One in a Million Read online

  ALL BETS ARE OFF…

  One in a million—that’s what widow Stephanie Wynne figured her chances were of finding a man who could help her raise her kids instead of acting like one himself. After experiencing that with her late husband, she was happy to finally be in control of her own life. Sure, it could get a little lonely, but there were ways around that….

  FBI negotiator Nash Harmon was trained to be cool and detached in every situation. But when he came to Stephanie’s B&B, there was something about her lively family that drew him in, and for the first time in his life he understood why people had ties.

  Only Stephanie didn’t want ties…at least, not to him. It would be his toughest negotiation, the odds were against him, but somehow Nash would convince her that she had, indeed, found the one.

  Praise for New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Susan Mallery

  “Mallery’s prose is luscious and provocative.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Mallery is at her addictive best. The bestselling author crafts vivid characters and a winning story about the risk and joy of second love,

  studded with warm, alluring sex scenes.”

  —Publishers Weekly on Irresistible

  “Susan Mallery’s gift for writing humor and tenderness makes all her books true gems.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Praise for bestselling author

  Tanya Michaels

  “Readers should rush to read [A Mother’s Homecoming], as [it] will touch their hearts and move them deeply.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  “Tanya Michaels has done it again. She delivers another seamless romance of two people

  just doing their best.”

  —RT Book Reviews on A Dad for Her Twins

  Susan Mallery

  New York Times bestselling author Susan Mallery has entertained millions of readers with her witty and emotional stories about women and the relationships that move them. Publishers Weekly calls Susan’s prose “luscious and provocative,” and Booklist says, “Novels don’t get much better than Mallery’s expert blend of emotional nuance, humor and superb storytelling.”

  While Susan appreciates the critical praise, she is most honored by the enthusiastic readers who write to tell her that her books made them laugh, made them cry and made the world a happier place to live.

  Susan lives in Seattle with her husband and her tiny but intrepid toy poodle. She’s there for the coffee, not the weather. Visit Susan online at her website, www.SusanMallery.com.

  Tanya Michaels

  Three-time RITA® Award nominee Tanya Michaels writes about what she knows—community, family and lasting love!

  Her books, praised for their poignancy and humor, have received honors such as the Booksellers’Best Bet Award, the Maggie Award of Excellence and multiple readers’ choice awards. She was also a 2010 RT Book Reviews nominee for Career Achievement in Category Romance. Tanya is an active member of Romance Writers of America and a frequent public speaker, presenting workshops to educate and encourage aspiring writers. She lives outside Atlanta with her very supportive husband, two highly imaginative children and a household of quirky pets, including a cat who thinks she’s a dog and a bichon frise who thinks she’s the center of the universe. You can visit Tanya online at her website, www.TanyaMichaels.net.

  SUSAN MALLERY

  ONE IN A MILLION

  Dear Reader,

  Have you ever had one of those days? When everything goes wrong? Your car won’t start. You spill on the one shirt that is not only your favorite color but makes your tummy disappear. Your throat gets scratchy right before the biggest presentation of your life. You know what that’s like. Sometimes it feels like instead of a bad day, we have a bad week or even a bad month!

  When I sit down to write a book, that’s the woman I’m thinking about. The reader having a really bad time who needs an escape. A delicious romantic adventure with a sexy guy who will not only make her toes tingle, but also may fold the laundry and fix breakfast. Is that too much to ask? And if he’s funny, smart and caring along the way, well, why not? Isn’t that what romance novels are for?

  Stephanie Wynne, my heroine in One in a Million, is kind of having a bad patch of life right now. She has three kids, a business that needs her attention and a broken washing machine. The last thing she needs is a guy good-looking enough to star in her personal fantasies. Except there he is. And he’s just so…kissable. Is it really wrong to give in? Wouldn’t you?

  One in a Million has been out of print for several years, so I’m delighted my publisher is reissuing it. I hope you love the story as much as I do. For more information about other books or to find out about my next release, Barefoot Season, please visit my website, www.SusanMallery.com. I’m also on Facebook at www.Facebook.com/SusanMallery.

  One in a Million

  Susan Mallery

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 1

  Good-looking men should not be allowed to show up on one’s doorstep without at least twenty-four hours’ notice, Stephanie Wynne thought wearily as she leaned against her front door and tried not to think about the fact that she hadn’t slept in nearly forty-eight hours, couldn’t remember her last shower and knew that her short, blond hair looked as if it had been cut with a rice thresher.

  Three kids down with stomach flu had a way of taking the sparkle and glamour out of a woman’s day. Not that the man in front of her was going to care about her personal problems.

  Despite the fact that it was nearly two in the morning, the handsome, well-dressed stranger standing on her porch looked rested, tidy and really tall. She glanced from his elegant suit to the stained and torn football jersey she’d pulled out of the ragbag when she’d run out of clean clothes about two days ago because…

  Her tired brain struggled for the reason.

