True Love, Inc.

Cam must have noticed the direction of Maddie’s gaze, because he said, “Did I leave any evidence?”

Maddie didn’t know what possessed her, but she raised her hand, resting the palm lightly against his cheek, and with the pad of her thumb pretended to brush away nonexistent crumbs. He leaned forward slightly and so did she, bringing their faces into surprisingly close proximity. Neither she nor Cam moved. Her hand still rested on his cheek, and his eyes were clouded with some indecipherable emotion. They seemed frozen in time, the only two people on the planet, until he finally closed the gap and gently settled his mouth over hers.

Maddie had been kissed before. But this was like being struck by lightning—quite simply, nothing else compared. He tasted like dill…and heaven.

Dear Reader,

Summer’s finally here! Whether you’ll be lounging poolside, at the beach, or simply in your home this season, we have great reads packed with everything you enjoy from Silhouette Romance—tenderness, emotion, fun and, of course, heart-pounding romance—plus some very special surprises.

First, don’t miss the exciting conclusion to the thrilling ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR miniseries with Cathie Linz’s A Prince at Last! Then be swept off your feet—just like the heroine herself!—in Hayley Gardner’s Kidnapping His Bride.

Romance favorite Raye Morgan is back with A Little Moonlighting, about a tycoon set way off track by his beguiling associate who wants a family to call her own. And in Debrah Morris’s That Maddening Man, can a traffic-stopping smile convince a career woman—and single mom—to slow down…?

Then laugh, cry and fall in love all over again with two incredibly tender love stories. Vivienne Wallington’s Kindergarten Cupids is a very different, highly emotional story about scandal, survival and second chances. Then dive right into Jackie Braun’s True Love, Inc., about a professional matchmaker who’s challenged to find her very sexy, very cynical client his perfect woman. Can she convince him that she already has?

Here’s to a wonderful, relaxing summer filled with happiness and romance. See you next month with more fun-in-the-sun selections.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

True Love, Inc.

Jackie Braun

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my true love, Mark. Here’s to happily ever after…

Books by Jackie Braun

Silhouette Romance

One Fiancée To Go, Please #1479

True Love, Inc. #1599

JACKIE BRAUN

began making up stories almost as soon as she learned how to write them down. She never wavered from her goal of becoming a professional writer, but a steady diet of macaroni and cheese during college convinced her of the need for a reliable income. She earned her bachelor’s degree in journalism from Central Michigan University in 1987 and continues to work as an editorial writer for a daily newspaper. Fiction remains her first love. She lives with her husband and son in Michigan.

CONFIDENTIAL

TRUE LOVE, INC.

Madison Daniels, President

Client Information—CONFIDENTIAL

Name: Cameron Foley (Goes by Cam)

Sex: Male (Very, very male)

Age: 36

Height & Weight: Six feet tall, 180 pounds (Judging from the fit of his clothes, probably all muscle)

Physical Description: Athletic build, light brown hair, brown eyes (Cocky grin reminds me of Dennis Quaid)

Marital Status: Widowed, three years ago (Lonely? He says no, but I think he is)

Children: Caroline, age six (Absolutely adorable! He seems to be a devoted father)

Occupation: Cherry farmer. Owns Foley Cherry Farm.

Health: Excellent (Very physically fit), nonsmoker (Thank goodness), social drinker (Likes French wine!)

Dating Preferences: Looking for a woman who is in her early 20s, tall, voluptuous, with blond hair and great legs. No divorcées. (In other words, look for a woman who is my complete opposite because that’s exactly who Cam Foley wants…or is it?)

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

Cameron Foley was mad—no, more than mad, furious. And he allowed his temper full rein as he shoved open the double plate-glass doors that were etched with two large, overlapping hearts. A young woman, probably a college student, sat at the receptionist’s desk just inside True Love, Incorporated’s lobby, cracking her gum, head bobbing to the tune of whatever music played from her headphones. He spared her only a cursory glance before stalking down the short hallway behind her desk.

“Hey! Can I help you?” she called after him.

Without breaking stride, Cam waved the paper fisted in his hand in her general direction. “I’ll help myself.”

There were only two doors in the hallway. He stopped in front of the one that sported a brass plate engraved with the words Madison Daniels, president.

“You can’t just, like, walk in there,” the receptionist hollered from behind him. “You’ve got to, you know, make an appointment if you want to see Miss Daniels.”

“Miss,” he repeated half to himself. “Of course she’s a miss.”

The dating service’s president was probably some dried-up old prune of a woman whose only enjoyment came from poking her nose into other people’s business. “She’ll see me now,” he said, and pushed open the door.

Inside, the room’s lone occupant stood with her back to him looking out the window, which offered a rather uninspiring view of the parking lot. It was late June and already pushing eighty degrees outside, but her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle as if she were chilled to the bone. She turned when he entered and surprise registered on the pale oval of her face.

Cam had to admit, he was surprised, too. This was not the meddling old maid he’d been expecting. Madison Daniels was a looker, with hair as dark and wavy as a gypsy’s and an interesting little mole that transformed one eyebrow into a sideways semicolon. The wild mane and sexy mole, however, seemed at odds with the rest of the package. The large eyes that dominated her face were as blue as a summer sky and unmistakably sad. The delicate skin below them looked slightly shadowed, as if she hadn’t slept well the night before. Beneath her conservative long-sleeved blouse and tailored navy slacks, her curves were more lean than lush. He pegged her to be in her mid-twenties, about five-five, and maybe one hundred and twenty pounds soaking wet. Fragile. That was the word that came to mind. Her skin was as fair and freckleless as his was tanned. Clearly, she didn’t spend much time outdoors, despite the miles of beaches and hiking trails that enticed summer vacationers to the northern Michigan town of Traverse City from near and far. Cam thought he could pity her for that alone.

