Kiss an Angel Susan Elizabeth Phillips Read Online

  SUSAN

ELIZABETH

PHILLIPS

Buss AN Affections

Contents

Chapter I Daisy Devreaux had forgotten her bridegroom's name.

Chapter Two Daisy hovered in the far corner of the smoking section at the USAir gate. . .

Chapter Iii Daisy slammed the door against the called-for blossom and pressed her fingers to her chest.

Chapter Four What in the hell are you doing out here?"

Affiliate V Equally Daisy left the trailer that afternoon, she met up with a alpine blond. . .

Affiliate Vi "Become away."

Chapter 7 While Sheba checked the cash drawer,. . .

Affiliate Eight "Here's the shovel, Miz," the elephant man said.

Chapter Nine Daisy stumbled upward the ramp at ten the next morning time.

Chapter 10 Alex decided he had never seen anything more than pitiful in his life. . .

Chapter Eleven "What did you say?" Alex reared upwards over her.

Affiliate Twelve Alex stared at the door through which Heather had just disappeared. . .

Chapter Xiii "This fourth dimension could you maybe try it with your optics open?"

Chapter 14 "What in the hell take you washed?"

Affiliate Xv Alex was asleep by the time Daisy returned to the trailer.

Affiliate Sixteen Daisy stared at her father. "That's impossible.

Chapter Seventeen Daisy gulped. "You want me to take off my apparel?

Chapter 18 During the months of June and July, Quest Brothers Circus. . .

Chapter Nineteen Brady was furious with Sheba.

Chapter Twenty Sheba stood in the shadows of the marquee. . .

Chapter Twenty-1 Alex had been impossible all week.

Chapter 20-2 Max Petroff glared at Alex

Chapter Xx Three Alex drove Daisy to the small firm on a narrow street. . .

Affiliate Xx Four "Alex!" His head shot up from the stake driver's engine. . .

Epilogue Daisy and Alex were married for the second fourth dimension . . .

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Copyright

About the Publisher

These are my special angels, the women who have been intimately involved with my work at various times during my career. Some are writers and some are editors. The guidance and support I've received from each of them has meant so much to me. In order of their advent in my life:

Claire Kiehl Lefkowitz

Rosanne Kohake

Maggie Lichota

Linda Barlow

Claire Zion

Jayne Ann Krentz

Meryl Sawyer

Carrie Feron

I dedicate this book to all of you remarkable women with my beloved and cheers.

(And to those new angels who are simply offset to flutter into my life . . . welcome!)

1

Daisy Devreaux had forgotten her bridegroom's name.

"I, Theodosia, have thee . . ."

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Her father had introduced them several days ago, that terrible morning the three of them had gone to become the spousal relationship license, and she'd heard the name then. Right later on the man had disappeared, and she hadn't seen him again until a few minutes ago when she'd walked down the staircase of her begetter's Central Park West duplex into the living room where this makeshift midmorning hymeneals ceremony was taking place.

Her father stood behind her, and Daisy could near feel him vibrating with disapproval, only his disapproval was zilch new. He'd been disappointed with her fifty-fifty before she was born, and no matter how hard she'd tried, she'd never been able to get him to change his mind.

She risked a sideways peek at this benedict her father'south money had bought for her. A studmuffin. A very scary studmuffin with his towering height, lean, whipcord build, and those eerie amber eyes. Her mother would accept loved him.

When Lani Devreaux had died in a yacht fire last year, she'd been in the arms of a xx-four-yr-erstwhile rock star. Daisy had finally reached the point where she could retrieve about her mother without pain, and she smiled to herself as she realized that the man standing at her side would accept been as well one-time for her mother. He looked to exist in his mid-thirties, and Lani had usually drawn the line at xx-ix.

His hair was so dark it was well-nigh black, and those chiseled features might accept made his face too pretty if it weren't for his strong jaw, non to mention that intimidating scowl. Men with such barbarous practiced looks had appealed to Lani, but Daisy preferred older, more conservative types. Non for the first time since the ceremony had begun did she wish her father had picked someone less intimidating.

