Teresa Southwick - An Heiress on His Doorstep

As he moved toward her, she noticed his confident, sort of predatory walk. His head dipped slightly as he looked down to her shoeless foot. “Did you lose your glass slipper, Cinderella?”

“I think I was kidnapped.” Was it technically a kidnapping when one’s own father was behind it?

“You think? Don’t you remember?”

Remember? What if she couldn’t remember. That would make his life difficult, and she liked the idea of that.

“Who are you?” he asked.

He knew good and well who she was. Okay. That did it. Scaring the stuffing out of a girl then playing dumb was not the way to win a financée and influence people. She plastered a confused expression on her face and rubbed her fingertips over her forehead. “I—I can’t remember.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “You’re not going to faint, are you?”

Why not? she thought. She needed a ride; this guy needed a lesson.

She made herself go limp and dropped like a stone.

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lives in Southern California with her hero husband who is more than happy to share with her the male point of view. An avid fan of romance novels, she is delighted to be living out her dream of writing for Silhouette Books.

The fortune-teller said…

To be a princess and live in a palace—love is the risk, deception the malice.

If the three born on February twenty-ninth rub the magic from the lamp and make a wish—on that day that comes only once every four years—each shall receive her most coveted desire.

But there is peril.

Each of the three must see beyond the evident. Look into the soul of the one her heart has chosen.

Only then will she find the truth that is hers alone.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

September 15, 2004

Jordan Bishop said goodbye to terror and went straight to furious. Being kidnapped was not the way she’d planned to start her first vacation in two years.

She looked at the guy who’d abducted her. He was hardly more than a kid, an average-looking young man. Average height, average looks and average brown hair. They’d been waiting on this deserted road for what felt like hours, and he’d refused to tell her why. Jordan was fed up.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.

He glanced over at her from the driver’s seat. “Do you see one, sweetheart?” His voice was rife with sarcasm.

That does it, she thought.

She pressed her legs together. “I wonder how this leather seat would hold up in the event of an unfortunate accident.”

That wiped the sarcastic expression off his face. “You gotta go in the bushes.”

“Any port in a storm,” she replied.

She’d been terrified when he’d grabbed her, expecting to be assaulted or murdered any second. But that feeling faded when he kept driving. After stopping, he hadn’t made a single threatening move. It felt like he was waiting for something. And she didn’t intend to be around when the wait was over.

He got out of the car and walked around to her side, opening the door with his keys in his hand. He unlocked the cuff hooked to the passenger handhold above her head. The other cuff was attached to her wrist. When he glanced away to put his keys back in his pocket, she swiveled in her seat and kicked out as hard as she could with both legs, making him stumble backward. If she’d known she would be in this mess, she’d have dressed more appropriately. Now was no time to worry about her tight skirt. At least it was short, giving her some maneuverability.

While the creep was getting his footing, Jordan jumped out of the SUV. She winced when a small rock dug into her bare heel. She’d lost one of her pumps when he’d first grabbed her.

He grinned. “Nice try.”

“I thought so.”

As he started toward her, she braced for her next move. She was about to find out if all those self-defense classes were worth the price. When he put his hands on her upper arms, she jabbed the three-inch spike heel of her remaining pump into his instep. He cried out, but before he could react, she raised her knee and rammed it into his groin. He grunted in pain and doubled over wheezing, then dropped to the ground groaning. This was the part where she was supposed to run like hell.

But where? Even if she knew which way to run, she was out in the sticks, with no sign of civilization in sight. She had to get the keys, but she didn’t want to get in too close to him. Even though he was still rolling around and groaning. But how long did it take a man to recover from a knee to the groin?

“Bishop’s not paying me enough for this,” he muttered to himself.

Bishop? He couldn’t have said what she thought she’d heard. “What did you say? Who’s paying you?” she demanded.

He glared at her. “Your father.”

“My father? I don’t believe you.”

“I couldn’t make up something this weird,” he said, sitting up. “He hired me to kidnap you.”

“Why?”

“It’s a setup. To find you a man.”

“You?” she asked, shocked.

“No. And I resent your implication and your tone.”

She didn’t give a rat’s behind what he resented. “Look, buster, my patience is wearing thin. You scared me out of my wits, you handcuffed me.” She held up her wrist with the dangling metal still attached. “And you made me lose my shoe. It was my favorite pair and very expensive.”

“You’re an heiress. You can afford it. Bill your father.”

“That’s not the point. And none of your business. Start talking. I want the facts, from the beginning.”

He held his head in his hands. “Your father has the perfect guy for you. Sir Galahad is due here any minute to waltz in for the rescue. You know, be your hero. After that you’re supposed to fall for him and get married. Happy ever after and all that crap. It’s the truth. I swear.”

“I don’t believe this,” she said, throwing up her hands.

But the statement was rhetorical, because the more she thought about it, the more she did believe him. It would certainly explain why her father had been so insistent that she have lunch with him today. The kidnapper knew where to find her because her father had set her up. “So when was this guy supposed to be here?”

“An hour ago.”

“Figures. Apparently Daddy picks heroes as well as he picks kidnappers.”

“It’s my first kidnapping and not my sphere of expertise,” he said defensively.

“So where did my father find you? Thugs-R-Us?”

“Very funny. I work part-time at Bishop, Inc. while I go to college.”