Linda Goodnight - Rich Man, Poor Bride

There stood a gorgeous man without a stitch of clothing on his dark-skinned body.

His onyx eyes reflected the shock of her own. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“Maid service, sir. Towels.”

He frowned and one black eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Do all the maids in this hotel wear bathing suits?”

Oh, no. She’d forgotten how she was dressed. Her pulse thundered in her ears. “I’m the lifeguard. And a waitress and a bartender and—”

“Really?” A cynical twist of sculpted lips said he wasn’t buying her babbling explanations. Though her one-piece suit was modest, his gaze raked over her. “You’re a busy girl,” he mocked softly.

Staring into his incredible black eyes did strange things to her insides. Her brain had turned to tapioca pudding. All she could remember was that trouble with a guest could cost her this much-needed job.

And from the small cross necklace on his bare chest to his six-pack stomach, this man looked like nothing but trouble.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Kelli McBride: Fellow writer,

fabulous Web mistress and, most of all,

a dear friend who spurred me on from the beginning.

A romantic at heart, Linda Goodnight believes in the traditional values of family and home. Writing books enables her to share her certainty that, with faith and perseverance, love can last forever and happy endings really are possible.

A native of Oklahoma, Linda lives in the country with her husband, Gene, and Mugsy, an adorably obnoxious rat terrier. She and Gene have a blended family of six grown children. An elementary school teacher, she is also a licensed nurse. When time permits, Linda loves to read, watch football and rodeo, and indulge in chocolate. She also enjoys taking long, calorie-burning walks in the nearby woods. Readers can write to her at linda@lindagoodnight.com.

The Tale of Ruth and Boaz

After leaving the arms of her mother and father for the wonders of a happy marriage, Ruth had believed her life settled. Then tragedy struck. This new wife and her beloved mother-in-law, Naomi, were left widowed and alone, with only the comfort of each other.

Reduced to poverty, Naomi insisted on traveling alone to a distant town, the land of her relatives. Ruth, she claimed, was still young and beautiful. A new husband and family would surely come into her life. But Ruth’s love for Naomi was strong, and she vowed to follow Naomi to the ends of the earth, if need be.

When they arrived at their destination, Ruth was true to her word. She worked diligently to provide for their household, even gleaning the leftover wheat in the field of a mighty landowner, Boaz. Ruth’s demure beauty and loving diligence were noted by the wealthy scholar. As he daily watched her in his fields and saw the pure devotion she showed Naomi, he fell hopelessly in love.

The moment her period of mourning ended, he stood in line with other distant relatives to be the lucky man to win her heart. When he requested her hand in marriage, she could not deny the emotion between them and the care he took with her mother-in-law. With a heart full of love, she accepted his proposal.

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Bones aching, Meredith Montrose put the finishing touches on her makeup in preparation for another day of managing La Torchere, the single most exclusive and private resort in southwest Florida. Dabbing blush over her wrinkled, leathery cheeks, she sighed. Who would believe an old crone like her was not yet thirty years old? Thirty.

Yet it was true. Though she still reeled with the knowledge that her own beloved aunt and godmother Lissa Bessart Piers would do such a thing, the fact remained. Aunt Lissa had cast a spell upon her. Just because Merry was a tad bit selfish, had an occasional temper tantrum, and had tried to sabotage her father’s engagement to an older woman, her godmother decided she needed a lesson in humility and the power of love—and more empathy for the aging.

Now the deadline for breaking the curse loomed like an oncoming tidal wave. Less than a year left to break the spell that held her beautiful young body captive inside this withered, ugly, aching form. Less than a year to complete the task of pairing twenty-one couples with their true loves. She thanked her lucky stars that the latest matched couple, Jackie Hammond and Steven Rollins, would soon be married here on La Torchere’s beach.

Seventeen down and four to go.

Then she could be free again—the beautiful, brilliant princess Meredith Montrosa Bessart of Silestia. But if she failed she would serve out her lifetime in this body as hotel manager Merry Montrose without ever seeing her family or her beloved homeland again.

A shiver of dread made her hands tremble as she took up her cell picture phone, the most special tool in her bag of magical matchmaking tricks. At the press of a button, a handsome Latino face, a little sad and resigned and a lot weary, appeared in the tiny video screen. If fate was kind, Dr. Diego Vargas was about to meet his match.

Flip-flops popping, Ruthie Ellsworthy Fernandez rushed down the hallway of La Torchere Resort dropping off extra gourmet coffee packets in Room 12 and a bottle of Perrier in Room 7 before jumping into the elevator. As she hit the ground floor, her pager buzzed for the hundredth time and a text message appeared: Towels to penthouse, followed by the guest’s name.

