Ridge: The Avenger

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About The Author

Acknowledgement

Dedication

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Epilogue

Copyright

“Good Morning,” Ridge Growled.

“Did You Sleep Well?”

Dara smiled. “Like a baby.”

Ridge scowled and turned away. “I’m glad one of us did.”

Her heart tightened, but she made herself remain calm. “You’re not going to give me one of those morning-after I-shouldn’t-have-given-in-to-my-carnal-urges speeches, are you?”

Ridge sighed and met her gaze. “No. I couldn’t regret last night, not one minute of it. But there are some things that last night can’t change—that nothing can change.”

“I wish you would tell me.”

“No,” he said firmly.

“Then tell me you’re not going to pretend that we didn’t make love. Or that you’re just my bodyguard. Or that I’m just another client….”

Dear Reader,

Welcome to the wonderful world of Silhouette Desire! This month, look for six scintillating love stories. I know you’re going to enjoy them all. First up is The Beauty, the Beast and the Baby, a fabulous MAN OF THE MONTH from Dixie Browning. It’s also the second book in her TALL, DARK AND HANDSOME miniseries.

The exciting SONS AND LOVERS series also continues with Leanne Banks’s Ridge: The Avenger. This is Leanne’s first Silhouette Desire, but she certainly isn’t new to writing romance. This month, Desire has Husband: Optional, the next installment of Marie Ferrarella’s THE BABY OF THE MONTH CLUB. Don’t worry if you’ve missed earlier titles in this series, because this book “stands alone.” And it’s so charming and breezy you’re sure to just love it!

The WEDDING BELLES series by Carole Buck is completed with Zoe and the Best Man. This series just keeps getting better and better, and Gabriel Flynn is one scrumptious hero. Next is Kristin James’ Desire, The Last Groom on Earth, a delicious opposites-attract story written with Kristin’s trademark sensuality.

Rounding out the month is an amnesia story (one of my favorite story twists), Just a Memory Away, by award-winning author Helen R. Myers.

And next month, we’re beginning CELEBRATION 1000, a very exciting, ultraspecial three-month promotion celebrating the publication of the 1000th Silhouette Desire. During April, May and June, look for books by some of your most beloved writers, including Mary Lynn Baxter, Annette Broadrick, Joan Johnston, Cait London, Ann Major and Diana Palmer, who is actually writing book #1000! These will be months to remember, filled with “keepers.”

As always, I wish you the very best,

Lucia Macro

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

Ridge: The Avenger

Leanne Banks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LEANNE BANKS

is a national number-one bestselling author of romance. Recognized for her sensual writing with a Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times magazine, Leanne likes creating a story with a few grins, a generous kick of sensuality and characters that hang around after the book is finished. Leanne’s favorite hobbies include hugging her children, dancing with her husband in the privacy of their home and going out to dinner…any night will do.

Acknowledgments to Commonwealth Confidential

Investigations and the Virginia Democratic

Headquarters. Special thanks to my incredibly

talented collaborators Cindy Gerard and

Susan Connell. And to the editor who pulled it all

together, what can I say? Lucia for president!

This book is dedicated to everyone who has ever held

a grudge, and experienced the power and

freedom of letting it go.

One

The irony of this situation was sweet.

So was Dara Seabrook’s smile, Ridge Jackson thought as he observed the crowd of university students surrounding her. Presidential candidate Harrison Montgomery’s goddaughter was seducing the younger vote with phenomenal success.

Her unswerving enthusiasm and optimism captured the demographic group that until recently had eluded Montgomery. Both the press and the camera were at her feet. In other words, Dara was pure gold. And like Fort Knox, she had to be protected.

College women admired her independent and intelligent image. And her hairstyle, Ridge added wryly, recalling that Dara’s picture had recently appeared on the cover of a national newsmagazine.

