To Love a Stranger (6 page)

“W
hat did you tell him?” Lysandra asked, eyes as wide as silver dollars. “C'mon, you've left me hanging for two days. You're killing me. Just tell me!”

Madeline marched across her office to her door and glanced around to make sure no one had overheard her excited cousin. A few curious eyes drifted her way, but the staff had been eyeballing her all morning. Everyone was dying to question her about Russell's miraculous return.
Let them stew.
She closed the door and turned to her cousin. “Keep your voice down.”

“Well?” Lysandra persisted. “Don't give me the story in piecemeal. Spit it out.”

Madeline crossed her arms, still feeling Friday night's cold chill. “I told him the truth. What else could I do?”

Lysandra dropped into one of the room's empty leather chairs. “You could've lied,” she offered weakly. “Have you forgotten what's at stake here?”

Madeline hands exploded up into the air. “How can I with you, Mother and my conscience driving me up the wall every five minutes?”

“Then why in the hell did you tell him the truth?”

“Why lie?” She returned to her cluttered desk, unsure of which pile of sketches, swatches or financial spreadsheets to dive into first. “I married for security and Russell married a trophy wife to produce a couple of kids to carry on the Stone family name. The old Russell understood these things. If I was ever confused, his endless parade of girlfriends quickly put me in my place. You know. You were there.”

“And the new Russell?”

He looked crestfallen, Madeline thought, but said, “It doesn't matter.”

“But the line—”

“Will be fine,” Madeline snapped. “You know there's still a chance we're dealing with an impostor and in that case we're just spinning our wheels for nothing,” Madeline said to her cousin.

“Do you still believe there's a chance he's an imposter?”

No.

“I'm saying that we have ten months before we launch and I'd rather concentrate on that right now. I'll deal with everything then. When the blood test results come in. My biggest headache right now is how to explain all of this to the children. It's bad enough I kept them out of school today, but I will have to give them some kind of explanation.”

Lysandra opened her mouth to argue, but Madeline had perfected her mother's highbrow stare and her cousin exhaled a long breath and then heaved herself out of the chair. “Fine.” She strolled to the door. “I just hope you know what you're doing.”

“Close the door behind you,” Madeline ordered. Once alone, she slumped back in her chair and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

Do I know what I'm doing?

Russell couldn't keep Madeline out of his mind—not that he was trying that hard. He found everything about her fascinating. She had beauty, brains and, above all else, honesty. When he'd ask whether she married him for money, he fully expected her to be outraged by the question. Then after a brief pause, he wanted her to deny it. But when she calmly told him “yes,” he could only respect her.

A knock on his bedroom door jarred him from his thoughts and his shoulders slumped at the prospect of Christopher probing his already taxed brain to force memories into his consciousness that simply eluded him.

“Who is it?” he inquired, crossing to the door.

“Laurell,” a woman whispered.

Who?
He opened the door and then had to rush backward when the woman's tall willowy frame bolted inside, kicked the door closed with the back of her heel and wrapped her arms around him.

“Oh, baby. I can't believe you've really returned to me.”

Before Russell could speak, the strange woman blanketed his face with kisses.

“I was off for the holidays, but when the kitchen staff told me about your return, I cried with joy.” She kissed him again and began to pull at his clothes.

“Whoa. Whoa.” He grabbed at her arms. “There's has to be some kind of mistake.” He tried to push her away, but instead found himself tumbling backward onto the bed.

A devilish grin seized the young woman's face and she dove on top of him. “Don't fight me. It can be just like it used to be. Well, I am married now, but what Henry doesn't know won't hurt him.”

What?
“Look, lady. There's been some kind of mistake. I'm not who you think I am. I mean, I am…but I'm not.”

She stopped, stared at him and then burst out laughing. “Come on. You're not gonna pull that amnesia bit with me, are you?”

He shook his head and struggled for the right words. “I—I'm sorry, but—”

“Well, maybe these will jog your memory.” Laurell ripped open her shirt and sent buttons flying in all directions.

Russell's eyes widened at the sight. Two full cantaloupe-size breasts were crammed into a black, lacey bra. A half a second later, she unsnapped the bra by a center clasp and his eyes bulged even wider.

A knock sounded at the door. “Russell?” Christopher inquired through the door.

“Damn!” Laurell bounced off the bed and ran in a complete circle, trying to find a place to hide.