She tried to steady her fretfulness past reminding herself that she wasn't going to take to spend more than a few hours in her new hubby'southward visitor. As soon as she had a take chances to tell him her plan, this would all be over. Unfortunately, her plan too meant breaking the sacred marriage vows she was getting ready to take, and since she wasn't the sort of person who could take a vow lightly—especially a marriage vow—she suspected her guilty conscience had induced the memory block.

She started once again, hoping the proper name would poke through her mental barrier. "I, Theodosia, take thee . . ." Once once more her phonation trailed off.

Her bridegroom didn't even spare her a glance, let alone try to help her. He stared straight ahead, and the uncompromising lines of that hard contour fabricated her peel prickle. He'd just spoken his own vows, and then he must have mentioned his name, but the lack of inflection in his voice had escalated her emotional tailspin, and she hadn't taken it in.

"Alexander," her father spit out from behind her, and Daisy could tell by the sound of his vocalism that he was clenching his teeth once again. For a human being who had been one of the United States' foremost diplomats, he certainly didn't have much patience with her.

She dug her nails into her palms and told herself she had no pick. "I, Theodosia . . ." She gulped for air. ". . . have thee Alexander . . ." She gulped again. ". . . to exist my atrocious wedded husband . . ."

It wasn't until she heard her stepmother, Amelia, gasp that she realized what she'd said.

The studmuffin turned his head and looked down at her. He artsy one dark brow in a vaguely inquisitive fashion, equally if he wasn't certain he'd heard her correctly. My awful wedded married man. Her sense of humor kicked in, and she felt the corners of her mouth quiver.

His brows slammed together and those deep-prepare eyes regarded her without a speck of amusement. Plainly the studmuffin didn't share her problem with inappropriate levity.

Swallowing the small bubble of hysteria that was rising within her, she plunged on without correcting herself. At to the lowest degree that one part of her vows would be honest considering he was certainly an awful husband for her. At that moment her mental block finally evaporated and his concluding proper name leaped into her heed. Markov. Alexander Markov. He was another of her begetter's Russians.

As a quondam administrator to the Soviet Union, her father, Max Petroff, had close ties with the Russian community, both here and away. His passion for his ancestral homeland was fifty-fifty reflected in the decor of the room where they stood, with its bold blue walls, so common in that land's residential compages; yellow-tiled stove; and multicolored kilim rug. To her left, a walnut chiffonier held vases of Russian cobalt as well as crystal and porcelain pieces from the Imperial Works in St. Petersburg. The furniture was a mixture of art deco and eighteenth century that somehow worked.

Her bridegroom's large mitt lifted her own much smaller one, and she felt its strength as he shoved a plain gold ring on her finger.

"With this ring, I thee wed," he said in a stern, uncompromising phonation.

She

gazed at the simple band with momentary confusion. For as long as she could think, she'd indulged in what her mother Lani had chosen a "bourgeois fantasy of dearest and matrimony," and she'd never imagined anything similar this.

". . . the power vested in me past the land of New York, I at present pronounce that y'all are husband and wife."

She tensed equally she waited for Guess Rhinsetler to invite the bridegroom to kiss the bride. When he didn't, she knew her begetter had asked him not to, sparing her the embarrassment of being forced to osculation that hard, unsmiling mouth. Information technology was exactly like her father to have remembered a detail that no one else had thought to consider. Although she wouldn't admit it for the world, she wished she were more like him, but she wasn't even able to manage the major events of her life, let alone the details.

It wasn't in her nature to wallow in self-pity, so she shook it off as her father came forward to castor his cool cheek against hers in ceremonial fashion. She plant herself hoping for a word of amore, but she wasn't surprised when she didn't get it. She fifty-fifty managed to expect unaffected equally he moved away.

He drew her mysterious bridegroom toward the windows that looked downwardly over Fundamental Park, where they were joined by Guess Rhinsetler. The other witnesses to the ceremony were the chauffeur, who tactfully disappeared to attend to his duties, and her father'due south wife Amelia, with her frosted blond hair and lockjaw drawl.