  Oh, yeah. The washer was broken.

  Again, not something he was going to sweat about. Paying guests only wanted excellent service, quiet rooms and calorie-laden breakfasts.

  She did her best to forget her pathetic appearance and forced her mouth into what she hoped was a friendly smile.

  “You must be Nash Harmon. Thanks for calling earlier and letting me know you’d be arriving late.”

  “My flight out of Chicago was delayed.” He drew his dark eyebrows together as he looked her up and down. “I hope I didn’t wake you, Mrs....”

  “Wynne. Stephanie Wynne.” She stepped back into the foyer of the old Victorian house. “Welcome to Serenity House.”

  The awful name for the bed-and-breakfast had been her late husband’s idea. After three years she could speak it without wincing, but only just. If not for the very expensive, custom-made, stained-glass sign that had replaced a front window and the fact that her kids would object, Stephanie would have changed the name of the B and B in a heartbeat.

  Her guest carried a leather duffel and a garment bag into the house. Her gaze moved between his expensive leather boots and her own mouse slippers with their tattered ears. When she finally headed upstairs to her own bed, she must remember not to look at herself in the mirror. Confi
rming her worst fears would cause her to shriek and wake the boys.

  The man signed the registration card she’d left on the front desk and she processed his credit card. Once she’d received approval, she handed him an old-fashioned brass key.

  “Your room is this way,” she said, heading up the stairs.

  She’d put him in the front bedroom. Not only was it large and comfortable, with a view of Glenwood, but it was one of only two guest rooms that weren’t under her third-floor apartment. When she wasn’t completely booked, she found it much easier to have guests stay there than to constantly keep at her kids to stay quiet. Being loud and being a boy seemed to go hand in hand.

  Five minutes later she’d explained the amenities of the room, said she would be serving breakfast from seven-thirty to nine and asked him if he would like her to leave a newspaper outside his door in the morning.

  He refused the paper.

  She nodded and headed for the hallway.

  “Mrs. Wynne?”

  She turned back to look at him. “Stephanie, please.”

  He nodded. “Do you have a map of the area? I’m here to visit some people and I don’t know my way around.”

  “Sure. Downstairs. I’ll put one out for you at breakfast.”

  “Thank you.”

  He offered her a slight smile, one that didn’t touch his eyes. It was late and she was so tired that her eyelashes hurt. But instead of leaving that second, she hesitated. Oh, not more than a heartbeat, but just long enough to notice that the overhead light brought out brownish highlights in his close-cropped black hair and that the hint of dark stubble on his square jaw made him look just a little bit dangerous.

  Yeah, right, Stephanie thought as she turned away. Apparently she’d moved into the hallucination stage of sleep deprivation. Dangerous men didn’t come to places like Glenwood. No doubt Nash Harmon was something completely harmless like a shoe salesman or a professor. Besides, what he did for a living was none of her business. As long as his credit-card company put the right amount of money into her bank account, she didn’t care if her guest was a computer programmer or a pirate.

  As for him being somewhat good-looking and possibly single—there hadn’t been a wedding ring on his left hand—she couldn’t care less. While her friends occasionally got on her case for not being willing to jump back into the man-infested dating pool, Stephanie ignored their well-meant intentions. She’d already been married once, thank you very much. Nine years as Marty’s wife had taught her that while Marty looked like a grown-up on the outside, he’d been as irresponsible and self-absorbed as any ten-year-old on the inside. She would have gotten more cooperation and teamwork from a dog.

  Marty had cured her of ever wanting another man around. While on occasion she would admit to getting lonely, and yes, the sex was tough to live without, it beat the alternative. She already had three kids to worry about. Getting involved with a man would be like adding a fourth child to the mix. She didn’t think her nerves could stand it.

  Despite his late night, Nash woke shortly after six the following morning. He glanced at the clock and compared it to his watch, which was still on Central Time. Then he rolled onto his back and stared at the ivory ceiling.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Dumb question, he told himself. He already knew the answer. He was in a town he’d never heard of until a couple of weeks ago, to meet family he hadn’t known he had. No. That wasn’t completely true. He was in town because he’d been forced to take some vacation and he hadn’t had anywhere else to go. If he’d tried lying low in Chicago, Kevin, his twin who was already camped out at Glenwood, would have been on the next plane east.

  Nash sat up and pushed back the covers. Without the routine of work, his day stretched endlessly in front of him. Had he really gotten so lost in the job that he didn’t have anything else in his life?

  Dumb question number two.

  He knew he was going to have to get in touch with Kevin sometime that morning and set up a meeting. After thirty-one years of knowing nothing about their biological father save the fact that he’d gotten a seventeen-year-old virgin pregnant with twins and then abandoned her, he and Kevin were about to meet up with half siblings they’d never known they had.

