A Man to Believe In

  A Man to Believe In is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  2013 Loveswept eBook Edition

  Copyright © 1992 by Deborah Harmse.

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States of America by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Random House LLC.

  eBook ISBN 978-0-307-79907-4

  Originally published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Random House LLC, in 1992.

  www.readloveswept.com

  v3.1

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Dedication

  Editor’s Corner

  One

  “He could have at least worn a shirt!”

  Cori McLaughlin smiled at her best friend’s comment. Hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember the last time Marsha Simpson passed up an opportunity to point out a good-looking man. This time she need not have bothered. Cori had noticed the bare-chested pirate the moment he’d arrived at the Halloween party. But admit that to the colorful jack-o’-lantern standing next to her? Never. In Matchmaker Marsha’s possession, such benign information became downright lethal.

  Cori took a sip of her wine punch and watched as the man in question popped a shrimp puff into his mouth. She wondered if he’d chosen his costume to attract attention or to show off his powerful frame. Either way, he couldn’t have made a better choice. For several minutes now she’d been trying—unsuccessfully—not to stare at him.

  Well over six feet, the pirate towered over most of the other guests. His shoulders were broad, his chest enormous and covered with fine dark hair. He was just plain big, she decided. And given that every inch of skin showing was deeply tanned, she guessed that he spent a lot of time outdoors.

  A nasty-looking sword hung from a scabbard on the thick belt at his waist, and he wore a pair of skin-tight brown pants that looked exactly like the ones referred to in romance novels as ‘breeches.’ Well-muscled legs, trim waist, flat stomach—he was either a dedicated athlete or an exercise fanatic. Probably both, she decided.

  “I’ll say this for the man,” she commented as she tucked a stray hair under the ruffled cap covering most of her strawberry-blond hair. “He knows how to put on a good show.”

  “No kidding. It’s like having our very own Conan the Barbarian, right here in Glendale.” Marsha took a gulp of club soda. “What a hunk. I wonder who he is.”

  “You didn’t invite him?”

  “Unh-unh. That was my husband’s doing. Kevin told me he ran into an old school buddy a few days ago and asked him to come tonight.” Marsha plucked a pretzel from the bowl beside her, then frantically waved it in the direction of the buffet table. “Look, Andrea just spotted him. You’d better get over there fast.”

  “And barge in on Andrea when she’s having a polite conversation with a nice-looking man? I couldn’t do that.”

  Marsha raised one eyebrow. “Andrea’s never had a polite conversation with anyone in her life. And the man isn’t nice-looking”—she held up the pretzel as if to emphasize her point—“he’s fabulous.”

  Cori scooped a handful of peanuts and dropped them into her mouth one at a time, deciding it would be silly to try to argue that point. The pirate was easily the best-looking man at the party. And he did look fabulous in that outfit. What there was of it.

  “He’s a hunk, all right,” Cori admitted. “But looks aren’t everything.”

  “Alan Phillips is ancient history,” Marsha pronounced with a shake of her dark curls.

  Ancient history? Cori thought. Maybe so. But she’d been devastated for months after Alan had walked out on her, and she never wanted to feel that way again.

  Marsha continued. “And who’s to say that guy”—she pointed at the pirate—“is like Alan? He could be really nice, but you’ll never know unless you give him a chance. Right?”

  Cori nailed her friend with a suspicious look. “If this is another one of your attempts at matchmaking—”

  “Hey, I don’t even know the man.”

  The innocent expression on Marsha’s face didn’t fool Cori. Marsha subscribed to the old-fashioned notion that if a woman fell in love and got married, all her problems would be solved. Cori couldn’t agree. That same philosophy had backfired on her mother so many times, she needed both hands to count the number of stepfathers she’d had.

  She tossed her empty glass into a trash bucket, then headed for the kitchen. “You want me to make another batch of wine punch?”

  Marsha threw up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. I get the message. End of discussion. While you’re doing that, I’ll get things organized for charades.”

  Once she’d refilled the punch bowl, Cori rejoined the other guests. She hadn’t been to a masquerade party in years, and she’d forgotten how much fun they could be. The variety of costumes amazed her.

  While she hadn’t spent as much time making her costume as the Christmas tree or Big Ben, she’d enjoyed putting her outfit together. And dressing as a tavern maid had been a practical decision, since it made it easier to help Marsha with the food and drinks.

  She wore the ruffled sleeves of her blouse off her shoulders, and the rounded neckline dipped low enough in the front to reveal a tiny bit of cleavage. Not used to putting on so much eye makeup, Cori had taken several minutes to outline her blue-green eyes with black liner and brush dark mascara on her long lashes. She’d added a few freckles across the bridge of her nose, and bright red rouge to her cheeks. At the last minute she’d decided to wear a tight black miniskirt. So what if she wasn’t remaining true to her seventeenth-century costume? Her legs were her best feature. Why not show them off every now and then?

  “Hey, everyone, listen up. It’s time for charades.”