"Congratulations, dear. What a beautiful couple you and Alexander make. Don't they await wonderful together, Max?" Without waiting for an reply, Amelia swept Daisy into her arms, enveloping both of them in a cloud of musky perfume.

Amelia acted every bit if she felt a genuine fondness for her husband'south bastard daughter, and even though Daisy knew her real feelings, she gave Amelia credit for trying. It couldn't be easy to face the living evidence of the but irresponsible thing her husband had ever done, fifty-fifty if he'd done it twenty-vi odd years ago.

"I don't know why yous insisted on wearing that clothes, dear. Information technology might be appropriate for society-hopping, but hardly for a wedding." Amelia'southward critical gaze passed stern judgment on Daisy's expensive metal lace tank dress that ended in a scalloped hem a adept viii inches above her genu.

"Information technology'south almost white."

"Gold isn't white, love. And it's much also short."

"The jacket is conservative," Daisy pointed out, smoothing her hands along the sides of the boxy gold satin jacket that vicious to the top of her thighs.

"That hardly makes up for the residual. Why couldn't you lot take gone along with tradition and worn white? Or at least chosen something more sedate."

Because this wasn't going to be a real marriage, Daisy thought, and the more than she bowed to tradition, the more she remembered that she was violating something that should be sacred. She'd even removed the gardenia Amelia had fastened in her hair only to take her stepmother stick information technology back in just before the ceremony.

She knew Amelia didn't corroborate of her gilded shoes either, which looked like a pair of Roman gladiator sandals with four-inch heels. They were brutally uncomfortable, simply at least they couldn't be confused with the traditional white satin pumps.

"Your bridegroom doesn't look happy," Amelia whispered. "Not that I'm surprised. Try non to say anything silly to him for at least the first hour or then, will you? You really must do something about that annoying habit of talking before you think."

Daisy barely repressed a sigh. Amelia never said what she really thought, while Daisy almost always did, and her honesty antagonized her stepmother to no stop. But Daisy wasn't good at dissembling. Maybe because she had seen and then much of it from both her parents.

She sneaked a look at her new husband and wondered how much her father had paid him to ally her. And some irreverent office of her wanted to know how the actual transaction had taken place. Greenbacks? Check? Excuse me, Alexander Markov, just practise you lot take American Limited? As she observed her bridegroom declining a mimosa from the tray being passed by Min Soon, she tried to imagine what he was thinking.

How much longer before he could hustle the little brat out of here? Alex Markov glanced at his watch. Another v minutes should exercise it, he decided. He watched the servant who was passing a tray of drinks stop to fawn over her. Savor it, lady. It'll be a long time before it happens again.

While Max showed the guess an antique samovar, Alex gazed at his new wife's legs, revealed for all the world to see by that harebrained excuse for a wedding clothes. They were slim and shapely, which made him wonder if the residuum of her trunk, partially curtained past her jacket, would be as enticing. But fifty-fifty a siren's body wasn't going to compensate him for being forced into this matrimony.

He remembered his concluding individual conversation with Daisy'due south male parent. "She'southward badly educated, flighty, and irresponsible," Max Petroff had announced. "Her female parent was a terrible influence. I don't believe Daisy knows how to do anything useful. Granted, it's not all her fault. Lani never cut the frock strings, and she kept Daisy with her until she died. It's a miracle Daisy wasn't on board the boat that night it caught on fire. My daughter'll need a strong manus, Alex, or she'll drive you crazy."

Goose egg Alex had seen of Daisy Devreaux so far fabricated him uncertainty Max's words. Her mother was Lani Devreaux, the British fashion model who'd been so famous thirty years earlier. In what could just take been an allure of opposites, Lani and Max Petroff had had a love affair when he was just beginning to brand his mark every bit a leading expert on foreign policy, and Daisy was the result.

Max made it clear to Alex in that stuffy way of his that he had offered to marry Lani when she had unexpectedly become significant, just Lani had refused to settle down. Nevertheless, Max insisted he'd always washed his duty to his embarrassingly illegitimate daughter.