  Kevin thought finding out about more family was a good thing. Nash still needed convincing.

  By 6:40 a.m. he’d showered, shaved and dressed in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt and boots. While it was mid-June, a cool fog hung over the part of the town he could see from his second-story window. Nash paced restlessly in his comfortable room. Maybe he would tell his hostess to forget about breakfast. He could go for a drive and eat at a diner somewhere. Or maybe he’d just keep going until he figured out why, in the past few months, he’d stopped sleeping, stopped eating, stopped giving a damn about anything but his job.

  He grabbed the keys for his rental car, then headed downstairs. At the front desk, he tore off a sheet of notepaper and a pen, then paused when he heard noises from the rear of the house. If the owner was up, he could simply tell her he was skipping breakfast in person.

  He followed the noise down a long hallway and through a set of closed swinging doors. When he stepped into the brightly lit kitchen, he was instantly assaulted by the scents of something baking and fresh coffee. His mouth watered and his stomach growled.

  He glanced around, but the big, white-on-white kitchen was empty. A tray sat on a center island. A coffee carafe stood by an empty cup and saucer. Plastic wrap covered a plate of fresh fruit. By the stove, an open box of eggs waited beside a frying pan. Through a door on his left, he heard mumbled conversation.

  He started toward the female voice and crossed the threshold. A woman stood on tiptoe in front of shelves. As he watched, she reached up for something on the top shelf, but her fingers only grazed the edge of the shelf.

  Nash stepped forward to offer help, but at that moment the woman reached a little higher. Her cropped sweater rose above the waistband of her black slacks, exposing a sliver of bare skin.

  Nash felt as if he’d been hit upside the head with a two-by-four. His vision narrowed, sound faded and by gosh, he found himself experiencing the first flicker of life below his waist that he’d felt in damn near two years.

  Over an inch of belly? He was in a whole lot more trouble than he’d realized. Apparently his boss had been right about him burning out.

  A loud shriek brought him back to the here and now. Nash moved his gaze from the woman’s midsection to her face and saw his hostess staring at him with wide eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest and sucked in a breath.

  “You nearly scared the life out of me, Mr. Harmon. I didn’t realize you were up already.”

  “Call me Nash,” he said as he stepped forward and reached up for the top shelf. “What do you need?”

  “That blue bag. There’s a silver bread basket inside. I’m making scones and I usually put them in the larger basket but as you’re my only guest at present, I thought something smaller would work.”

  He grasped the blue bag and felt something hard inside. After lowering it, he handed it to her. She took it with a shake of her head.

  “I always meant to be tall,” she told him. “Somehow I never got around to it.”

  “I wasn’t aware it wasn’t something you could get around to. I thought it just happened.”

  “Or not.” She unzipped the bag and pulled out a silver wire basket. “Thanks for the help. Would you like some coffee?”

  “Sure.”

  He led the way back into the kitchen. While he leaned against the counter, she ran hot water into the carafe, then drained it and wiped it dry. After filling it with coffee, she turned back to him.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “Just black.”

  “The scones should b
e ready in about five minutes. I had planned to make you an omelet this morning. Ham? Cheese? Mushrooms?”

  Last night he’d barely noticed her. What he remembered had been someone female, tired and strangely dressed. He had a vague recollection of spiky blond hair. Now he saw that Stephanie Wynne was a petite blonde with wide blue eyes and a full mouth that turned up at the corners. She wore her short hair in a sleek style that left her ears and neck bare. Tailored black slacks and a slightly snug sweater showed him that despite the small package, everything was where it needed to be. She was pretty.

  And he’d noticed.

  Nash tried to figure out the last time he’d noticed a woman—any woman—enough to classify her as pretty, ugly or something in between. Not for two years, he decided, knowing that figuring out the date hadn’t been much of a stretch.

  “Don’t bother with eggs,” he said. “Coffee and the scones are fine.” He glanced at the tray. “And the fruit.”

  Stephanie frowned. “The room comes with a full breakfast. Aren’t you hungry?”

  More than he’d been in a while, but less than he should have been. “Maybe tomorrow,” he said instead.

  A timer on the stove beeped softly. Stephanie picked up two mitts and pulled open the oven door. The scent of baked goods got stronger. Nash inhaled the fragrance of orange and lemon.

  When she’d set two cookie sheets of scones onto cooling racks, she dug through a drawer and pulled out a linen napkin, then draped it in the silver basket.

  “This morning we have orange, lemon and white chocolate scones,” she said as she pulled a small crystal dish of butter from the refrigerator. “They’re all delicious, which is probably tacky of me to say seeing as I made them, but it’s true. Being a man, you won’t care about the calories, so that’s a plus.”

  She offered him a smile that made the corners of her eyes crinkle, then nodded toward the door next to him.

  “The dining room is through there.”