Lilian Darcy - The Millionaire's Cinderella Wife

Even though she’d seen it countless times now, the image and the four words that captioned it in bold red letters still made Sierra catch her breath with shock and self-doubt, a healthy dose of anger, and something else that she didn’t want to put a name to.

“Bachelor Of The Year!” trumpeted A-list’s banner headline.

As for the three-page feature article inside, Sierra knew it almost by heart.

It catalogued Ty’s business success here on the Stoneport waterfront. It painted in dramatic colors the story of how he’d rescued a young couple from a stricken sail-boat during a spring storm, how he’d kept the unconscious husband alive, delivered the wife’s premature baby, and saved both mother and child. It quoted local residents and Garrett Marine staff praising him in extravagant terms, and guesstimated his growing wealth in the tens of millions.

Finally, just in case the front cover had left any woman in America in any doubt, it included several more photos that proved his good looks and stunning physique were not merely the products of clever lighting and heavy use of an air-brush.

You’d have to be pretty mean-spirited to suggest that Ty Garrett hadn’t earned the Bachelor of the Year label.

Sierra had only one small problem with it, herself.

She was already married to him.

Miss Ponytail had made the coffee. With a big, milkless mug of it in her hand, she finally reached the closed door and knocked. Then, without waiting for an answer, she called, “There’s another one, Ty.”

Sierra heard his still-familiar voice through the door. “Early bird.”

“Says the worm.”

“Yeah, already squirming. Does she want a class or a charter?”

Miss Ponytail opened the door a crack, leaned in and dropped her voice, but didn’t drop it low enough. “No, she’s going with the ‘It’s personal’ angle. Won’t give her last name. Thinks that’s an original game plan, just like the other forty-seven women who have tried it.”

“And is she pretty?”

“You be the judge.”

“So what’s the first name?”

“Sierra.”

Thick silence.

Sierra discovered she’d stopped breathing.

“Here’s your coffee, by the way…Oops!” Miss Ponytail said.

Appearing in the doorway, Ty had almost made her spill it, but they both recovered in time. He didn’t take the hot beverage, however. Instead, his gaze arrowed over Miss Ponytail’s head and reached Sierra. Lord, in the flesh he was better looking even than in the professional photos, she realized at once, as she took in a long, slow drag of air. Better than all of her memories.

He wore a white polo-neck shirt that set off his tan the way whipped cream set off chocolate mousse, and baggy navy shorts that ended just at the hard knots of muscle above his knees, and he looked at her as if he’d half-expected her but didn’t fully believe she was here, all the same.

“Sierra,” he said.

“Got it in one.” Her tone came out flip and unnatural.

The tension in the room sang like wind through a sailboat’s metal stays.

“You haven’t changed so much in eight years.” His guarded expression didn’t telegraph his opinion on any of the changes that had occurred.

“You have, Ty,” Sierra blurted out.

He’d filled out his strong frame over the past few years, and success and maturity had given him a confidence of bearing that made his jaw look as strong as iron and his blue eyes as steady as the moon. And as Sierra knew very well, he hadn’t ever lacked confidence, even in his early twenties.

“I guess this one was right,” Miss Ponytail said. “You really didn’t need her last name.”

“Cookie, can you go check that Footloose is ready to roll for that two-day charter?” Ty asked, not looking at Miss Ponytail.

His eyes seemed to have the power to heat Sierra’s skin like a radiant lamp, and, oh, she suddenly remembered in such vivid, physical detail all the reasons why she’d once loved him so much, why she’d believed so completely in what they had, why she’d ached and burned so hard when it had ended.

“You might have to handle things on your own, this morning,” he told his employee. “And can you dump the coffee?” he added.

“Sure,” Miss Ponytail said. Cookie, apparently.

She disappeared back into the room where she’d made the coffee. At the edge of her buzzing, shrilling awareness, Sierra heard the liquid splosh into a sink, then the sound of another door opening and closing, and Cookie’s feet on the wooden planking of the dock. She’d left via the back entrance, and Sierra and Ty were alone.

Alone.

For the first time since the take-it-or-leave-it, marriage-busting conversation that Sierra remembered every word of, even after eight years. Ty had left Landerville that same day, and he hadn’t been back since. They hadn’t even spoken on the phone.

They should have done.

They should never have let things drag out for this long.

“I guess I know why you’re here,” he said. He looked wary, and ready to be angry if the right trigger came.

Sierra’s heart thudded suddenly. “Do you?”

“I wondered if you’d see the magazine.”

“If I’d see it?” She laughed briefly. “Sometimes I feel as if everyone in America has seen it.”

“You could have called.” He mimicked a voice every bit as perky as Cookie’s. “I saw the cover story. Photos came out great. Congratulations.”

Perky, but with a metallic edge.

“You know that’s not why I’m here.” Her voice sounded scratchy, and not nearly as strong as she wanted it to.

“Wait a minute,” he drawled, in mock surprise. “You’re not here because of A-list?”

“Don’t do this.” Okay, that was better. Harder. “Yes, I’m here because of A-list. Of course I’m here because of A-list. But not to—”

The nautical bell jangled again at that moment as the front door opened, and Ty took a couple of backward steps into the doorway that led from the front office to the short corridor, then froze as if it might be dangerous for him to move in either direction.

A woman stepped awkwardly inside the building. She looked to be in her mid-thirties, and was dressed in a too-tight cutesy sailor suit with navy shorts, a striped top, and a red sailor-style neck tie, all of which the sales assistant in Silly Outfits ‘R’ Us really should have talked her out of.

“Um, I was wondering about sailing classes,” she said, shyly ducking her head.

“Sure,” Ty answered cheerfully. He wore the same smile showcased to such stunning effect on the front cover of A-list, but he still hadn’t moved. To Sierra it looked as if he might make a run for it when he did. “We’re pretty full, right now, but I’m taking down contact details, because we’re putting together some extra classes.”

“And will those extra classes be handled by…uh…by you personally. Um. Or will they be, um, taught by someone else?”

Ty’s smile tightened a little. A stranger might not have spotted it but Sierra did and she was stunned at how well she remembered details about him like this. “Not sure, at this stage,” he said.

“Because I’d rather be handled by you personally.”

“I’m sure you would.”

“Oh!” The woman suddenly clapped her hands to her mouth. She blushed and giggled. “I didn’t mean that to come out the way it did! I’m so sorry!” As with the sailor suit, the blush, giggle and hands on mouth were not a good look for her. She took several steps closer and reached out, as if itching to give him an apologetic and lengthy squeeze. “I’m really so, so sorry!”

“We’re actually closed right now,” Ty said quickly. “Could I ask you to come back at eight, when our office opens, and give your details to my assistant?”