Mr. Hyde’s Assets Read online

  TRAPPED

  The lunacy of the last few moments hit Candice hard. Was she actually in her transparently wet silk pajamas, in her swimming pool, with a determined ferret and a naked handyman, at six o’clock in the morning?

  She was.

  And no question about it, Austin Hyde was naked.

  Lord, was he naked. Amazingly naked. Disturbingly naked.

  And Candice realized his intent too late. In one smooth lunge his arms were on either side of her, her back against the pool wall.

  There was no escape.

  With agonizing slowness, Austin pressed his body against hers from toe to chest. The shock of it numbed her for an instant…

  … before a riptide of sensation rocked her world…

  LOVE SPELL® January 2000 Published by

  Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc. 276 Fifth Avenue New York, NY 10001

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Copyright © 2000 by Sherrie Eddington and Donna Smith

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law.

  ISBN 0-505-52356-6

  The name “Love Spell” and its logo are trademarks of Dorchester Publishing Co., Inc.

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  To my wonderful big sister, Pat Diamond, for her loving support throughout the years. When I hear your warm, infectious laugh, I’m reminded of your big heart and sweet nature. Thanks for believing in me. I love you!

  —Sherrie Eddington

  If you ever doubt that there is a God in Heaven, watch the miracle of birth.

  Sadly many babies are born into abusive or neglectful situations. Yet there are a like number of potential parents out there who would give anything to love and cherish the little one someone else doesn’t want.

  I’d like to dedicate this book to all those wonderful people like my friend Misty Sanders, with hearts full of love to give to a child. The ones who keep trying no matter the odds, whether it’s in vitro, artificial insemination, or adoption. Don’t give up. It will happen. Also, for little Anna Marie and her parents, Brad and Tina. A few of the really lucky ones.

  —Donna Smith

  Chapter One

  “Test tube babies,” Austin Hyde muttered, wiping at his forehead.

  Damn Jack Cruise anyway for running such an embarrassing place as this clinic for in vitro fertilization and artificial insemination, he thought.

  With one last sweep of the brush, he finished painting the rosy red mouth on the smiling baby, then carefully descended the ladder several steps so that he could study the sign that read, little miracles, genetic reproduction.

  Austin frowned, dangling the brush from his fingertips as he ran his gaze slowly over his creation, a lifelike image of a chubby infant wearing nothing more than an old-fashioned triangle diaper and a smile. Not bad—although he had no intention of telling Jack how many days he’d spent sneaking peeks into strollers to impress the image in his mind.

  Below the ladder, two elderly women slowed to admire the little cherub, shading their eyes against the bright April sunshine as they grinned up at Austin. He grinned back, and they tittered like teenagers before moving on.

  Still smiling, he climbed down and removed his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his chest and neck. After he painted the rattle in the baby’s hand, he’d be finished. Jack had been very specific about the rattle. Blue—with yellow stripes.

  Crazy guy.

  Of course, Austin had recognized the weird-ness of his half brother’s mind a long time ago, and it amazed him that Jack Cruise had settled for a Ph.D. in biochemistry and managing this clinic rather than finishing medical school, which might have enabled him to personally experiment on hapless victims.

  Thank God he hadn’t!

  Yet was this really preferable—Jack working at a sperm bank? Did he do these things just to torture Austin? When they were kids, Austin had had to bloody a few noses over Jack’s nerdy appearance; he now had to defend Jack’s crazy profession much the same way. Given how different they were, sometimes it was hard to believe they’d shared the same mother.

  Austin shuddered, flinging his damp shirt across a ladder rung and turning in time to see a white BMW purr up to the curb on the opposite side of the street. With casual interest, he watched as the door opened. Tanned, narrow feet encased in delicate leather sandals stepped onto the pavement.

  Attached to the feet were a pair of long, slim legs.

  His interest sharpened. Slowly, he lowered his sunglasses down his nose, an appreciative smile curving his mouth. Maybe his day wasn’t wasted after all, he thought.

  The woman stood and adjusted the short white sundress that definitely complemented her golden skin, then shut the car door. A warm breeze ruffled her blond, shoulder-length hair and played havoc with the flared skirt of her dress.

  She looked elegant, sassy, and sexy all rolled into one heart-hammering package.

  Austin wished she’d remove her oversized shades. With a body that perfect, there had to be a flaw somewhere. Bushy eyebrows at the very least. Mesmerized, he watched her cross the street and head in his direction. She walked like a dream, and as she came closer, he realized her legs were bare of anything but her tan.

  But wait, surely she wasn’t coming here, to the artificial babymaker.

  She was. Heading straight for the clinic. Austin felt a pang of disappointment; without a doubt most of the clinics clients were couples. Ah, hell, he should have known a woman that gorgeous would be taken.

  Still, he wouldn’t mind getting a look at her eyes, just to satisfy his curiosity. He was thinking of a logical excuse to stop her when a white van bearing the logo Sacramento Star screeched to a halt at the curb.