Ridge knew the young studs weren’t admiring her intelligence, however. They were getting lost in her intent blue-eyed gaze and wondering about the curve of her sweet smile. The more daring ones would skip the appeal of her face and concentrate on her body. A body, Ridge suspected, that would look a helluva lot better laid bare on a rumpled bed than wrapped in a classy but demure dress.

She turned, and beneath the brunette fringe of bangs on her forehead, he spotted the white bandage. That white bandage was the reason he was here. For the briefest moment Ridge wondered, as he always did at the beginning of a job, if protecting this person would cost his own life. In the next moment he dismissed the thought, and considered again the irony. He would protect Dara Seabrook with his life, and she would give him what he needed to make Harrison Montgomery pay.

Regional campaign coordinator Clarence Merriman fussed over Dara as they made their way to the limo. “You had no business coming out here today. You should have stayed in bed and rested. I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. Your face looks like chalk.”

Dara did feel woozy, but she would die before she admitted it. She deliberately misinterpreted his concern and kept walking, the heels of her black pumps sinking into the campus lawn. “Stop worrying. The picture they took for the paper will probably be in black and white, so no one will notice.”

“I’m noticing,” Clarence huffed indignantly. He made a tsking sound and put his hand at her elbow for support. “Your face looks like paste.”

“Paste or chalk?” Dara smiled at the crotchety man she’d dubbed her baby-sitter. “Your declarations of my beauty are going to my head, but my stomach is complaining. Why don’t we get a burger on the way to the hotel? Then you can tuck me into my room, and I can get out of these clothes, and—”

Dara’s voice trailed off as her gaze collided with a tall stranger studying her as he stood beside the limo. With unusual golden brown eyes, he gave her a once-over that seemed to catalog her height, weight and birthmarks within a matter of seconds.

His navy suit didn’t conceal the impressive breadth of his shoulders, his dark hair touched the edge of his collar, and she might have been fooled into believing he was just another handsome man if she had missed the determined set of his jaw.

He gave the impression of masculine power, not the fake-it-till-you-make-it kind she observed in many of the political hopefuls she met every day. This had more to do with a personal power than with the make of a man’s suit or who his daddy was. She admired the rare quality at the same time she felt intimidated by it.

She was accustomed to being watched, but not with this level of intensity. Uncomfortable, she looked at Clarence. He was fumbling through his notebook.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Clarence said as the autumn breeze fluttered the pages. “You must be Mr. Jackson with…with—” Clarence frowned at his notes.

“Sterling Security,” the man finished in a voice that managed to mix steel and velvet, and turned his gaze back to Dara. “I’m here for Miss Seabrook.”

Dara’s stomach took a dive.

He pulled out his ID for Clarence and her to glance at, then opened the limo door. “I understand she has a busy schedule this evening, so I thought we could brief each other on the way to the hotel.”

Looking everywhere but at Dara, Clarence cleared his throat. “Well, of course.”

It finally dawned on Dara that she’d just been assigned another baby-sitter, one she was quite sure she didn’t want. “Just one minute.” She glared at Clarence. “I thought we discussed this last night,” she began. “I thought—”

“It’s out of Mr. Merriman’s hands, Miss Seabrook. Mr. Montgomery arranged for my services.”

Clarence shot her a look of apology and shrugged helplessly. “I’ll sit in the front while you two fill each other in.”

“Fill each other in on what?” Dara’s head was beginning to pound. She stared mutinously at the security man and crossed her arms over her chest. If truth were told, all the campaign publicity was beginning to wear on her. She had four more weeks of heavy exposure to the public eye, and it would take all her resources to tamp down her growing impatience with the press’s superficial obsession with her hairstyle, clothing, and manicure. She felt lonely and a little disconnected. A bodyguard at her elbow every minute would likely send her straight over the edge. “Your presence really isn’t necessary,” she said crisply, because she suspected a diplomatic approach wouldn’t work with this man.

Mr. Jackson lifted an eyebrow. “What about the beer bottle one of Montgomery’s detractors threw at you?”

Dara resisted the urge to touch the bandage and waved her hand in a dismissive gesture. “It was a random incident. A few stitches,” she fudged.