A quick check of the time told her she had five whole minutes before reporting to lifeguard duty at the outdoor pool. Grabbing a stack of fluffy, blindingly white towels emblazoned with the candelabra insignia of the resort, Ruthie greeted several of the wealthy, high-class guests as she hopped back onto the elevator and headed to the penthouse. That suite, on the same floor as her small apartment, had been empty this morning. A new guest must have just arrived.

At the door she rapped softly, having learned in her few months as the hotel’s Jane-of-all-trades that the rich and cultured expected the best in serene but entertaining surroundings, and they didn’t mind paying for what they wanted. But they were darned fussy when service wasn’t prompt and perfect.

When no one answered, she rapped again then used her maid’s key to open the door.

All around her lay the trappings of class and wealth. Sumptuous carpets, plush furnishings. Casually elegant, the tasteful decor was alive with splashes of tropical color. The suite was bigger than the home back in Texas she had shared with her late husband Jason and his mother, Naomi. And much bigger than the small suite of rooms she and Naomi now occupied at the resort.

Not that she was complaining. Not at all. She was ever so grateful to have a job that not only gave her a place to live as part of her pay, but allowed her to work as much as possible while still having time to care for her beloved mother-in-law. Naomi and her medical treatments came first, above everything else.

Ruthie entered the beautiful luxury suite, crossed through the living room and bedroom on her way to the bathroom to put the towels away. She pushed the door open, stepped into the massive bathroom…and sucked in a gasping lungful of damp, masculine-scented air. For there at the sink stood a gorgeous man without a stitch of clothing on his fit and trim, dark-skinned body. In the mirror a pair of onyx eyes reflected the shock in her own.

To Ruthie’s horror, he whirled around and demanded, “What do you want?”

As she slowly backed toward the doorway, she thrust the towels at him. He ignored the offer and continued to stare at her.

“I’m the maid, Mr.—” She searched her memory for the man’s name. Had it been on the pager? At this point she couldn’t remember her own name, much less his. Mortified, she thrust the towels in his direction one more time, hoping, praying he would take them. “I didn’t know—I thought you were— Please excuse me.”

Ripping the towels from her grip, the man had the belated decency to hold them over the proper area. Still, she was in the same room with a handsome, mostly naked stranger. The heated blush moved from her face to her ears and clear down to her toes. Ruthie was certain if she looked down, her naked legs would be fiery red. Never had she walked in on an unclothed guest.

From somewhere his name appeared in her mind.

Dr. Diego Vargas. That’s who he was.

“I’ll just leave now, Dr. Vargas.” Backing up, she twisted one flip-flop, felt the rubber sandal slip from her foot and was forced to stop. Eyes never leaving his because, Lord knew, she dare not look lower, she fished around the floor by feel until her toes found their way back into the thong.

“Wait,” he demanded, coming toward her. “Who are you? Why are you in my room?”

Was the man deaf? “Maid service, sir. Towels.”

He frowned and one black eyebrow arched in disbelief. “Do all the maids in this hotel wear bathing suits?”

Oh, no. She’d forgotten how she was dressed. The blush deepened and her pulse thundered in her ears. Swallowing, she tried to explain. “I’m the lifeguard.”

The other eyebrow went up.

“And a waitress, and a bartender and—” She was stuttering now. How did she explain—with her brain shorted out from encountering the most fascinating male body she’d seen since Antonio Banderas played Zorro—that she worked at anything and everything within the confines of the resort. Anything to earn the money for Naomi’s expensive treatments. “And the spa girl.”

“Really?” A cynical twist of sculpted lips said he wasn’t buying any of her babbling explanations. Those incredible black eyes raked over her, taking in every inch of her five-foot, five-inch body, most of it as nude as he was. She’d had no time to toss on a cover-up before delivering those towels, and though her one-piece suit was modest, under this man’s appraisal, a nun’s habit would feel risqué.

“You’re a busy girl,” he mocked softly. “And just what other services do you provide for your guests?”

Somehow she’d managed to back all the way through the living room, past several couches topped with throw pillows, past a fireplace, over an oriental rug, and to the entryway. She couldn’t find anywhere decent to look, and staring into those onyx eyes did strange things to her insides. Her gaze moved to his chest—a mistake, she knew, the moment a glistening water droplet trickled from the hollow of his throat down through a smattering of dark chest hair, past a small gold cross necklace dangling from a leather cord, over a six-pack stomach…and beyond.

Eyes glued to that one drop of water, she hardly heard the words tumbling out of her mouth. “Whatever you want—I mean, anything you need. La Torchere aims to please.”

Oh, dear, that didn’t come out right at all.

“Anything?”

“Yes. No. I mean—” She’d never been this tongue-tied in her life.

Every humiliated, fascinated pore in her body wanted to respond to his insulting tone, to explain in lucid terms they both could understand, but two things stopped her. Trouble with a guest could cost her this desperately needed job. And her brain had turned to tapioca pudding.