Kris Fletcher - Now You See Me

Who’s a good girl now?

Café owner Lydia Brewster wants to shake things up. And J. T. Delaney, infamous legend of Comeback Cove, just might be the man she needs. With his wild reputation, who better to help a girl shake off a “poor widow” image she’s too young to keep wearing?

Despite the rumors, J.T. doesn’t seem quite the troublemaker Lyddie’s heard about. He actually seems focused on business—the subject they don’t see eye to eye on. Really, all she wants is a fling. But after a few long, hot nights together, the most dangerous thing about J.T. is the unexpected way he makes her feel….

“Hang on.”

J.T.’s voice, low and subdued behind her, was oddly reassuring considering he was the reason for her misfortune. “I doubt there’s any electricity, but I’ll try the light—wait—no, nothing. There should be a flashlight up on the shelf, just give me a—”

The door slammed closed, plunging them into darkness.

Lyddie yelped. J.T. cursed.

“Don’t move,” he said.

“I won’t.”

“Let me get the door open again.” He moved slowly behind her. Something warm—a hand, probably—grazed the small of her back. And all of a sudden, it wasn’t nervousness that was making Lyddie’s heart do double-time in her chest.

For the first time in four years, she was alone in the dark with a man. And now all she could think about was Zoë’s voice, laughing on the phone, telling her to jump him.

Oh. Dear. God.

Four years of zero interest in anything sexual ended in the space of a breath. Every erogenous zone roared back to sudden, urgent, demanding life.

Dear Reader,

This is the book that almost didn’t happen.

I first conceived and wrote this story about a decade ago. The thought of creating a romance between a hero’s widow and the town’s legendary bad boy was one that I couldn’t ignore. I wrote a synopsis and three chapters and sent them to an editor who had requested them at a conference. While waiting for a reply, I entered the book in some contests and finished the first draft. By the time that draft was finished the book had been rejected by the editor, had bombed in contests and had landed on my top ten list of experiences I never wanted to revisit.

Years went by. I sold a book to the Mills & Boon Superromance line. In talking about future books with my awesome editor, Piya, I remembered this story. I pulled it out, girded my loins and started to read. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that the story wasn’t nearly as bad as I remembered. In fact, parts of it really gripped me. By the time I got to the end of that rough draft, I could see it for what it was—a story with a lot of flaws but a whole lot of potential. All it needed was some insight from a fabulous editor and a second chance.

I dove back into it. This time, guided by Piya, it was a joy to revisit the story. J.T. and Lyddie forgave me for the years I neglected them and welcomed me back into their world. I am delighted to share their story with you, and hope you will visit me at www.krisfletcher.comto learn more about them and future stories from Comeback Cove.

Yours,

Kris Fletcher

Now You See Me

Kris Fletcher

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kris Fletcher has never owned a coffee shop or burned down an historic attraction, but there are times—such as that moment halfway through climbing the Eiffel Tower—when she gives serious consideration to one of them. She’ll leave it to you to decide which. A four-time Golden Heart finalist, Kris grew up in southern Ontario, went to school in Nova Scotia, married a man from Maine and now lives in central New York. She shares her very messy home with her husband, an ever-changing number of their kids and the occasional grand-hamster. Her greatest hope is that dust bunnies never develop intelligence.

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Dedicated to all those who call me Mom:

the Fraulein, the Geek, the Maestro, the Mensch, Her Royal Highness and the Tsarina.

You have introduced me to new worlds, challenged my sanity and filled my heart.

Good trade.

Acknowledgments

Many thanks are due to the usual suspects, who are all unusual in the very best ways.

The Purples—Gayle Callen, Christine Wenger, Molly Compton Herwood and Carol Pontello Lombardo—who continue to be my lifeline to sanity in a world filled with kids, deadlines and those school activities that always seem to expand to three times as much time as I projected.

Renee Kloecker, World’s Best Hostess, who so generously allows the Purples to take over her country home during our retreats. And Elisa Koniezcko, who so generously answers our many many medical questions (and keeps us howling with laughter) when she joins us on retreat.

The folks at Priceline for cheap hotels—so essential during deadlines. And my husband, Larry, for making sure there is still a parent in the house when I announce I must disappear for a weekend or twelve.

Jessica Faust, Uber-Agent,

for making me believe I could do this.

Piya Campana, Editor Extraordinaire, for the fresh eyes, the amazing insights and the smilies. And especially for catching my mistakes before they get sent to the world.

And, as always, to the writers of Galaxy Quest, who gave me the ultimate words to write by: Never give up. Never surrender!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

THERE WAS NOTHING LIKE walking into the town he’d almost killed twenty-five years earlier to make a man feel there was a bull’s-eye painted on his back.

For the fifth time in as many minutes, J. T. Delaney forced himself to stop checking over his shoulder. He wasn’t in danger—at least, not of the physical kind. Comeback Cove, Ontario, was a small tourist town on the St. Lawrence Seaway. Quiet was the word most often used to describe it, especially at dinnertime on an early June weeknight. He’d passed all of three people since he set off down Main Street toward the river.

But three people was enough. Especially when they were all old-timers who reached protectively toward their wallets the moment they recognized him. That hurt. He might have been the terror of the town when he was a teen, but he’d never picked pockets.

Taking the heat for things he’d done, he could handle. Taking the heat for things he hadn’t done was not gonna happen.

His steps slowed as he walked past the hardware store. Other than a new coat of paint and fresh awnings, it looked the same as it had back when he used to buy supplies for his adolescent pranks. Same story two doors down, in the drugstore where he’d shoplifted his first pack of condoms. Now, with the wisdom of forty-two years behind him, he knew what a damned fool chance that had been. But he still could empathize with the testosterone-driven youth who would rather risk being hauled in front of the police than pay for rubbers under the eagle eye of a pharmacist who’d known him since birth.