  Marsha’s voice interrupted Cori’s thoughts, and she looked up to see her friend waving her orange arms wide. Her bulky costume cleverly hid the fact that she was eight months pregnant.

  “Gentlemen, come up here to find out who your partner will be. Ladies, stay where you are. Your partner will find you.”

  Cori watched as the others paired up. Marsha’s wicked sense of humor was in rare form, she noticed with a grin. She looked forward to watching an evangelist and Lolita do their charade.

  Suddenly, a pair of strong arms circled her waist and pulled her back against a hard body. She turned her head and looked up to find the pirate towering over her, his lips a fraction away from hers.

  “I guess we’re a team tonight, wench.” His voice was deep, and a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “The name’s Jean Laffite. And who might you be?”

  Cori yanked his hands apart and managed to slip out of his embrace. “Typhoid Mary, and unless you want me to change you into Captain Hook, keep your hands to yourself.”

  The man clicked the heels of his shiny black boots together, clasped his hands behind him, and straightened his shoulders. “Yes, ma’am.” With one smooth step he moved to stand beside her. “Have you played this game before?”

  “Sure, lots of times.”

  “Good, because I play to win.” His mouth slowly curved into a smile. “And it helps to have an experienced partner,
” he added, his warm breath feathering over her cheek like a lover’s caress.

  While the pirate listened to Marsha’s instructions, Cori took a closer look at him. He had a straight nose and firm, sensual lips. His dark hair was almost black, and slightly mussed—from a light breeze or a woman’s fingers? she wondered. Long in the back, it would have curled over his collar if he’d worn a shirt. But he didn’t, and she couldn’t help staring at his muscular chest. With curious reluctance she admitted he was just as impressive up close as he had been from a distance.

  “How do I look?”

  Cori jerked her head up. Great, now he’d caught her staring at him like a lovesick teenager.

  “You look fine,” she replied casually, determined to bluff her way out of it. “I was just noticing your … earring. Such an authentic touch.” She arched her eyebrows and stared up at the gold loop, secretly admiring his nerve for wearing it. Even considering the unisex trend in fashions, she still thought of earrings as a feminine accessory. But then, it didn’t look the least bit feminine on this man.

  And there was certainly nothing feminine about the way his gaze traveled to her cleavage.

  Cori shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, then back again, purposely inching away from the pirate. His eyes lingered over her peasant blouse so long, she had to wonder if it was more revealing than she’d thought. It hadn’t seemed all that daring when she’d put it on. And it wouldn’t seem like it now if she had a shorter partner. Or one who didn’t stare so intently. She glanced up at him, annoyed with herself for letting him shake her confidence so easily.

  Tilting her head down, she peered up at him out of the corner of her eye. “How do I look?” she said, hoping her demure pose would make him feel uncomfortable as well. She saw no reason why he should get away with inspecting her so openly either.

  His expression immediately turned mischievous. He folded his arms across his bare chest, then held his chin up with one hand as if he were considering his answer carefully.

  “You’re a tempting sight for a sailor who’s been too long at sea.” He let loose with a distinctly piratelike chuckle. “You look absolutely delicious.”

  “Oh, brother,” Cori muttered, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “Are you sure you’re wearing a disguise?”

  This time he tipped his head back and roared with laughter.

  So much for putting him in his place, she thought. She should have known better than to take on a pirate. They’ll say anything. They have no scruples.

  “We’re up,” he said, closing his large hand over her smaller one and pulling her forward. She’d been so busy criticizing his behavior, she hadn’t heard Marsha call them to do the first charade.

  Reaching into the glass bowl Marsha held up, Cori drew out a card. She read the words silently, rolled her eyes, and handed the card to her partner without looking at him. She took a deep breath and, shaking her head, contemplated the best way to convey the movie title Lovers and Other Strangers.

  She hadn’t been lying when she’d told the man she’d played the game many times. And since he played to win, he’d probably like to know that she was usually willing to do almost anything to act out a charade quickly and successfully. Out of the corner of her eye she sneaked a peek at her partner. A nagging voice in the back of her mind warned her to be careful. This time she was paired with a pirate. Could be dangerous.

  Cori decided to ignore the voice. What could go wrong with so many people watching? Then, before she knew it, her partner gave a signal to the other guests and the game began.

  Damn him! How would they ever win if he didn’t give them a chance to plan their strategy? Gritting her teeth to keep from saying something out loud and disqualifying them, she decided the man wasn’t just competitive, he was bossy. Just what she needed—another man with an overabundant supply of take-charge genes.

  He reached for her hand and slowly pulled her closer. He slipped his other hand around her waist and drew her to him. Though she was taller than the average woman, she still came up only to his chin and felt tiny in his arms.

  She tipped her head back and drew a quick breath as she gazed up at him. The black patch over one eye made him look every inch the pirate he pretended to be. For a moment she imagined what it would have been like to meet this man centuries before. She’d read enough to know that pirates raided without conscience, that tavern maids provided more tempting fare than tankards of ale and trenchers of watery stew.

