A Baby to Make Her His Bride
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Dani Collins
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CHAPTER ONE
VIENNA WAVERLY PARKED outside the house she owned but had never seen.
Her brother, Hunter, had bought it a month ago, in the most bizarre way.
“Can I use your numbered shell to buy a house without telling you why?” he had asked. “It’s nothing criminal, I swear.”
“I didn’t think it would be, but I thought you were dissolving those.” They each had a shell company that Hunter had set up to protect their assets while they’d been in litigation with their stepmother.
“I will, but this came up,” he had said.
“What did?” Vienna liked to think she and her brother were close, but it was more accurate to say they were close—adjacent. Kitty-corner. They always had the other’s back, but they also kept things from each other, usually in an effort to protect. She loved Hunter to bits and would do anything for him, but this had been a very odd favor.
“It’s fifty years old,” he had continued in his brisk, close-the-deal manner. “Off-grid, upgraded with solar and water filtration. Great location. The current owners run it as a vacation rental, so it’s furnished and in good repair. I’ll take it offline, though. There won’t be any maintenance or management to worry about. I’ll cover all the fees and taxes and explain why I want it in a few months. Then you can do whatever you want with it. Until then, you can’t mention this to anyone, not even Neal.”
She had barely been talking to her soon-to-be ex-husband, so that had been an easy promise to make.
“Does Amelia know about it?”
“I’ll tell her.” Hunter had left a distinct pause. “When the time is right.”
He had only been married five or six weeks at that point, to a woman who had kept secrets of her own—including the fact that she’d had Hunter’s baby. There’d been a massive scandal over the revelation, including his last-minute cancellation of his wedding to one of Vienna’s best friends.
Since then, Hunter and Amelia had seemed to be falling for each other. If he was hiding something this big from his new bride, however, that was a huge red flag.
“I need your answer now, Vi,” he’d prodded.
“That’s really all you’re going to tell me?”
“Yes.”
Since there were also things she wasn’t ready to tell him, she had felt obliged to trust him even though he was leaving her in the dark. “All right. Yes. Go ahead.”
“Thank you.” He’d sounded relieved. “I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t important.”
“I know.”
She would not have leaned on Hunter’s executive assistant to get here without any trace appearing in her own accounts if it hadn’t been important, either. She would eventually reimburse all the expenses for her two chartered flights, her company credit card and her temporary phone on the Wave-Com account, but dropping off-grid was exactly what she needed right now.
When she had landed in Nanaimo, on British Columbia’s Vancouver Island, a company-leased SUV had awaited her with a full tank of gas and all the groceries she would need. She hadn’t told Hunter’s PA where she was going, but had asked him to forward her new number to Hunter so he would have it when he needed it.
When the proverbial poop hit the propeller, was what she had meant.
That would happen shortly after Neal was served his divorce papers. Vienna’s PR team was cued up with instructions to go on the offensive at that point, with statements that the divorce was a fait accompli.
Never in her life had she been such a sneaky, cutthroat person, but her requests for a quiet, uncontested divorce had been met with faux hurt, promises they could continue trying for a baby, and subtle threats about going to the press with a tell-all about the Waverlys.
That had been last year, when Hunter had been steeped in that ugly court case with Irina, their stepmother. Vienna hadn’t wanted to add to his stress with her own drama, so she had simply asked Neal for space. She began spending all her time at their apartment in Toronto while he remained in Calgary, where he was Wave-Com’s VP of Sales. She had quietly changed her driver’s license, redirected her mail and opened a separate bank account. As long as she maintained the illusion that they were happily married, making herself available for Neal’s work engagements and inviting him to a handful of her family appearances, Neal hadn’t cared.
She told people they were separated, though. Not a lot of people, but solid character witnesses for when the time came.
Nevertheless, she knew Neal would play the victim and say this had come out of the blue. He would claim he wanted to reconcile. There was too much money at stake for him to go quietly. Too much cachet in being Hunter Waverly’s brother-in-law.
This story would be yet another gold mine for the clickbait sites, but scandal was unavoidable. That was what Vienna had come to accept. The best she could do was exactly what she’d done. She had waited until Hunter had left with Amelia on a belated honeymoon so the blast radius wouldn’t scorch them too badly.
Now she was taking cover herself to ride out the fallout. The address on the conveyancing documents had brought her to Tofino, one of the soggiest places in Canada, located where the western edge of the country dropped into the brine of the Pacific Ocean.
Neal didn’t know this house existed. Only her lawyer knew where she had gone.
Soon, she promised herself. Soon she would be divested of the worst mistake of her life. She would be free to do what she wanted.
