Leigh Michaels - The Husband Sweepstake

Praise for Leigh Michaels

“Leigh Michaels is sure to charm readers of Harlequin Romance.”

—www.thebestreviews.com

“Leigh Michaels’s fresh and fiery characters have universal appeal.”

—www.romantictimes.com

“When you sit down with [a Leigh Michaels book], you’re definitely in for a very pleasant and entertaining adventure!”

—www.thebestreviews.com

Leigh loves to hear from readers. You may contact her at: P.O. Box 935, Ottumwa, Iowa 52501, U.S.A. or visit her Web site: leigh@leighmichaels.com

Leigh Michaels has always been a writer, composing dreadful poetry when she was just four years old and dictating it to her long-suffering older sister. She started writing romance in her teens and burned six full manuscripts before submitting her work to a publisher. Now, with more than 75 novels to her credit, she also teaches romance writing seminars at universities, writers’ conferences and on the Internet.

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3783—PART-TIME FIANCÉ

3800—THE TAKEOVER BID

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

THE trip had been more fast-paced than usual. Erika had crammed at least three weeks’ worth of work into a mere ten days, and even a good night’s sleep in her own bed hadn’t been enough for her to fully recuperate from exhaustion and jet lag. It was barely ten in the morning—at least that was what the tiny gold watch on her wrist said, though her body clock wasn’t anywhere near so certain of the hour. Nevertheless, she was patting back a yawn as the elevator reached the lobby.

That will never do, she thought. With her schedule already crammed with meetings and her in-basket no doubt overflowing, she didn’t have time to be tired. Not today.

She felt as if she’d been gone for a month. Winter had abruptly let go its hold on New York City while she’d been gone. The last traces of dirty snow had melted away, and though it had been almost dusk, she thought she’d glimpsed the first hints of green in Central Park on her way home from the airport yesterday. Even the building’s lobby looked a little different than when she’d left. This morning sunshine poured in through the beveled glass around the main doors, sprinkling jewel-colored patches across the freshly cleaned carpet.

But some things never changed, Erika thought fondly as she walked across the lobby to the small office tucked into a corner next to the elevators.

Inside, with his back to the door as he leaned over a table studying a clipboard full of papers, was—in Erika’s view—probably the single best thing about living in this newly renovated apartment complex. According to the nameplate on the door, Stephen was the manager of the complex, in charge of rentals, deposits, repairs and tenant complaints. But in fact the job he’d carved out for himself in the eight months since the complex opened was more like that of the concierge of a first-class hotel. Need tickets to the symphony? Talk to Stephen—he had contacts everywhere. Need the dog walked? Talk to Stephen—he knew someone who’d be great at the job. Need someone to let the delivery people in with the new couch? Talk to Stephen; he’d not only sign the paperwork but make sure they moved all the furniture to just the right angle…

Yes, definitely the best thing about living here, Erika told herself. “Stephen, darling—”

The man at the table stood up straighter and started to turn to face her.

The instant he moved, Erika knew that she’d made a big mistake. Where Stephen was jittery in his movements, this man was slow and smooth, like a panther on the prowl. He was a little taller than Stephen, too—an inch or two, perhaps—and his hair was just a shade darker.

She should have recognized the difference the moment she walked in—though, she reminded herself, there was no reason to scourge herself for making a simple mistake. She was used to finding Stephen in this office, and she wasn’t used to seeing him from behind. So it was no wonder she hadn’t immediately identified this man as a stranger.

He’d turned all the way around now, and she got her first good look at his face. Now she could see that he wasn’t at all like Stephen, really—not only was his hair darker, almost black in fact, but it was thicker, curlier, and more unruly than Stephen’s. His eyes weren’t brown like Stephen’s but as rich a blue as Long Island Sound on a hot summer’s day, and they looked just as deep and inviting. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but there was something about him which invited a second look. His face was full of healthy color, but he didn’t have the deep sun-bronzed shade that Stephen somehow managed to sport even in the depths of winter.

And though he was wearing the same type of dark suit and ascot tie that Stephen favored, it didn’t fit him the same way. The formal garb didn’t look out of place on him, and yet it seemed somehow uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t used to dressing up.

“I’m not Stephen,” he said.

As if she wouldn’t be able to figure that out on her own. Erika felt like rolling her eyes.

He added, not quite under his breath, “…darling.”

Erika opened her mouth to blister him for impudence, and then decided that it would be more effective in the long run just to ignore him. “I can see that,” she said sweetly. “So where’s Stephen?”

“I can page him if you like, Ms. Forrester.”

She didn’t ask how he knew her name. She didn’t need to.

He went on easily, “I believe he’s helping Mr. Richards locate his missing snake up on the third floor.”

Erika shivered. “Then I certainly don’t want to disturb him.”

His eyes gleamed with laughter. Erika was sure of it, even though the expression was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. She was intrigued despite herself. “And who are you?” she asked.

“I’m Stephen’s new assistant.”

“I gathered that from the uniform.” She waved a finger in the direction of his ascot. “He could certainly use a helper. Or perhaps I should say that the residents could use two Stephens.”

He looked down at the dark suit as if not quite believing what he was wearing. “He does seem to keep himself busy.”

“And your name?” He didn’t answer immediately, so Erika prodded, “In case Stephen’s not here, it would be handy to know who I’m talking to.”

“If it’s not Stephen,” he pointed out gently, “it’ll be me. But you can call me Amos—” He bit off the sentence, leaving the name hanging.

Erika was absolutely certain the word he’d swallowed hadn’t been a last name at all. He’d actually almost had the cheek to say she could call him Amos darling. But at least he’d maintained enough sense to zip the lip before he’d finished, while she could still pretend not to have heard. It was much less embarrassing for both of them that way.

“I’ll tell him you stopped by. I’m sure he’ll be heartbroken to have missed you,” Amos said, and started to turn back to the clipboard he’d been looking at when she came in.

Just who does this guy think he is? she thought. “Well, let me fill you in on the routine around here. It’s cleaning day, so—”