Waiting for Someone Like You (Destiny Bay-Baby Dreams Book 3) Read online

  Jeffrey. She’d been so young, so naive when she’d met him. She’d been fascinated by his flash, his self-possession. ... Let’s face it, she’d been overwhelmed by his money. She’d never known an authentic rich person before, and Jeffrey was an especially fine example of the breed. Not that she hadn’t loved him. She’d fallen for him with a depth of feeling that still ached on rainy nights.

  And in some ways she was pretty sure that he had loved her, too. It was just that, coming from a wealthy, self-indulgent background, he’d loved and possessed a lot of things. He was used to getting any toy he wanted, used to playing with it intensely, and then tossing it aside as he reached for something new. And that was what he’d done with her.

  Of course, there had been more to it than that. His parents, for one. They’d only flown to Nebraska from New York once for a visit, but that had been enough. She’d been so nervous, waiting to meet them. She’d polished their little apartment until it shone and paid a fortune for fresh flowers in January to lighten the atmosphere. And then the Collinghams had walked in.

  The first shock had been to find out that this nobody— this Kat Clay—was married to their son. It seemed Jeffrey hadn’t mentioned it ahead of time. That had not been a good way to start out the visit. From that moment on, Mrs. Collingham had worn a perpetual frown and a look that seemed to say something didn’t smell quite right.

  Mr. Collingham, on the other hand, decided she wasn’t worth dealing with and went back to the cell phone that seemed to be permanently imbedded in the side of his head. He made calls constantly, a vacant look on his face when Kat spoke to him. She halfway considered getting his number so she could give him a call and get to know him that way, but by that time she was too rattled to follow through.

  The visit did not go well. The Collinghams did not think she was good enough for their son and they didn’t keep it a secret. She’d breathed a sigh of relief when they’d finally left, but she’d known right away that they’d poisoned Jeffrey’s attitude toward her. It was never the same again. And they never did get that honeymoon.

  Honeymoons. She shivered and ordered her coffee drink, shoving unhappy thoughts to the back of her mind. She had other things to think about now.

  She’d gone to the lobby twice trying to call Ted, but first she couldn’t get a line through, and then he’d been out of the office, so she’d had some time to sit and think. If he had information on the colonel, she hoped...

  What exactly did she hope? To find out he was actually a saint in playboy garb? Or hard, cold facts about past actions that she could lay before her mother to warn her off?

  She couldn’t honestly decide. And there was always the chance that Ted would find out nothing at all. Then she was back to square one.

  But in the meantime, she couldn’t just sit around and wait for disaster to strike. She had to do something. Anything. If only she could think of something to do.

  She sighed with annoyance at her own hesitancy. She couldn’t just sit here and wait for inspiration. She’d failed at the lunch, but that was just because she’d lost her nerve, and Tanner had destroyed her concentration. She couldn’t wimp out. There were other ways to approach this.

  Gathering her things and throwing a few dollars down on the table to cover the drink she hadn’t waited to enjoy, she hurried out.

  It was simple enough to find out what room the colonel was staying in at the main desk. A few minutes later, she was on his floor and staring at the door.

  She knew he wasn’t in. He was off sailing with her mother. Her thought had been to wait for him here. But what if her mother was with him when he returned? She wilted a bit, knowing she was grasping at straws. She wanted so badly to save her mother from pain—she just didn’t have a clue how she was going to do it.

  She frowned, trying to come up with a plan. Maybe she could write him a letter. Maybe she could get him to understand just how important this was to her mother’s peace of mind and future happiness. She began pacing back and forth across the thick carpeting of the hallway, thinking over what she might say. The idea was to confront him honestly, to lay out all her fears and hopefully, to make him think twice.

  “Are you a con man?” she would bluntly ask. “Because, if you are, I want you to know that I will fight you every step of the way.”

  She frowned.

  No. That was a little too challenging. He might take it as an invitation to a contest, and that wasn’t what she wanted at all.

  Appeal to his conscience. That was more like it.

  “I can tell you really like my mother. And she is quite smitten with you. Just think this thing through. If you care for her at all can you bear to think of hurting her?”

  Of course, he would deny any intention of hurting Mildred in any way.

  “I’m showing her a wonderful time. How can that hurt her?” That was what he would say.

  And she would respond... Hmm. What would she say to that? “A wonderful time is one thing. Pretending to promise things you don’t intend to deliver is another.”

  Weak. Very weak. She would have to think of something stronger.

  She turned from the door, ready to leave, but before she’d taken a step, the door snapped open and the cheery face of a hotel maid peered out at her.

  “Senora Carrington?” the maid guessed inaccurately. “Oh, perdon, senora. I was just checking the linens in the bathroom.” She gestured with an armful of towels. “Por favor, come right in.”

  Kat stepped in hesitantly, glancing about the elegantly appointed room, not bothering to correct the woman. The maid’s Spanish accented English was lovely and lilting, but unaccustomed as she was, Kat was having difficulty with it.

  “The colonel isn’t in?” she asked, wanting to be sure.

  The pleasant-looking woman shrugged. “The colonel? No, not at the moment. Only the other one. Pero... is there anything I can get for you?”

