This could very well be the most impetuous thing she had ever done. Claire ran one finger under the leg of her bathing suit and pulled it down. It had seemed sensible enough in the store, but somehow tonight it seemed…less.

A splash sounded in the pool in front of her as Tristan executed a perfect dive, his trim form slicing through the water with undeniable grace.

He surfaced halfway across the pool, turning back to her with a quick smile. Darn it all, but he was handsome when he smiled.

“You coming in?”

“Of course.” She tugged on the top band of her once-modest one piece. Had it shown this much cleavage when she bought it?

She let the mesh cover-up slip from her shoulders, delaying what, she wasn’t sure. She had literally jumped at the chance to swim with Tristan. She had said she wanted to be friends and what a fun companion he was turning out to be.

Resisting the urge to pull on the leg openings in the back of the suit she started around the pool.

“Where are you going?”

She pointed to the large steps that led down into the crystal blue water.

“Chicken.”

Claire stopped. “I’m not chicken, I just don’t know how cold the water is.”

“The water’s fine.” He swam toward the edge of the pool where she stood and extended one hand. “Feel.”

She hesitated only a heartbeat before reaching down and taking his hand into hers. Then she was flying through the air, but only briefly as she splashed down into the warm water. She came up sputtering, pushing her heavy hair out of her eyes. “You!”

His answer was a mischievous chuckle.

She wiped her eyes with one hand and used the other to splash him. Judging by the sound of his voice she missed him by several feet.

Knowing she could spend the entire night trying to get him back, she turned on her back and started a lazy swim across the pool. She had just performed a quick turn around on the shallow end when she heard the thump of the diving board and the smooth splash of water.

She did her best not to stare as Tristan started a perfect crawl through the water. Honest, she did. Lucky rivets ran down his limbs. Blessed moonlight bathed his shoulders and water soaked his hair to near black. No one should look that good wet, she decided with a sigh. Not one person.

Only one way to keep her mind off her too handsome husband and that was to hold fast to their deal. They had agreed to be friends, and friends could swim together without ogling each other.

Claire continued her swim, pushing her arms and legs in her quest to remain neutral. Hopefully she would tire herself out enough not to be so aware of the fact that she shared a bed with this good looking hunk. Maybe tonight she would get some good sleep.

But a girl could only take so much. After five laps she started to tire and somewhere around eight she gave up entirely. She’d have to come down and swim more; she was horribly out of shape.

Claire’s arms wobbled as she pushed herself up onto the side of the pool, her legs still submerged. She brushed her hair out of her face and debated on whether or not she could make it to the chaise lounge where she’d left her towel. Surely she wasn’t that worn out, but the night was warm and the breeze humid in only the way Dallas can be. There was no hurry.

“You quitting?”

She had been debating so intently on her towel dilemma that she hadn’t noticed that Tristan had stopped swimming and now stood just in front of her, close enough she could stretch out her foot and touch him. She gave a sassy nod that hid the internal jump in her temperature at having him so close. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to show you up.”

His response was a quick flash of his teeth. Was it necessary for him to be that alluring? What was it about the man that drew her to him like magic? “Oh yeah?”

She flipped her wet hair over her shoulder and acted like she had played the coy wife since kindergarten. “Uh-huh.” She tried to make her voice sound offhand, but instead it came out a tad breathy and soft.

Was he even closer now?

“Does that mean you want to race?” He was closer. Much closer.

Claire swallowed hard, then shook her head.

The teasing light in Tristan’s eyes disappeared.

There was only a breath between them, a heartbeat of anticipation. Claire wondered if perhaps he gave her that moment to change her mind. But how could she, with his mesmerizing stare locked into hers?

He clamped his hands on the sides of her waist and hauled her back into the water. She slid into his arms with a disconcerting ease. Her hands fluttered for only a moment before settling themselves on his shoulders. His greater height gave him the advantage of standing in the water while her legs floated, brushing against him and sending goose bumps racing down her limbs.

She tilted her chin back, the only invitation he needed and his mouth took possession of hers.

This was where she belonged. Here. In his arms. His lips continued, demanding response. And she gave it to him, abandoning herself in his kiss.

His mouth left hers, trailing little nips down the column of her neck, across the ridge of her collarbone.

She was out of her league, hopelessly unrefined, and oh-so willing to fall into his kiss without hesitation.

A soft sigh escaped her, and in that instant, everything changed.

The sound seemed to break the nighttime spell.

Tristan stilled, raised his gaze to hers, searching and questioning.

“Tristan?”

He seemed reluctant but resigned as he unwound her arms from his neck.

Had she done something wrong?

He shook his head. “We both know this is a bad idea.”

Actually it seemed like a fabulous idea; the consequences of the morning after? Those would turn on them. But right now…

He waded them back into the shallow end of the pool. As soon as Claire could touch bottom, he let her go.

Shaking legs could only take a girl so far. She stopped dead in the water and watched him as he climbed the stairs, dripping and glorious.