With a sigh of relief, she stepped from the SUV. After the long drive across the island, her body thanked her for the stretch. Her nostrils drank in the cool fragrance of cedar and pine and fir. The chatter of squirrels hidden in their boughs was cheerfully deafening, drowning out the rush of the ocean against a shoreline she couldn’t see.
She left everything in the vehicle, wanting to see inside first. It was supposed to have solar power and a well so she assumed she would have functioning electricity and plumbing, but she had a propane camp stove and a large jerry can of water just in case.
The tall, skinny house had probably been avant-garde in its time, built over the edge of an embankment like this. A narrow wooden walkway, reminiscent of a drawbridge, took her from the graveled driveway to a pair of entry doors flanked by stained glass windows.
She would bet anything that sunshine had not broken through these panels in at least a decade. Nature had closed in around the structure, giving it a distinct “forgotten castle swallowed by brambles” vibe, complete with a moat of empty air between the wraparound veranda and the tree trunks that stood sentry a few feet away.
Maybe a tree house was a better comparison. Either way, she was in love. The siding might be weathered gray, and she imagined the roof was more moss than shingles, but she understood what it was like to be neglected for years, yet still hold potential. This was the perfect place for a dejected princess to shake off the spell she’d been under and awaken into her new life.
The paperwork promised that the keypad on the door had been returned to its factory setting, which was four zeroes, but when she punched that in, it didn’t work.
Annoyed, she walked around to where another small bridge connected a side door to the garage. Both of those doors were locked, so she continued to the back.
Here the deck opened into a massive outdoor lounge and dining area with a barbecue built for crowds. The expansive view of the ocean over the treetops stopped her in her tracks.
Wow. Thank you, Hunter.
She took a few deep breaths, grounding herself in the moment so she would remember it, then turned to the two sets of sliding doors interspersed with three wide picture windows.
Clean windows, she noted with a shiver of premonition. It struck her that the deck was swept clean of needles, the furniture was all right side up with the blue-and-yellow-striped cushions in place. The barbecue was uncovered.
Wait a minute. Was that door open? The screen was closed, but the glass behind it was wide open.
Her heart tripped as she scraped the screen out of her way and saw that yes, she was able to walk right in.
She expected—hoped?—to see water damage on the floor. That would mean that the previous owners or a property agent had irresponsibly forgotten to lock up properly, but no, it was clean as a whistle in here. Everything was in good order.
With her heart battering her rib cage, she took in that there had been updates carried out over the years. The floors were not the dreaded shag carpet or yellowed linoleum. There was a bright blue-and-black mat that she stepped on as she called out, “Hello?”
She was every idiotic woman who had gone down to the basement in a horror movie, but a more rational side of her mind was telling her some vacation renters had been given faulty information.
Was she even in the right house?
“Hello? Is anyone here?”
The floor plan was an open concept arranged around a massive river stone chimney. On her right, the kitchen had been given a complete makeover with Shaker-style white cupboards and granite countertops. The oval dining table was antique oak, the sitting room furnishings out of fashion but in good repair.
Her gaze lurched back to the wooden bowl on the table. That fruit was real! Two green bananas, an orange and a bright red apple with a sticker on it.
Through the open tread stairs that rose from the back of the sitting room, she could see a desk in the window near the front door. There was a laptop on it, closed, but plugged in with a coffee mug beside it.
Someone was definitely here!
In fact, steps inside the pantry began to creak under the weight of someone climbing them.
Snakes began to writhe in her middle as her morbid gaze stared into the open door of the pantry. This was her house, but she wasn’t an idiot. She turned to leave the way she’d come in.
“Who are you?” The rumble of a deep, unfriendly voice behind her lifted the hairs on the back of her neck.
She turned back and found not a scruffy squatter, but a fit, well-kept thirtysomething in a gray T-shirt and gym shorts, one who radiated the dangerous energy of a gathering storm.
Her senses were accosted by lake-blue eyes that pierced so far into her soul she shivered. His jaw was clean-shaven and looked hard as iron. The glower he wore was even harder. His legs were planted like hundred-year-old oak trees.
He looked her up and down as though she were a squirrel he’d have to shoo out with a broom. His thick brows went up, demanding she answer.
Habits of a lifetime had her wanting to make an apology and slink away. I’m nobody. Confrontation had never worked out for her, but she had to start standing up for herself. She wasn’t actually in the wrong here, even though he was making her feel that way.
“Who are you?” She kept her tone polite, but chilly. “This is my house.”
“No, it’s not.” His confidence was so absolute, it caused uncertainty to roll in her abdomen, instantly putting her on the defensive.
“I can show you the proof on my phone—” She looked to her hands and found only a key fob. She’d left her phone in the car, but, “This is 1183 Bayview Drive. That was the number on the post at the end of the drive.” She pointed in that direction.