  Kat frowned, trying to understand what she was saying. “No, thanks, I...”

  “Pues, I must hurry, senora, I will be back very soon with the flowers the colonel has ordered.”

  She disappeared, closing the door behind her, leaving Kat on the wrong side of it, staring after her.

  Flowers? Flowers? What did a man usually order flowers to decorate his hotel room for? There could only be one reason.

  “Not with my mother, you don’t,” she muttered, glaring around the room. And then it hit her. She was in the colonel’s room, where she had no business being, and she was all alone.

  This was an interesting situation, fraught with possibilities. There was so much she wanted to know about Colonel Carrington, and the answers might be here, just waiting to be discovered.

  She looked around the room again, apprehensive but intrigued. A writing table stood against one wall, a credenza against another. There was a large mirror over the fireplace, with two large wing chairs pulled up in front of it, and a huge picture window overlooking the sea. On the left a doorway led, she was sure, to the bedroom and bathroom.

  She stood staring at the doorway to the bedroom, chewing on her lower lip, adrenaline sparking through her veins. It would only take a moment to go through his drawers and bags. Surely there would be something to tell her more about this man.

  She strolled into the bedroom and turned. It was a lovely room, old-fashioned and elegant. There was an address keeper beside the telephone on the nightstand. Hardly thinking about what she was doing, she pressed C and the book sprang open to the appropriate page. Her gaze immediately found her mother’s name.

  “Mildred Clay,” it read. “Widow, Nebraska, lottery, daughter named Katherine, sailing and dancing.”

  She jerked back from the book as though it had teeth. That certainly contained all the pertinent information, didn’t it? This must be where he kept all his scouting research on widows with healthy bank accounts. She’d suspected this all along, but it was still a shock to see it confirmed so simply.

  She thought of how her mother’s eyes
were shining with dreams and hopes that didn’t have a chance in the world, and her heart twisted. It wasn’t fair. Her mother deserved more than this. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. What was she going to do about it?

  “You’ve had it, Mister Smoothie,” she whispered, anger boiling in her chest. “Your goose is cooked now.”

  Reaching out again, she riffled through a few pages, checking the other listings. They were all similar. Invariably female. And with items such as “large inheritance” or “sold business two years ago” written after the name, along with other personal data.

  The man was pulling a con. There was no longer any doubt about it. Snarling softly, she turned and looked at the room again. She would pull the place apart. She would come up with every shred of evidence she could. Her mother would be protected at last. Where would she start?

  Suddenly her shoulders sagged. What was she thinking of? She couldn’t go through the man’s things. That would be at least immoral, if not illegal. She had no right to be here, much less to search the place.

  She couldn’t do it. All might be fair in love and war, but she wasn’t quite that desperate. And if he should come in while she was still here... the thought was chilling. Shaking her head, she reluctantly turned to go, striding out of the bedroom and toward the door to the hotel hallway.

  Tanner watched her in the mirror. He’d been watching her since she’d come into the room, ushered in by the ever-helpful maid. He’d watched as she’d looked carefully from one side to the other, waiting for her to catch sight of him sitting in the high-backed wing chair facing the fireplace. She couldn’t have seen him directly, but one glance into the mirror over the mantel would have told the tale in an instant.

  But she hadn’t glanced into the mirror, and she obviously had no idea he was there. So he watched, a small, bitter knot twisting tighter and tighter inside him.

  She was lovely to look at, with her shimmer of blond hair and her huge dark eyes. She would also be delightful to hold, he had no doubt—if he could only get over a certain distaste for the brazen way she was going about this gold-digging business.

  But then, why was he letting it bother him? He ought to be used to it by now. Just about every woman he’d ever dated had been fascinated by his family’s wealth. Even women well-off in their own right tended to swoon a little at the thought of the Carrington millions.

  That was natural, he supposed, if annoying. He really wished they would swoon over his charm and wit, or his bulging biceps, or his contagious laugh. He was rather proud of all those elements.

  Women did seem to appreciate them to a certain extent, but somehow it was the aura of all that money that always made their eyes gleam and their breath come a bit faster. And as soon as he saw that in their lovely faces, he knew he’d lost again. Just once he would like to be lusted after for his own worth rather than that of his bank account.

  Now here was Kat, checking things out, seeing if the game was worth her mother’s while. He should have expected nothing less. The thing was, he could see she was an amateur at it. And that annoyed him. If he and Uncle John were going to be swindled, at least they could be swindled competently.

  She was reaching for the doorknob. In another moment, she’d be gone. His jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed. He couldn’t let her walk out as though she’d done this thing right.

  Kat’s fingers curled around the knob and she was just about to pull the door open and get out of there when the voice hit her like a bolt of lightning right between the shoulder blades.

  “Hey, get back here,” it lashed at her. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  She froze, her heart in her throat, every nerve quivering with shock.

  “You’re not finished yet,” it told her, exasperation plain. “If you’re going to play the spy, at least do a decent job of it.”

  Whirling, she looked wildly about the room, but she still couldn’t see anyone until Tanner slowly rose from the wing chair and turned to face her directly.