  A tremor of excitement snaked down her spine. A second later another thought struggled its way to the surface of her mind: This wasn’t the 1700s … and they weren’t in a tavern. They were at a party, playing a game of charades, and if he was trying to make them look like lovers—and she was pretty sure that was what he had in mind—she couldn’t stand there like a mannequin and let him make all the moves. He’d take all the credit if they won.

  She placed her free hand on his bare arm and began with a slow caress, like the kind a lover would give, hoping he’d take a hint and realize they were supposed to be a team.

  His skin was warm, almost hot, and covered with a dusting of soft dark hair. With some satisfaction she noted the way his solid muscles tensed beneath her fingers, as if he hadn’t expected such a bold maneuver. He probably didn’t think she’d catch on to his plan so quickly.

  “Dancing! They’re dancing.” Georgia the clown, her red rubber nose obscuring much of her face, batted her thick false eyelashes and pointed at the couple. “They’re Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. Is the movie Top Hat? Oh …” She sighed wistfully as she slumped back into her chair. “I loved that one.”

  In response to Georgia’s guess, the pirate shook his head and pulled Cori closer.

  “How about Debbie Reynolds and Gene Kelly, Singin’ in the Rain?” said a can of Pepsi to a can of Pepsi lite.

  “Yeah, or maybe Sandy Duncan and Tommy Tune in My One and Only,” the Pepsi lite suggested.

  Harry Tipton, dressed as a hobo in baggy trousers and an ill-fitting jacket, shook his head vehemently, nearly causing his crinkled bowler to topple from its perch. “Nope, that’s not a movie. It’s a Broadway play.”

  This time Cori’s partner ignored the guesses. He released the hand he’d held trapped between their bodies and lightly caressed her back through her blouse. Her skin tingled as he slid his hand from shoulder to shoulder, down to her waist. And alarmingly lower.

  “Just follow my lead,” he whispered so that only she heard.

  “That’s what General Custer said before leading his men to slaughter,” she mumbled, trying unsuccessfully to catch his hands before they wandered farther.

  His quiet chuckle told her he’d heard her remark, but it was clear he had no intention of backing off. Her first impulse was to slap his hands and tell him to keep his paws to himself. But when she saw the smug look on his face, she rejected that idea. He probably thought she didn’t have the nerve to pretend they were lovers.

  Cori hesitated less than a fraction of a second—nothing would please her more than to wipe that silly grin off his face. Besides, he wasn’t the only one who played to win.

  She let her fingertips begin a deliberately slow exploration up his naked chest. She skimmed his shoulders, his neck, his face and ears before her hands finally tunneled through his thick dark hair. The gentle waves curled around her fingers as she softly massaged his scalp.

  Reality faded. Suddenly, she was no longer Cori McLaughlin, librarian. She was a saucy tavern wench eager to earn a gold coin by pleasuring this seafaring stranger. Instinctively, she pressed her body closer to his and felt warmed by the heat of his bare skin as it sizzled through her gauzy blouse.

  Jake Tanner shivered, but not from the cool breeze blowing in through the patio door. He was on fire, aching for more than just feather-light caresses, losing control faster by the second. It suddenly occurred to him that he’d badly neglected his social life for too long. Slipping his hands around the tavern maid’s neck, he wondered if he
dared kiss her with all these people watching.

  She smelled like flowers, he thought as he inhaled her sweet fragrance. Wildflowers. Like the ones his grandmother used to pick from the fields behind their cottage at the lake. He mused that if she’d actually lived two hundred years ago, many a man would have gladly risked the hangman’s noose to sample her sweetness just once. He smiled. He would have been one of them. He’d always appreciated a woman who had a good mind as well as a good body. The lady’s cleverness had been obvious during their conversation earlier, and he’d already had a pleasant view of her nice feminine curves. Her short skirt revealed long, shapely legs a Las Vegas dancer would envy. What would it feel like to have those slender legs wrapped around him? he wondered, then mentally shook his head at the direction he’d allowed his thoughts to take. He’d met this woman only a few minutes before.

  But when she tipped her head back to gaze up at him like a seductive tigress, his control slipped another precious notch. Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? He tried to search her face for an answer, but she jerked her head down. Still, he’d caught the triumphant gleam in her aquamarine eyes.

  So, she did know. And hell, if she wasn’t doing it on purpose! Only a blind man would have missed the silent challenge she’d issued.

  Well, his vision had always been excellent.

  And he had never been able to resist a challenge.

  He mimicked her actions, knocking her cap to the floor as he swept his hands through her hair, kneading her scalp as expertly as she had his. There’s a million dollars’ worth of silk here, he thought. Soft, luxurious silk.

  He wound a thick reddish-gold strand around his hand and pulled slowly, forcing her eyes back to his. He’d started this game, but it was obvious she wanted to call the shots. He was more than willing to go along with her, but he wanted her to see what she was doing to him. He wanted her to know, without a doubt, that they shared the responsibility for whatever happened next.