What would he do if she called him back? Would he return to the water? Would he keep going?

She’d never know. She kept quiet, simply watched as he dried off. He barely gave a look in her direction as he wrapped the towel around his neck and sauntered away into the night…away from the mansion…away from her.

Claire watched him go with a mixture of relief and sadness. It was for the best, she knew. Getting any further involved with Tristan would only break her heart. And that was something even a million dollars couldn’t repair.

There was a fine line between chicken and prudent. He’d like to think that he was the latter, but after sitting in the pool house for two hours, Tristan wasn’t so sure. He’d had to wait long enough that when he finally made his way up to his room his wife was fully asleep. Maybe then he wouldn’t be quite so tempted to kiss her again. Or more.

“Good morning.” Claire said as she rounded the corner and stepped out onto the east verandah. Or rather, she chirped. She looked bright eyed and way too happy for his miserable mood.

All Tristan could manage was a grunt. Then he stuck his head behind the paper and tried to ignore the fact that his wife was once again seated directly across from him. Like that was going to work. How could he be so aware of a mousey secretary? Or maybe the question was why.

“Oh, look. The gang’s all here.” Devin dropped down into the seat next to Tristan. He resisted the urge to smash his brother’s face in for looking so rested and tan.

What was wrong with him?

He buried his face behind the paper as Esperanza daintily sat down in her chair. And he kept hidden until Devin had finished his breakfast.

“Time to go.” Devin stood and flashed Tristan a quick, knowing smile. Had he been watching them last night?

Devin rounded the table to kiss his wife goodbye, wiping a bit of strawberry juice from the edge of her lip with his thumb. He licked the digit, his gaze still locked with his wife’s, the look full of promise.

Tristan might not be as practiced as Devin, but he could hold his own. And last night…well, he had no business messing with his wife. She was practically an employee. A sweet, innocent, alluring employee.

Tristan folded the paper to rights as Devin’s footsteps echoed down the hallway. Carefully avoiding his wife’s sea-colored gaze, he stood and tossed his napkin on the table.

“Tristan,” she started, her voice sending his heart stuttering, “is there a car I can drive?”

“Marcus can take you anywhere you want to go,” he replied to the air somewhere around her left shoulder.

“Don’t you have another car? A regular, normal car that I can take whenever I need to go somewhere? A limo looks a tad conspicuous waiting in the Wal-Mart parking lot.”

“You don’t have a car?”

She shook her head. “I sold it when I moved to the city.” She gave a small shrug. “Every now and then a girl just needs to get out and…well, I didn’t think taking a bus would be the best option.”

It wouldn’t be. The press would have a field day if his wife was seen on public transport. But there was something more in her tone.

“Some freedom would be nice.”

“You’re not a prisoner, Claire,” he quietly intoned.

She didn’t reply.

“Take the white Mercedes,” he said, taking a couple of steps back and allowing her to slip past him. “Marcus will give you the keys.”

Tristan squinted up at the bright spring sun. It had been a full week since the night he and Claire had watched movies and went for their swim. Somehow he’d managed to avoid her every morning and every night and every minute in between. And it was starting to take its toll on his mental health. Maybe Claire was right. Maybe he needed a vacation. Maybe the trip to France was just what the doctor ordered.

He shook his head at his own thoughts. He hadn’t had a vacation in ten years. He wasn’t about to start now. Besides, he’d have to take his wife with him, and she was the one person he needed to avoid the most.

His phone rang, and he automatically answered it unable to see the screen in the bright morning light.

“Tristan, are you sitting down?” Ian’s voice crackled over the line.

“No. What is it?”

“Are you sitting down?” Ian repeated.

“Ian.”

“You’d better get off your feet before I tell you this.”

With a sigh, Tristan perched on the stone edge of the fountain. Marcus should be around any second with the car, but until then… “I’m sitting. Now tell me.”

“Cherry Holiday has planned a wedding celebration for you, Devin, and your brides.”

Tristan bounded to his feet. “What? We have to stop her before she does something stupid like send out invitations.”

“Too late, my friend. I received mine this morning.”

Tristan ran agitated fingers through his hair. “This is not happening. I was never contacted about this. She can’t throw a party if the guest of honor isn’t aware.”

“Tristan, calm down. You know Cherry. She’s always been a little unorthodox. She probably got the go-ahead from someone else.”

“Who?”

“Devin or Claire.”

Or Esperanza. Tristan bit back a curse. “I suppose there’s no backing out of this now.”

“Not a chance.”

He did not want Claire subjected to the hounds of Dallas high society. She might be able to handle her own with the media, but that was nothing compared to what the finest ladies in Dallas could dish out. Could things get any worse?

“Tristan, are you still there?”

“Yeah.” As he said the word Marcus pulled around the circular drive.

“I’ll call you back when I get to the office.”

Two hours later, Tristan picked up the creamy white envelope addressed in flowing purple ink. Only Cherry Holiday would address anything in purple.