  At the sight of the news van, the woman faltered in the middle of the street. Frantically, she swung her head around as if considering making a run back to her car.

  Austin frowned, checking the traffic the blonde might have to brave to avoid the guy getting out of the van. What was going on? Was she a celebrity? If so, Austin didn’t recognize her. But then, he spent most nights painting canvases, not watching television.

  “Mrs. Vanausdale! Can I ask you a few questions?”

  The strident voice came from the young man stepping out of the van. His newsprint tie clashed with the light blue crumpled summer suit he wore, as did his worn tennis shoes. He looked as if he’d rummaged through a yard sale for the ensemble.

  Austin took in the heavy Nikon camera swinging from the man’s neck, the lens reflecting the sunlight as it swayed to and fro. The reporter paused a moment to push a thick lock of brown hair from his eyes before slamming the van door and darting out into the street and into the woman�
�s path.

  She squared her shoulders and moved around him, but the persistent reporter followed, clicking away with his camera and circling her like a hungry vulture.

  “Mrs. Vanausdale, is it true that you once worked in a Burger Barn, making less than minimum wage?”

  She walked faster, high heels clicking on the pavement. Austin felt a pang of sympathy for the blonde, figuring he should do the proper Boy Scout thing and help her out. He tensed, ready to step in if the reporter didn’t back off before she reached the building.

  “How about your alcoholic stepfather? Is he still around? Will you go back to working at the burger joint if you lose your inheritance? Mrs. Vanausdale, will you have the baby if you lose the case?”

  Austin saw her lips tighten. When she reached the door, he stepped up to block the reporter’s progress. He placed a firm but gentle hand in the middle of the guy’s chest to halt his headlong rush after Mrs. Vanausdale. “Get lost,” he ordered.

  “I just want to ask Mrs. Vanausdale a question before—”

  “You asked, and she didn’t answer. Take a hint.”

  “But—”

  “Get lost. The lady doesn’t want to talk to you.”

  “Look, mister—”

  Austin dropped his hand but took a threatening step forward. The man backed away, stumbling over the curb and falling on his butt. Keeping a wary eye on Austin, he scrambled up and crawled into the van, muttering beneath his breath.

  “Thank you.”

  The soft, grateful voice reminded Austin of tanning oil left out in the sun—hot and sensual.

  The blonde had taken off her sunglasses, Austin saw when he turned around. Her eyes were green—no, gold. Golden-green. Beautiful cat’s eyes, he thought with a groan. Now why did she have to go and be beautiful all over? She was supposed to have a big nose or crossed eyes. Damn. There should be a law against being that pretty.

  “Do you do this often?”

  Austin blinked, suddenly aware of how he must look, bare-chested, arms akimbo. He moved to the ladder and grabbed his shirt, curiously embarrassed. “Do what often?” Drool? Pant? Get aroused over the sight of pink toenails? She was married—and rich, by the looks of it. Two strikes against her. Damn, why did she have to be rich? The marriage part he might have forgiven, but not the wealth. He’d had his fill of that type. Then again, maybe she’d be willing to give it all up and live simply, as he did. And have you forgotten what the reporter said? She’s pregnant, you fool.

  No, he hadn’t forgotten. It was just hard to imagine. His gaze dipped to the shadowy cleavage revealed by her dress, then moved on down to those smooth, wonderful legs. Thank God for shades; they allowed him to look his fill without coming off as an ogler.

  She brushed a golden strand of windswept hair from her cheek and nodded at the news van still parked at the curb. “Rescue women in distress.”

  Rescue women in distress? Ha! If only she could read his mind. On second thought, he didn’t have the money for bail. “Only when they’re being chased by obnoxious reporters.”

  She smiled, and this time Austin was ready for her—he thought. He shifted, distracting himself by shrugging into his shirt. Hell, he needed something to distract him, before she figured out what was on his mind from the tight stretch of his jeans over a certain area.

  “Thanks again.”

  “Any time,” he muttered, watching her push through the clinic door and disappear behind the tinted glass. Rattled more than he cared to admit, he got back to business. He spent the next several minutes reminding himself that she wasn’t his type—and married, to boot—trying to erase her from his mind.

  Thirty minutes later, he finished the sign, wondering when the blonde would reappear. Maybe he should go inside and find something cool to drink. Perhaps take a casual look around. He couldn’t be blamed for being thirsty, could he?

  He stopped short just inside the door when he caught sight of the reporter arguing with Jack. How… ? He glanced outside to the news van still parked at the curb, then back at the reporter. Jack sounded annoyed, which made Austin grin despite his irritation.

  Something, apparently, had finally ruffled his unflappable little brother.

  “How many times do I have to repeat myself? I will not, cannot, release confidential information on any of our clients.”

  Good for him, Austin thought. Now, how in hell had the reporter gotten inside?

  “I’ll pay you twenty thousand dollars for Candice Vanausdale’s records,” the reporter announced outrageously.