All the prove pointed to the opposite, however. When Lani'south career had begun to fade, she'd turned into a professional party girl and house guest. And wherever Lani went, Daisy went. At least Lani had once had a career, Alex thought, but Daisy didn't seem to have ever washed anything useful with her life.

As Alex looked at his new bride more closely, he saw some resemblance to her mother. They had the same blackness-as-ink hair, and but indoor women could accept such stake pare. Her eyes were an unusual blue, so total of colour they were as purple every bit roadside violets. But she was much smaller than her mother—too fragile-looking for his gustation—and her features weren't well-nigh as bold. From what he remembered of the quondam photographs, Lani's profile had been near masculine, while Daisy's had a blurred quality that was specially evident in that inconsequential nose and light-headed, soft oral cavity.

According to Max, Lani had been strong on looks merely short on brains, another quality the footling airhead beyond the room had apparently inherited. She wasn't exactly a bimbo—she was too well-bred for that—but he had no trouble imagining her as a rich man'due south very expensive sexual trinket.

He'd always been discriminating well-nigh female companionship, and alluring as that pocket-size body was, he preferred a dissimilar sort of woman, i who had more than going for her than a great set up of legs. He liked intelligence in his bed partners, along with ambition, independence, and the ability to requite as skilful as she got. He could respect a woman who cussed him out, just he had no apply for sulks and pouts. This niggling ball of fluff was already setting his teeth on edge.

At least keeping her in line wouldn't exist a problem. He gazed over at her, and one corner of his oral fissure lifted in a sardonic grinning. Life has a way of communicable upwards with spoiled little rich girls. And, baby, is it ever about to catch up with you lot.

Across the room, Daisy stopped in front end of an antique mirror to check her appearance. She did it out of addiction instead of vanity. To her mother, appearance was everything. Lani regarded smudged mascara as a worse catastrophe than nuclear holocaust.

Daisy's new haircut was chin length in the front and a little longer in the back, breezy, youthful, crimper softly hither and there. She'd loved it from the beginning, but she'd loved information technology even more than that morning when Amelia had c

lucked over how untidy the style looked for a wedding.

Merely backside her reflection, Daisy saw her bridegroom approaching. She bundled her oral fissure in a polite grin and told herself everything would work out fine. It had to.

"Get your things, angel face. We're leaving."

She didn't like his tone one chip, but she'd developed a talent for dealing with difficult people, and she overlooked information technology. "Maria's doing her G Marnier soufflé for our celebration brunch, only it'due south not ready yet, so we'll need to wait."

"Afraid not. We have a plane to catch. Your luggage is already in the automobile."

She needed more time. She wasn't fix to be lonely with him yet. "Could we take a afterward flying, Alexander? I hate to disappoint Maria. She'south Amelia's jewel, and she does a wonderful brunch."

Although his mouth curled in a smile, his optics pierced directly through her. They were an unusual color, a stake amber that reminded her of something vaguely eerie. Although she couldn't quite remember what information technology was, she knew information technology made her uneasy.

"The name'due south Alex, and you've got one infinitesimal to get that sweet petty butt of yours out the door."

Her pulse leaped with alarm, just before she could react, he turned his back on her and addressed the iii other occupants of the room, his voice quiet simply commanding. "I promise you'll all excuse u.s.. We have a plane to catch."

Amelia stepped forward and gave Daisy a sly smiling. "My, my. Someone's awfully eager for his nuptials night. Our Daisy is quite a morsel, isn't she?"

Daisy abruptly lost her appetite for Maria'due south soufflé. "I'll modify my clothes," she said.

"Nosotros don't have time for that. You're fine merely the style you lot are."

"But . . ."

A firm hand settled in the small of her back, determinedly propelling her out into the antechamber. "I'll bet this is your handbag." At her nod, he picked up her pocket-sized Chanel bag from the gilded console and handed it to her. Just then, her father and Amelia appeared to moving ridge them off.

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