Up until the time he had actually touched the invite, he had held onto the small hope that the party was just Ian’s idea of a practical joke, and it didn’t really exist at all. Now that he had seen it with his own eyes, it was obvious that the celebration was real, and he wasn’t laughing.

What in heaven’s name was he going to do? Flashes of Claire with the press flitted through his mind. She had stood there proudly, that blasted dog tucked under one arm and valiantly faced the media hounds. Tomorrow night, she would have to face worse than a few reporters, she would face women who chewed up little girls like her and ate them for breakfast. She wouldn’t have the dog there for moral support, and she certainly couldn’t go in a pair of shorts and a sleeveless button down.

Despite Claire’s brilliant answer to her wedding ring question, everyone already thought that he had somehow neglected his obligation to make her look like the wife of a multi-millionaire. He couldn’t let her go like that again. She might not know how to act, but heaven help them all, she was going to look the part.

He pressed the intercom button that connected him to his front office. “Gladys, get in here. I have an extra special assignment for you.”

Esperanza Victoria Delaga Carones McFarland was bored. Happy, but bored. She had known that coming to America wouldn’t be easy, but she had no idea learning English would be so hard. She hadn’t picked up any of the new language in the week and a half that she had been in the States. When she had left Brazil she had been hopeful, now she wasn’t so sure. But deep down, she knew that marrying Devin was the right thing. It was not every day that a girl met her soulmate. And that was what they were. She and Devin were soulmates. She knew this without a doubt because Avó Maria had told her so, and Avó Maria was never wrong about this sort of thing.

Devin. She smiled at the mere thought of his name. How she loved him. And how lucky she was that she had seen him that day. She had been the chief chambermaid at the hotel where he was staying. It had taken her a long time, but she had worked her way up into this small management role. Normally, she orchestrated the other housekeepers and made sure that everything was done correctly and on time. But as fate would have it, someone had called in sick and she had been responsible for cleaning Devin’s room.

She would never forget that day. She’d knocked before entering and found the most gorgeous man she had ever seen talking on the phone. She couldn’t understand a word of what he was saying, but she could tell from his tone that he was near frantic.

He’d turned when she entered and a sudden calm had come over him. Slowly, he’d looked her over from head to toe, a gleam lighting those green, green eyes. It had been only a matter of hours before they were married. Espie thought it a bit ironic that while she was supposed to be sweeping his floor, he had been sweeping her off her feet.

Ah, destiny. What a sweet thing. She paused, her dust rag in mid-swipe on the top of the cherry wood desk as the front doorbell rang. With effort, she resisted the urge to answer it herself. But the compulsion to dust was too much to bear. If only she had more to do here. She could tell from the sheer size of the house that Devin had money, and he didn’t need his wife to clean—he had servants for that. But it made her feel better to at least try and pull some of her own weight.

She was certain, though, that the household staff thought she was a bit louco. But she couldn’t help it. She had been working since she was ten years old. The habit was so ingrained that she couldn’t stop it now. And if she was destined not to learn English, then the very least she could do was keep the furniture polished.

She heard voices coming from outside the office, the housekeeper and another woman’s she didn’t recognize. Despite the language barrier, Espie strained to hear what they were saying. Not paying close attention to her dust rag, she knocked a file onto the floor, scattering sketches all around on the expensive rug.

She bent to retrieve them, wondering who had drawn the faceless women with moderately fashionable clothing. She herself had never been able to afford fine garments. She had been making her own clothes and dresses for special occasions for her friends for as long as she could remember. She had worked in a five star hotel and casino long enough that she had seen fashion at its grandest. She was no expert, but these sketches and the clothing that they illustrated were a bit on the drab side.

Not pausing to think about what she was doing, she picked up a pencil from the cup on the desk and added her own special touch to the designs. She lengthened a skirt here, added a scarf there and before she knew she had gone through the entire stack.

“Esperanza.”

She whirled around guiltily at the sound of her name, shoving the drawings behind her and dropping them back onto the desk.

Claire, Tristan’s wife, stood in the doorway to the office, an older woman in a severe navy suit behind her. The young woman’s turquoise colored eyes had grown dark and stormy, and her mouth was drawn in a tight line.

She spoke in that rapid English that made Espie’s head spin, gesturing and pointing as if she wanted something from her.

Espie shrugged and shook her head, not understanding the words at all. However, her tone was perfectly clear. Claire was not happy.

Finally, the blonde stalked across the room and grabbed Espie by the arm and hauled her out of the office.

Espie filed away a few of the words Claire uttered to try and discover their meaning later. “Not good enough,” “hairdresser,” “party” were all she could make out as Claire dragged her out the front door and into the waiting limo.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.    

A MILLION TO ONE

Copyright 2023 by Amy Lillard 

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.    

They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.  

Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

previously published as All You Need Is Love copyright 2013 by Amy Lillard

significant changes have been made to the original manuscript resulting in new copyright status