His thick brows crashed together.
Ha. She was relieved to have scored a point for once in her life. See? She was not always wrong.
“Kindly explain why you’re in my house,” she repeated.
His eyes narrowed further. “Vienna?”
Her heart lurched. She’d come here hoping not to be recognized.
Jasper Lindor was about to start his daily workout in the basement when he heard someone try the keypad on the front door. He had changed the code when he arrived here, but a contract killer wasn’t likely to try a legal entry anyway. Nor was law enforcement.
He listened to a single pair of light footsteps follow the wraparound deck to check the side door then move to the deck at the back.
Had someone found him or was this person lost? Either way, he was annoyed. He was in the middle of placing a thousand dominoes with delicate precision. He needed another month before he could tip the first one and knock them all down. He didn’t want that jeopardized.
When he heard the screen door scrape and the call of a female voice, he let out a hacked-off sigh.
She wasn’t trying to hide her presence, so Jasper didn’t, either. He came up the stairs to the inside of the pantry only to find her leaving.
She had a spectacular ass. That was his first base impression. Snug jeans cupped a beautiful heart-shaped rump. Her sleeveless top exposed arms that were toned and tanned. Her long hair hung loose to the middle of her back. The brunette color held ash-blond highlights, the sort that pricey salons dispensed. All of her gleamed with the polish only money could buy.
Real estate agent? He should have let her leave, but recent betrayals had made him into the suspicious sort. Had she planted something while she was here?
“Who are you?” he demanded as he swept the rooms with his gaze.
She turned around and—Damn, she was lovely.
His guts twisted as he took in the wavy hair framing wide cheekbones and a flawless complexion. Beneath her peaked brows, her gray-green eyes took him in. Her narrow chin came up.
“Who are you?” She gave off an aloof, condescending air, the kind that still had the power to needle him all these years later, when he was no longer the broke teenager standing in a grocery store parking lot. “This is my house.”
“No, it’s not.” He knew who owned this house, but even as she rattled off the house number, his brain made the outlandish connection to the handful of photos he’d seen online.
“Vienna?”
She stiffened. Confusion shifted in her eyes as she tried to place him. Wariness.
“Did Hunter send you?” His thoughts belatedly leaped to his sister and her new baby. “Did something happen?”
“I’m asking the questions,” she insisted in a haughty way that grated. Her jaw lifted a notch so she was looking down her nose at him. “Who are you? This house is supposed to be empty.” She faltered as though mentally reviewing whatever data she’d been given. “At least, Hunter said it wouldn’t be used for vacation rentals anymore. Does he know you’re here?”
“Yes.” Jasper grew cautious himself. He wasn’t reassured to learn his intruder was Hunter’s sister. She seemed genuinely surprised the house was occupied and didn’t seem to know who he was, but she could still ruin his plans.
“Do you work for him? Who are you?” she demanded.
“You really don’t know?”
“Would I ask if I did?” Her knuckles were white where she fisted her hands at her sides.
Interesting. She wasn’t as full of lofty self-assurance as she was trying to seem.
He gave his clean jaw a rub. Keeping his beard off was a nuisance, but he was relieved to know that it had changed his appearance enough from his own dated online photos that she didn’t recognize him.
“Tell me first why you’re here. Are you with anyone? Your husband?” She had one, he recalled with a flick of his gaze toward the windows that looked onto the driveway. “Someone else?” he added with a twist of his lips.
A flash of indignation crossed her expression. She didn’t like being called unfaithful. Something more vulnerable followed—perhaps a realization that she was alone with a stranger because she lifted her chin and spoke with bold dishonesty.
“My husband is right behind me. You should definitely leave before he gets here.”
“Don’t lie to me, Vienna,” he said wearily. “I hate liars.” He really did.
“Well, I dislike people who pretend they know me when they don’t. Are you going to tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my house?”
“Your house.” He ran his tongue over his teeth, still judging that a fib.
She took fresh issue and stood taller.
She was on the tall side for a woman, with a figure that was willowy but indisputably feminine. Pretty. So damned pretty. He couldn’t help noticing even though she was very married.
Beauty on the outside didn’t mean beauty on the inside, he reminded himself starkly.
But the fact that she hadn’t known he was here, and didn’t recognize him, told him she wasn’t working for REM-Ex.
“I’m Jasper Lindor, Amelia’s brother.”
She seemed to stop breathing. She stood so still only her lashes quivered as her gaze bounced from his hairline to his gym shoes.
“Do you have proof?” she asked shakily. “Amelia was told you were dead. Hunter wouldn’t keep something like this from her.”
“She knows I’m alive. So does our father. I’ve seen them.” Once. It had been too short a visit, both heartening and heartbreaking. “I’m not ready to go public on the reasons for my disappearance, so Hunter let me stay here.”