Russell watched the doorknob turn as he stood up from the bed. “Uh, just a minute,” he called out in a panic. “I'm not descent.”

The door opened. “Why would I care if…?”

An eerie quiet fell over the room, but then it was replaced by Christopher's loud laughter.

“Still got the magic touch, eh, Russell?”

Laurell ducked her head and rushed out of the room.

Christopher held on to his smile as he watched her leave and then turned back to his brother. “I swear, those tits you bought her was one of your best investments.”

“Me?”

“When she first came to work here, she was flat as a pancake.” Christopher looped an arm around him. “Now they're every man's dream and my Thursday-afternoon pillows.”

Russell frowned. “You and she…her and I…?”

“Hey, bro. We share everything,” Christopher said, and winked slyly at his brother.

Madeline flashed in his mind and a sudden anger flared in Russell.

“Well, almost everything,” Christopher amended with a hard pat to Russell's back. “Dr. Rountree promised to call within the hour. I had my secretary set up a press conference and—”

“A what?”

“A press conference. The media is hungry for information about you and your story.”

“But what if the test results…”

“I don't need a blood test to know you're my brother.”

Russell admired Christopher's confidence, but also experienced that overwhelming fear of letting the man down.

“After that, I figured we'd have a car take us over to Stone Cold Records. I'm told the staff is buzzing about your return. How does that sound?”

More people.
Russell smiled despite the ball of anxiety curling in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't even had a chance to see his two kids yet. And that was assuming they even were his. Either way, he desperately wished everything and everyone would slow down.

“Well, we can always stop by the label another time,” Christopher said, correctly reading Russell's pensive expression.

“You don't mind, do you?”

His brother quickly waved off his concerns and returned to pounding him affectionately on the back. “No, no. Of course not.”

“Thanks. I'll shower and change into something for the press conference.”

“Something casual,” Christopher coached, and headed for the door. “Do you want me to send Coleman up? He's great at picking out clothes.”

“No. I think I can handle it on my own.” Russell's smile tightened again. Did wealthy people need someone else to do everything for them?

“Suit yourself,” his brother said over his shoulder. “As a reminder, when you're entertaining a female, staff or otherwise, lock the door.”

Russell rolled his eyes and headed to take his shower. The thought of the pending test results and press release kept his anxiety high and his nerves shot. What would happen if he weren't Russell Stone? Where would he go? What would he do?

After the shower, he reached for the electric shaver, but stopped before removing the stubbly new growth. He sort of missed the beard and mustache so he decided to keep the five o'clock shadow…for now.

Walking back into the bedroom with only a towel wrapped around his hips, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he found his bed occupied by the very curvy and very nude Denitra.

“Hello, Russell,” she purred, rocking her hips.

He quickly turned his back. “Denitra, what are you doing in here?” He listened as she shifted on the bed.

“I came to see you, silly. So why don't you come over here and say ‘hi'?”

Damn. He didn't need to keep the door locked to keep women in, but to keep them out.

“Uh, I'm, uh…” He glanced at his hand and, for the first time, wondered about his absent wedding band. “Uh—”

“Don't worry,” she said, suddenly behind him and pressing her breasts against his back. “There's no need to be shy.” She kissed his shoulders. “I can be discreet.”

Russell jumped forward and out of her reach. “That's not necessary. I'm a married man and you're—you're with Shaw, remember?”

“Oh, poo on Shaw. You think I don't know he's jumpin' ship the moment his half of the reward money clears the bank?” Denitra came up behind him again and slid her hand across his back. “I'm looking to upgrade. A man of your power and wealth…”

He faced her with narrowed eyes. “My wealth?”

She shrugged lightly. “C'mon, Russell. I didn't mean it like that…”

“I think you should leave,” Russell said, and clasped her by the elbow, grabbed her robe from the bed and directed her toward the door.

“Wait,” Denitra whined. “I didn't mean to upset you. I just—”

“Wanted to upgrade,” he finished for her, and opened the door. On the other side, an attractive woman in a too-tight, black-and-white maid uniform with her breasts clearly ready to spill out of it, stood poised to knock.

“You've got to be kidding me,” Russell said to no one in particular.