“It’s my job to make that kind of random incident nonexistent, and I understand it was fifteen stitches.”

Dara chafed at the invasion to her privacy. Someone at campaign headquarters had probably filled this stranger in on all the details about the “incident.” She shook her head. “This is silly. I’m not in any danger. I don’t need a bodyguard.”

There wasn’t an ounce of give in his stance, but she thought she saw the faintest sliver of understanding pass through his eyes. “It’s out of your hands.”

Frustration rolled through her, but she knew she couldn’t cause a scene. She’d learned the press was everywhere. Dara got into the car, dropped her head back against the leather upholstery, and resolved to call her godfather as soon as she got back to her room. Feeling the man sit across from her as the limo pulled forward, she closed her eyes to block out his presence, but it didn’t work. “I didn’t get a good look at that ID you flashed. You’re not connected with the Secret Service, are you, Mr. Jackson?” she finally asked after a few moments’ silence.

“No. Since you’re technically not a member of Mr. Montgomery’s family, you’re not covered under government protection.” He pressed his ID into her hand. “Call me Ridge.”

Dara’s eyes popped open. She didn’t want to call him anything. “I’m not going to know you long enough to call you Ridge.”

The leather holder was warm from the heat of his body, and his gaze said he knew she was trying to ignore him. And not succeeding. She appraised him again. He was big enough to be threatening, but lean enough to be able to move fast. She wouldn’t want to meet him in an alley.

“We’ll see.” Ridge glanced out the window and narrowed his eyes. “This wasn’t the planned route I discussed with the chauffeur.”

Dara spotted the familiar sight of golden arches and felt an impertinent dart of joy. “Clarence is trying to appease me with comfort food.” The limo pulled into the take-out lane for the fast-food restaurant. Her sense of humor resurfaced, and she smiled broadly. “What do you want on your hamburger?”

Back at her hotel suite, Dara’s eyes glazed over at the list of rules, directions, and precautions Ridge Jackson delivered during the next hour. Her reactions ranged from mild disinterest, to impatience, to an overwhelming urge to tell the man to chill out. She was just about to give in to that urge when sudden, blissful silence filled the room.

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.” Ridge tried, but failed to keep the impatience from his voice. It amazed him that such a charming woman could elicit such exasperation.

Dara shook her head and stood. “Oh, no. I heard the first fifteen minutes. After that, I was sure I’d been brought to some sort of Nazi torture room, so I started fantasizing about the sixty-minute bath I’d planned to take. At the moment, the only thing I want is to get rid of my campaign clothes, sink into a hot tub, and let my bath oil take me away.”

The picture she drew with her voice taunted his imagination. It was easy to envision Dara Seabrook naked and wet. During the last thirty minutes she’d slipped off her leather shoes and shimmied out of her jacket, all the while nibbling on the straw of her diet cola. Her lipstick was gone, and Ridge couldn’t decide which way her mouth looked better: lined with a provocative red lipstick, or just plain bare. He brushed aside the thought. “You can have your bath in a few minutes. We need to work out a special password for—”

“Later.” She met his gaze. “Due to your discourse, my sixty-minute bath has been reduced to fifteen.” She stepped closer to him. “I’m still not convinced you’re staying. But just in case you are, you’ve given me all your rules and regulations. Now here’s one of mine, Mr. Jackson. Don’t mess with my bath.”

With that, Ridge was treated to the sight of Dara’s shapely derriere just before she walked into her bedroom and firmly shut the door.

“I don’t like him,” Dara said to her godfather, Harrison Montgomery, as she soaked in the tub.

Harrison’s muffled laughter carried through the phone wire. “I don’t believe you. You like everybody.”

“I don’t need a bodyguard.” Dara deepened her voice and imitated a well-known senator. “You know it, I know it, and the American people know it.”

Harrison laughed again shortly, then grew quiet. “I want you to humor me on this. You know how Helen and I feel about you. You’re the daughter we never had. If anything happened to you while you’re campaigning for me, I’d never forgive myself.”

