the buttons on her door and lowered her windows letting the hot air escape.
Why had Marc taken the necklace? she wondered.
Marrying Marc Foster had been a mistake. She didn’t mind taking responsibility for her mistakes. Hadn’t she taken it like a big girl when she learned her husband of less than a year had not one but two other wives, Danielle Timmons Foster and Alexandria Lord-Wright Foster? Hadn’t she swallowed her pride and