After Madeline nearly paced a hole in her office carpet, she stood by her icy cold window and watched the holiday's first snow flurries scatter across the Manhattan landscape. News of Christopher and Russell's one-o'clock press conference overloaded the receptionist's switchboard. Media outlets wanted to know whether she would be in attendance. If not, why?

“Why?” she whispered perhaps for the millionth time since Russell's return. It was a big question. A question that encompassed so much.

Of course, all the pain, hurt and confusion would go away if the tests results proved this man wasn't her husband. Was it too much to hope for?

She closed her eyes through a deep sigh and for a fleeting moment the heady taste of Russell's kiss the other night surfaced from her memory. It
was
different. It was tender, sweet—just plain old
better.

The phone rang and jolted her out of her reverie. It was her direct line and with it being ten minutes til one, she guessed the caller before reading it on the phone's digital caller ID.

She drew a deep breath and picked up the line. “Madeline Stone.” Her heartbeat thumped in her ears.

Christopher's somber voice came onto the line. “Hello, Maddie. The test results are in.”

She nodded and drew another deep breath.

“It's him,” Christopher croaked on a sob. “It's really him.”

Madeline didn't remember hanging up.

N
ew Yorkers woke to a blanket of snow on the first day of December. An undeniable magic weaved its way into the air and elevated the Christmas spirit—for everyone except Madeline. In the week since Russell's test results, she blissfully lived in a quiet world called…denial.

It wasn't easy dodging reporters, insurance agents, Russell
and
her mother, but it was a necessary evil. At least that was what she kept telling herself. However, her nice protective bubble ended the afternoon the children's private school called to let her know Russell had been spotted several times near the school's playground.

“He's going to try and take my babies,” she panted, racing out of the building. The midday traffic crawl transformed her into a raving lunatic behind the wheel of her expensive, imported sedan. “Get the hell out of the way,” she screamed to one of what looked like a flood of yellow taxicabs.

An hour later, she finally reached her destination and bolted out of her car like a bat out of hell.

“Madeline.” She heard a familiar voice calling to her.

She twirled so fast she lost her footing on a patch of black ice. Arms and legs flailed during her brief stint in the air and when she landed something cracked.

Russell magically appeared at her side. “Oh, God, Madeline. Are you all right?”

“Something's broke,” she said, warding off his assistance, but too fearful to move.

“Are you sure? Let me see if I can help you,” Russell said. As he bent down to her side concern swathed his expression.

Madeline didn't move. She couldn't. Seeing him cloaked in black with a thin, groomed goatee caused her stomach to twist in large knots and the casual touch of his hand against her arm sent enough electricity through her to make her forget about sitting in a pile of snow.

What would he do if she leaned forward and kissed him right now?

“Madeline,” he said, snapping her out of her ridiculous haze. “Give me your arm and I'll help you up.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he placed a silencing finger against her lips.

“Your other option is to just sit here in a pile of snow like a crybaby until someone feels sorry enough for you to call an ambulance,” he ended with a wink. “Now, give me your hand.”

Madeline bit her lower lip, instead of chomping down on Russell's finger, and grudgingly placed her hand in his. What she didn't expect was to be lifted effortlessly and hugged up against his broad chest.

Stay calm,
she told herself.

Her eyes traveled upward and locked with his dark, liquid gaze. A sensation of drowning flooded her senses and it wasn't until her lungs begged for air that she forced herself to break the trance and suck in a much needed breath.

“Are you all right?” he asked, voice quivering.

She remembered her foot, but realized he was supporting most of her weight. “Let me go,” she ordered.

“Are you sure?”

“I said let go.” Either the mistake was shoving when he was releasing her or him releasing her when she was shoving because the next thing she knew her butt kissed the sidewalk again. The crack was now a snap and she hollered out in pain.

“Oh, Madeline. I'm so sorry.” He scooped down and swept her up into his arms. A gallant move that surprised and impressed her. “Maybe you do need a doctor,” he said as he carried her across the parking lot.

Somehow being cocooned in Russell's arm zapped what few brain cells she had left and it wasn't until she was nestled in the backseat of a sleek limousine that she thought to question him. “Wait, where are you taking me?”

Russell, who had climbed into the limo to sit beside her, knocked on the thin Plexiglas. “To the nearest hospital,” he shouted.

Madeline laughed. “You know that button by your head works as a intercom.”

Russell glanced at the white button and his face darkened in embarrassment. “That explains the weird looks the driver's been giving me the past few days.”