Hearing the sincere concern in his voice, Dara sighed. She’d spent so much time reassuring everyone else about the incident that she hadn’t dealt with her own feelings. She had been frightened, but heaven forbid that she should tell anyone else that. “It was just a few stitches.”

“And this is just for four weeks,” he countered. “You can handle anything for four weeks. Then you can take off for some sunny island and forget about politics and bodyguards.”

Dara felt the gentle persuasive pressure in his voice and she knew she was stuck with a bodyguard. “Does it have to be him?”

“Has he been rude?” Harrison’s tone immediately cooled.

Dara rolled her eyes at the ceiling. “No, but, couldn’t you have gotten someone more…” She groped for an adequate description and found all her choices were ridiculous. “Maybe I mean less…”

“Less what?”

Less confident? Less domineering? Less sexy?

Dara kicked at her dissolving bubbles in frustration. “Someone more like Clarence?”

Harrison chuckled. “Clarence wouldn’t hurt a flea. You’ve got the best man for the job. I checked around, and Sterling Security’s reputation is formidable. I spoke to the head of the agency and told him to send his best bodyguard.”

Subject closed. Dara heard the door shut on the subject. As she and Harrison concluded their conversation with a few pleasantries, she felt the ominous knowledge down to her bones.

She was stuck with Ridge.

Ridge watched Dara step through the door and felt her blue-eyed gaze immediately latch onto his. Grudging acceptance, but no surrender, her face said. She wasn’t exactly what he’d expected. Underneath all that demure, sweet charm was a kick that would likely land another man on his butt.

The scent and sight of her bombarded his senses. Ridge felt like he was under full frontal assault. Her dark hair was piled loosely on her head, with her fringe of bangs and tendrils framing her face. She smelted like a dark, secret passion and looked like trouble waiting to happen. Her black cocktail dress faithfully and devotedly followed every curve of her body with the same fervor a Boy Scout made a promise.

Ridge, however, had never been a Boy Scout.

Her gaze swept over him as if she were checking his appearance. The moment lasted just a shade too long for his pride, so he called her on it. “Everything look okay? Or do you need a closer look?”

Her lashes lowered, momentarily hiding her eyes from him. “My vision is just fine from here. I’m sure you’ve had more than enough women tell you that you look better than fine.” She glanced up then. “But that’s not the issue, is it? I talked to Harrison, and he insists you’re the best.”

Ridge felt a strange twinge at Montgomery’s acknowledgment of his abilities.

When he remained silent, she sighed. “He also insists that you remain my bodyguard.”

“If you hate the idea of having a bodyguard so much, why don’t you remove the risk and stop campaigning?”

Dara shook her head. “That’s not an option. I owe Harrison. I’m not sure it’s the kind of debt that can ever be paid in full, but I can help him now, in this role.” She shrugged. “Besides, I believe in him. If ever a man was born and bred to be president, it’s Harrison Montgomery.”

At her words, a deep resentment burned in his gut. He knew Montgomery had been raised in a privileged home by two supportive parents, had attended the best schools, and married a wife with a pedigree. On the other hand, Ridge had been raised in near poverty by a drug-addicted single mother and he had barely graduated from public high school. With the help of the United States Marine Corps, however, he’d worked past his anger and made something of himself. Dara’s blind admiration brought every cynical instinct to the surface. “I suppose you agree with all his views.”

Dara paused and looked at him curiously. “No. I wouldn’t say I agree with all his views. But I do think he’ll make a great leader for our country. My opinion may be partly influenced by my personal experience with him. Harrison has been a stable, supportive force in my life since I was born.” Something dark and painful flickered in her eyes, and her voice softened. “Sometimes, he was the only stable, supportive person.”

He wondered at the source of the pain in her gaze, but she cleared her throat and smiled self-consciously. “That’s another story, though. One you’re probably not interested in, so—”

“Don’t bank on it,” Ridge interjected.