  Austin whistled between his teeth. Twenty thousand wasn’t something to snicker about. Would Jack… ? Nah. Austin shook his head. Jack was crazy, but he did have ethics.

  “I don’t care if you offer me fifty thousand, I still—”

  “Okay, fifty thousand. But for that amount, I want a sample of—”

  “You’re sick, you know that? I’d be ashamed to leave my house if I were you. For the last time, our records are not for sale.”

  “If you’ll just let me take a peek, I won’t reveal my sources,” the reporter persisted.

  Austin took a lazy step away from the wall and crossed his arms. Jack might just need his help on this one.

  “Get out before I call the cops!”

  Whoa, Nelly! Jack sounded hopping mad. Austin couldn’t keep a silly grin from his face. Maybe nerdy, mad-scientist Jack, who as a child had scared him more times than he could remember with his hare-brained experiments, deserved to be hassled. Still, he thought with a sigh, Jack was his little brother, and nobody pushed his little brother around.

  With a fatalistic shrug, Austin sauntered over and inserted himself between the two men. The reporter outweighed his miniature brother by fifty pounds, which still left him about half the size of Austin.

  The reporter’s eyes widened in recognition, but this time he’d made it into the clinic and obviously wasn’t going to give up easily. He made a halfhearted effort at curling his lip.

  Jack snickered.

  Austin narrowed his eyes.

  “You again,” the reporter quavered. “Excuse us, we’re having a conversation here. I believe the bathrooms that way.”

  Austin smiled pleasantly. He preferred to handle things with the minimum amount of damage. “I believe the door is that way.”

  “This is none of your business, mister. Why don’t you go back to cleaning the toilets or whatever it is you do and let me do my job?”

  “I’m an artist, not a plumber. Although I do dabble in metal pipes on the side—weight-lifting.” Deliberately, Austin ran an assessing eye up and down the reporters thin frame, as if judging his meager poundage.

  The reporter missed the subtle warning. He craned his neck around Austin’s broad shoulders. “Mr. Cruise, I—”

  Austin shifted casually, blocking his access to Jack. “Actually, you should call him Dr. Jekyll—and I’m Mr. Hyde.”

  This time, the reporter caught Austin’s implication. His eyes widened in alarm, and he let out a squeak as Austin picked him up and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of grain.

  “Hey, put me down, you—”

  Austin did, gently—right on his backside in the middle of the hot sidewalk outside the building.

  When Austin glanced toward the spot where the BMW had been parked, he saw that it was gone. He experienced a curious letdown, knowing he wouldn’t see the blonde again. She must have left by the side entrance while Jack stalled the reporter. Who must have sneaked in earlier by that same side entrance.

  Just as well the woman was gone, Austin told himself firmly. Her kind would be nothing but trouble to a guy like him.

  Dusting off his hands, he strode back inside, whistling a jaunty tune to drown out the reporter’s inventive curses. Jack waited for him, grinning that sheepish smile that always made Austin want to ruffle his thick, dark hair. He resisted the urge.

  Clapping him on the back, Jack asked, “What would I do without you? Did you see the look on the guy’s face wh
en you told him you were an artist? Of course, that’s the same look everyone gets—no one believes a bruiser like you could be hiding the soul of a sensitive, creative type. Let’s go to my office and I’ll get you a Coke.”

  Austin didn’t protest; painting, not to mention throwing reporters out on their butts, was thirsty work. He chose to ignore Jack’s laughing reference to his insensitive-looking body. Who the hell said an artist had to have a certain look, anyway?

  “Thanks for the help, Aussy.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Austin warned. “And you owe me five hundred bucks for the sign.”

  “And I’ll pay you, I’ll pay you. Of course, you’d be doing me a favor by waiting until the fifteenth. I’m expecting a large check by then.” Jack closed his office door and motioned Austin to take a seat, loosening his tie as he made for his own comfortable chair behind the desk. “Whew! I can’t believe the nerve of those guys. Vultures, every one of them.”

  Austin lifted an eyebrow as Jack paused for breath. “That Coke you mentioned?”

  “Yes?”

  “Where is it?”

  Jack slapped his forehead and jumped up, removing two frosty cans from a compact refrigerator. He opened them and handed one to Austin before flopping back into his chair with a noisy sigh. “As I was saying, she came to sign a few papers, and that reporter followed her right into the clinic!”

  Austin eyed his brother over the soda. So the reporter was right. If the blonde had come to sign papers, then she must have “purchased” a baby, either through in vitro or artificial insemination. “Who is this Candice Vanausdale, anyway?” he asked.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of her. Rich tycoon’s wife? Howard Vanausdale? Third richest man in the state of California? He owned every Howard Clothing store in the United States.” Jack shook his head as if he couldn’t comprehend Austin’s ignorance. “His wife has made the headlines several times in the past year.”

  “What’s so special about her?” Austin tried to sound uninterested, but every nerve ending seemed to stand at attention as he waited for the answer. He should forget about her. Hadn’t Jack just told him how wealthy she was? How married?