The limo pulled away from the curve.

Shaking her head, she tried to reposition herself so that their legs wouldn't touch, but the shooting pain in her foot forced her to abandon the notion.

“Do you find me repulsive?” Russell studied her for a reaction.

“What were you doing at my children's school?” she asked, changing the subject.

“
Our
children,” he corrected. “Why haven't you returned any of my phone calls?”

“I've been busy.” She sulked and turned her attention to the passing scenery.

“I just want to see the kids. I wasn't going to do anything like snatch them off the playground.”

She folded her arms and continued to sulk.

“That is what you thought, isn't it? That's the reason you raced over there,” he said.

Slowly, she turned her head and faced him. “Just like you knew I would.”

The bastard actually smiled and for some crazy reason she joined him. They rode in silence for a few minutes before she said, “I was going to call you.”

“Really? When?”

A deep breath and then, “As soon as I figured out what to tell Ariel and Russ. Even though they're already asking questions, thanks to their nosey teachers and classmates.”

“It's been a week,” he said.

“So what's a few more?” He narrowed his dark gaze and caused an army of goose bumps to pimple her skin. “I was joking,” she said.

“Sure you were.” He leaned over and looked at her feet. He examined how the right one was positioned. “That doesn't look good.”

She followed his gaze with a ripple of fear. And sure enough an hour and a half later, the emergency-room intern at Mount Siani Hospital confirmed she had broken her foot.

“You'll need to stay off of it and if it's at all possible keep it elevated,” the young intern advised. “Are you her husband?”

The question threw Russell off guard for a moment, but he finally recovered. “Yes,” he said firmly.

“Good. Then you'll make sure that she stays off this foot?”

“Yes, sir.” Russell saluted and then frowned.

Madeline returned to sulking. “I don't need a babysitter and I have a company to run.”

“Either take care of the leg or the leg will take care of you,” the intern quipped, and survived one of Madeline's searing stares. “If the foot doesn't heal properly, I guess we could always break it and try again. Of course, you'll run the risk of having ankles the size of bowling balls. That's up to you.”

“They must hand out smart-ass cards with medical degrees nowadays.”

“Actually,” the intern said, and smiled as he headed toward the door, “they do. I'll get someone in here to put on a cast for you.”

Russell crossed his arms. “Do you generally pick fights with everyone you come in contact with?”

“It's part of my winning personality,” Madeline said.

He laughed, a deep rumble that vibrated the space between them. Funny, how she never noticed that before.

“You know, I think it would be fun looking after you.”

“Again. I don't need you looking after me.”

“Ah, that's right. You probably have a full staff waiting on you hand and foot already.”

“I do not…entirely. And that is beside the point.”

“I'm moving in anyway,” he announced, crossing his arm.

“Over my dead body.”

“It's my house, too.”

“I knew you'd pull something like this!” She went to swing her legs off the table, but the pain warned her that it wasn't a smart move, forcing her to wage war propped up on the gurney.

“You figured me out. I'm an evil person for moving back into my house and getting to know my kids,” he said. He held up his wrist. “Slap the handcuffs on me. You caught me.”

“You're so not funny,” Madeline said.

“And you're not being fair.”

“Fair? You want to talk to me about being fair?”

Russell cut her off with a silencing finger to her lips. “This relationship will go a lot further if you'd learn to let the past go.”

She slapped his hand away and sputtered.

“I can't argue with you,” he continued. “I don't remember what our marriage was like. I can't even imagine any kind of marriage based solely on money.”

The statement was like a pinprick to her balloon of anger.

“I do know, if it requires me to apologize to you everyday until we can sort this whole mess out, then fine. I'm sorry.”

How in the hell could she continue to be mad at someone who refused to argue with her? It really did take the fun out of things, she thought.

“Would it help if I
asked
to move in?”

Feeling another sulking fit coming on, Madeline dropped her gaze with a halfhearted shrug. Even as she did it, she was mystified by her behavior.

Russell reached out and tipped her chin up so that their eyes could meet. “Madeline, can I move in with you and the children? I want to get to know them…and I want to get to know you,” he said softly.

Madeline's hands balled into tight fists as if clinging onto a lifeline. It didn't help.

“May I?” he asked.

“Yes,” she finally whispered. “Yes, you may.”