“Bank on what?”

“Don’t assume that I’m not interested in hearing anything about you.”

Dara felt the strangest clutch of excitement in her chest. His direct gaze left her floundering. “I, uh, I—” She cursed her stammering tongue. Heaven help her, she’d been coached by one of the best media specialists in the country to deliver a stutter-free speech. Why was she fumbling now?

“Knowing you is part of my job, and as Montgomery told you, I do my job very well.”

Dara blinked. He wasn’t interested in her personally, she realized. He was only interested in her professionally. Humiliation flooded her chest. Anger followed soon after. Why should she care what Ridge Jackson thought of her? He was just an overgrown baby-sitter.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. “I’m sure you’ve been given all the information you need to do your job.” She fought the edge she felt creeping into her voice. “We really need to be leaving for the dinner with the Chamber of Commerce. I’ve already phoned my escort—” Unable to recall the man’s name, she frowned and reached for her calendar in her purse. “Tom,” she said finally, feeling Ridge’s eyes on her and wondering why he made her feel more nervous than when she stood in front of a crowd of thousands. “Tom Andrews. I told him we’d pick him up on the way. Is that okay?”

“Fine. Do you need your coat?”

“Yes.” She reached for the blue wool cape, but Ridge put it around her shoulders.

“You know you’re safe with me, don’t you, Dara?”

“Of course,” she murmured, but something about his velvet-and-steel voice didn’t make her feel the least bit safe.

Ridge watched the crowd, not Dara. That was his job, after all. Still, he was aware of her every move. While he watched the exits, he heard her give Harrison Montgomery a glowing recommendation. His gaze moving constantly over the crowd, he wondered how she had managed to rouse the conservative group to wild applause after her brief speech. If she was Montgomery’s secret weapon, then she was more effective than the Pied Piper. He could just hear the sounds of levers being pulled on the voting machines, all for Montgomery.

It was enough to make him puke.

Ridge kept his seething temper to himself, as he had for fourteen years. The perfect moment would come, he knew it in his bones, when he could take his vengeance against Montgomery. This consuming grudge Ridge held against the presidential candidate had the potential to destroy him, and the time had come to do something about it.

He had a plan to settle the score. The first step was gaining Montgomery’s trust. If Ridge had wanted to exact his revenge from a distance he could have called one of the rag magazines and spilled his story, but it wasn’t enough just to ruin him. He wanted Montgomery to hurt, to feel a fraction of the betrayal Ridge had felt when he watched his mother die. Maybe then, he could rid himself of the anger that had burned inside him for so long. Maybe then, he could find peace.

Mindful of the woman who would unknowingly help him accomplish his goal, Ridge looked at Dara and saw her check her watch. When she thought no one was looking, she squeezed the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. Opening them, she glanced in his direction and nodded. That was the prearranged signal for them to leave. Ridge motioned the chauffeur to collect the limo while Dara said her goodbyes.

“It’s been lovely,” she said to the mayor. “I appreciate your including me tonight, and I’ll be sure to pass on your good wishes to Harrison.”

Her escort stood beside her. “Let me walk you to the car. Are you sure you don’t want to go out for a drink? There’s a nice lounge just around the corner.” He placed his hand at her back. “Or if you want to get away from the crowd, we-could go to my place.”

Dara shook her head and smiled, flashing her dimple. “I’d love to, but it’s been a long day. Maybe—”

Tom Andrews turned on the charm. “Aw, come on, just one little drink. I get introduced to a beautiful woman only to have to tell her goodbye three hours later.”

Walking behind the couple, Ridge decided he couldn’t fault the guy for his persistence. He could fault him for other reasons, though. Ridge would bet that Dara’s date was hoping to use her to pump up his own political prospects. Andrews was running for the state senate.

Dara pulled slightly away and folded her hands. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, too,” Ridge heard her say. “But my schedule is just crazy for the next four weeks. Maybe after the election,” she said vaguely.