  “You’re not very good at this business, are you?” he commented, his eyes coolly assessing, his voice acid-sharp. “I’ve been the victim of your sort of venture before. I’ve been shaken down by the best. Maybe I could give you a few pointers.”

  She stared at him, struck dumb. Her heart was beating in her throat, choking her. Panic was just a stroke away. She took a deep, deep breath and tried to steady herself. Her hands felt clammy. She’d never been caught in such an embarrassing position before in her life.

  She was definitely where she didn’t belong. She tried to smile.

  “Hi,” she said faintly.

  There was no answering smile in return and hers slowly melted away. His gaze held hers, a light flickering in his eyes that made her gasp softly. What was it? What did it mean?

  But she realized soon enough what it was. It was nothing special. It was just what she would expect. He was angry. He was suspicious.

  And he was such an insufferable jerk.

  She hardened her gaze and held her head a little higher. “Look, I’m sorry, I’ll go.” She started toward the door again, but he stopped her with a sharp command.

  “Come on back here,” he said, his voice hard with a practiced sense of authority. “If you’re going to do it, you might as well do it right.” He gestured toward the writing desk. “The first thing you do in a situation like this is go right to that desk and look through the drawers. Bank account numbers. That’s what you want.”

  She was backing toward the door, annoyed and apprehensive at the same time. He had one of those voices that didn’t brook argument. He was also big and strong and angry, and that was just a bit scary. And her instincts had her running like a rat.

  But she didn’t want to do that, did she? He was the criminal, not she. That thought gave her pause. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d scared her off.

  Stopping, she lifted her chin and said very clearly, “I...I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  There. She’d managed to get a note of indignation into her statement. That felt a bit better. At least she wasn’t going to wilt.

  But her bravado didn’t faze him at all. He took a few steps toward her, his hands shoved negligently into the pockets of his dark suit coat. His shirt was crisp and white against his tanned skin. He looked suave and cosmopolitan. Just like a con man. What a coincidence.

  “Of course you do,” he said smoothly, shaking his head. “You want to find out how much my uncle is worth, don’t you? There’s only one way to do that. You’ve got to find his bank account numbers.”

  Her brows drew together and as the panic subsided, annoyance began to take over. What did she care how much his uncle was worth? Anything he had he’d probably stolen from someone else.

  “I don’t want his bank account numbers,” she said evenly, determined to give as well as she got, despite the fact that she was still backing away as he came toward her.

  “Sure you do. Get them and you can call the bank.” His dark blue gaze probed hers. “Then pretend to be his secretary and, with a little charm, and a little prodding, you can usually worm the information out of someone.”

  He had her backed up into a corner and she could tell he was going to show no mercy. Her heart was beating like a caged bird and she was short of breath. Funny, though—it wasn’t really fear she was feeling. More like—oh Lord, did she really have to admit it?-—excitement.

  She was so aware of him, so aware of his wide shoulders, his tanned skin, his blue eyes. What was the matter with her? Even as she tried to hate him, she found her gaze straying right where it didn’t belong—to the full, sensual lines of his strong mouth. She had to force herself to look into his eyes instead.

  And that was a mistake.

  “You know about laying on the charm, don’t you, Kat?” he was saying, his eyes insinuating all sorts of things that would make her blush if she allowed herself to read them. “I’m sure that’s something you’re a real expert a
t.”

  His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist, his grip loose but firm.

  She jumped, startled, and looked down at his long, strong fingers.

  “But you can’t rest on your very attractive laurels,” he went on, his voice soft and intimate, stroking her seductively. “You’re really going to have to work harder at this if you hope to succeed.”

  His hard fingers moved on her skin and she felt a thrill run through her system.

  “To tell you the truth, I’m not sure you’re tough enough.”

  She couldn’t stop staring at his hand on her arm. The room was swaying a bit and she had to catch hold of a breath deep in her lungs to avoid losing her balance. Steeling herself, she shook her head to clear it, then forced herself to look up into his eyes.

  He was too close, too warm, too vital. She tried to focus on what he’d been saying—something about her being tough. What had he said? She blinked into his blue-eyed gaze, wondering.

  “Have you ever done something like this before?” he asked her, his voice low and rich with meaning.

  She blinked again, not sure what he was talking about. She’d been in a man’s room before, if that was what he meant. But it had been a long, long time since she’d felt this sort of magnetism, the male-female pull that wiped out rational thought and left her vulnerable. She frowned, pretty sure that wasn’t what he was talking about at all.

  “What?” she asked, trying not to sound as groggy as she felt.

  But he noticed, and a wave of anticipation swept over him. “Tried to catch yourself a rich man,” he said softly, looking down into her bemused face and wishing the circumstances were different.

  She was utterly delicious and he could see she was losing her focus. There was a pulse beating at the base of her throat. He was tempted to press his lips there, to feel it with his tongue. Something hot and insistent was swelling inside him.

  He wanted her, desire building in him like it hadn’t since he was young and inexperienced. It took him by surprise, too hot, too raw to hide. He swallowed hard, controlling himself with effort, startled.