She tucked in her chin. Her brow crinkled as she tried to decide whether to believe him.
If trust was a two-way street, they were both circling the block, unwilling to turn onto it.
“My passport is upstairs.” Worse for wear after all this time, but he’d managed to hang on to it. “Shall I get it?”
“No. I see the resemblance,” she murmured, her gaze traveling over his features with a thoroughness that made his chest itch. She cocked her head, relaxing a little. Her tone warmed. “Is this why Hunter was so strange about buying this property? I had no idea you were alive or staying here. That must have been such a relief for your family to learn you were okay.”
“Okay” was a stretch. He barely slept. He was haunted by the death of his friend and couldn’t help feeling threatened by a woman who posed as much physical danger as a knitted blanket.
None of that could be erased or fixed, but he was taking steps to achieve some justice. It all hinged on keeping that fact he was alive, and back in Canada, under wraps a little longer.
“Why are you here?” he asked bluntly.
She sobered. A flash of injury in her eyes was quickly screened by her lashes. Her mouth pursed.
“Seeking some ‘me’ time.”
“And you picked this house? Out of all the houses your family owns?” He didn’t know exactly how many there were, but he would bet there were several condos, cottages and cabins to choose from.
“I’m allowed to come to a house that I own.”
From what he’d read—and he’d read very little about her because she hadn’t seemed relevant to his situation—Vienna had struck him as the quintessential vapid heiress: feckless and superficial. She was always pictured in the most classically perfect clothing, wearing the same meaningless smile whether attending a fundraiser or an award banquet or her brother’s canceled wedding. She didn’t have a job, didn’t have kids, and somehow kept her head above water despite a habit of flooding proverbial toilets.
“Well, this house is occupied. I want to be alone, too.” He tilted a flat smile at her. “That’s why no one knows I’m here.”
“I wouldn’t have come if I’d known,” she said in a burst of defensiveness. She folded her arms and glanced over her shoulder to the SUV in the driveway. “I can’t go anywhere else, though. Someone will recognize me. The gulls will flock in.”
“Gulls?”
“Paparazzi.” She curled her lip in rueful disgust. “I’m embarking on the latest mile of the Waverly Walk of Shame: divorce.” She lifted her brows facetiously to emphasize what a disgrace that was in some eyes.
All he heard was paparazzi. “You’re bringing reporters to my doorstep?” His blood pressure shot up to pound behind his eyeballs. “Come on, lady.”
She jerked her head back, eyes brightening.
“It’s not your doorstep. It’s mine,” she reminded snippily. “And no, I took precautions. No one knows I’m here. That SUV is leased by Wave-Com. I have a burner phone like some kind of drug lord and my PR team use a secure chatroom. I went to a lot of effort to insulate myself—and Hunter, and Amelia, and Peyton—from what will be a feeding frenzy. I refuse to stand in the pillory anyway, just because my presence here is inconvenient for you. This is my house. I’m staying right here.”
Fighting for control over your own life was terrifying. Jasper was a very intimidating man, crossing his arms so those mountains he called shoulders seemed to bunch even higher.
Hunter wouldn’t be helping him if he was dangerous, she reassured herself. In fact, Hunter had sworn this house wasn’t being used for anything criminal. Jasper wasn’t a fugitive evading justice, just a really imposing recluse who was annoyed because his privacy had been invaded.
“We’re adults,” she pointed out, trying for a more conciliatory tone, but she could feel the strain in her voice. “Family.”
She offered a welcoming smile, genuinely happy to meet Amelia’s brother, but for some reason their gazes clashed like steel on steel, sparking and hot. Her throat felt scorched.
His glower rejected her overture and his disapproval rolled toward her like a fugue, seeping into the heart of her insecurities.
Not you. You’re not wanted. Get lost.
She resisted giving in, refusing to run like a coward. It was her house.
She waved at the wide rooms around them.
“I’m sure we can make this work. We both seem to be motivated to keep our presence here quiet.” She certainly was. “It seems like a big enough place that we should be able to share it without getting in each other’s way. I brought my own groceries.”
One dark brow lifted, unimpressed.
“I’m only staying a week.” Once the initial shock wave passed, she would fly to Europe to attend a wedding. “I have to be seen in public at least once before Hunter and Amelia get back. I’ll surface in Toronto so they won’t be inundated at their home in Vancouver.” Hopefully. “I have a plan. This isn’t my first time in the goat rodeo of bad publicity.”
He snorted.
“I won’t even make noise! I brought my art things.” So she could finally work on her own projects, rather than curating finished pieces for others. “Are you really going to refuse to let me stay here?”
“I can’t, can I?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “Mi casa es tu casa.”