But pity wasn’t why he had come.

“I’d like a word with you.”

He watched surprise recede behind a mask of polite, if cool, professionalism, and for some reason he found himself wondering if those full lips of hers remembered how to smile. Yet there was a ghost of humor in her words when she replied, “You look like a man who has more than one word on his mind.”

The receptionist huffed into the room then, shooting Cam a nasty look and cracking her gum for good measure.

“Sorry, Miss Daniels. I told this guy he needed an appointment, but he wouldn’t listen. He just walked right past me.”

“That’s all right, Lisa.” She sent the young woman a reassuring wink that caused the mole to dip briefly. “I’ve got nothing pressing at the moment.” Glancing in his direction, she asked, “Can I offer you some coffee, Mr....ah, I don’t believe I know your name.”

“Foley, Cameron Foley,” he answered. Her voice was slow and smoky and made him think of the South. Wherever she hailed from originally, it wasn’t the Great Lakes state. “And I’ll pass on the coffee.”

“Very well. Hold my calls, please,” she told Lisa, dismissing her. The receptionist sent Cam one last squinty-eyed glare before closing the door on her way out.

Madison Daniels walked to the high-backed chair behind her desk, her movements stiff, awkward. She sank slowly onto the upholstered seat and folded her hands on the leather blotter. For the first time, Cam noticed the raised scars that ran along the back of her right hand and disappeared beneath the cuff of the long-sleeved blouse. He realized he must have been staring when she discreetly lowered her hands to her lap, away from his prying view.

“Are you interested in signing up for our services, Mr. Foley? We haven’t been in business long, but True Love, Incorporated has enjoyed quite a bit of success so far.” She plucked a square of ivory vellum from the desk blotter. “In fact, I’ve just been invited to a wedding.”

The woman’s fragility momentarily had taken the edge off his anger, but it throbbed back to life now and made him lash out.

“I’m here because of this.” He tossed the wadded letter onto her desktop and folded his arms over his chest. “I want to know what gives you the right to mail out solicitations like this one.”

She smoothed the wrinkles from the paper, eyebrows tugging together as she read it. Then she glanced up.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Mr. Foley. This is a simple promotion. Hundreds of other businesses use such mailings. It’s all on the up and up, I assure you. We get the names, addresses and marital status from the Secretary of State’s office in Lansing. The people who are interested can respond. Those who aren’t can toss it in the garbage.”

“No harm, no foul,” he scoffed. “Did it ever occur to you that not everyone is single by choice?”

She eyed him warily but nodded in agreement. “That’s precisely why we’re in business, to help people who don’t want to be single find someone to spend time with—perhaps even a lifetime.”

Cam snorted, irritated anew by her calm demeanor and the slightly sanctimonious edge to her tone.

“Lady, don’t pretend your motives are so pure. You’re not as interested in helping lonely people find one another as you are in drawing a paycheck.”

She shrugged off the barb, although he thought he saw temper spark briefly in the otherwise calm blue of her eyes.

“Are you lonely, Mr. Foley?”

The way she said it, she reminded Cam of the therapist he’d seen briefly a few summers earlier just after his wife died. He glanced down at the ring on his left hand, the feel of it comforting and familiar. Safe. Just that morning he’d taken it off and tucked it away in the back of his bureau drawer. It was the first time the ring had left his finger in ten years. Everyone kept telling him it was time to move on with his life. They all offered the pathetically clichéd reason that it was what Angela would have wanted—for him and for the daughter they’d made together. It didn’t matter that it was true, and that before her death Angela had made him promise to keep his heart open to love and the possibility of remarriage.

Even Angela’s own sister, whose grief came the closest to matching his own, was urging him to start dating again. For the past few weeks, he’d actually begun to consider it. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time to dip his toe in the water again, enjoy some adult company. There were times when he felt so lonely. But then the mail had come that morning, and with it True Love, Incorporated’s galling solicitation. How dare they call him single? His hand, wedding ring securely back in place, curled into a fist as outrage returned, fueled by something he refused to admit might be guilt.

“I’m not lonely,” he replied between gritted teeth, even though he knew it was a lie.

“But you are single, correct?” She waved a hand toward the solicitation on her desk.

He didn’t answer. To say yes seemed a betrayal of Angela, and yet no wasn’t quite accurate, either. She apparently took his silence for an affirmation.

“Well, if you’re single, I fail to see what the problem is. If you’re not interested in our services, fine. Throw the solicitation away. But True Love, Incorporated is doing nothing wrong—morally or legally—by seeking your business. You, Mr. Foley, are the single man living at 4255 Mockingbird Lane to whom this correspondence is addressed.”

“No, Miss Daniels, I’m not.” He laid the palms of his hands on the highly polished wood of her desktop and leaned forward, pinning her with an icy glare that he was gratified to see had her shifting back in her seat.

“What I am is the widowed man living at 4255 Mockingbird Lane who watched his wife die a slow and agonizing death from cancer. What I am, Miss Daniels, is a man who wants to be left the hell alone by people like you who have the audacity to try to put a price tag on something that’s beyond monetary value.

“True Love, Incorporated.” He sneered. “You ought to be arrested for fraud. You don’t know the first thing about true love. If you did, you’d realize it can’t be packaged and sold like cereal in some grocery store.”

Her face bleached of what little color it had. In a shaky whisper, she replied, “I’m so sorry. H-how long ago did you lose your wife?”

He backed up a step, crossed his arms again. “It was three years in May.”

“That’s a long time.”

“It’s an eternity.”

“Have...have you dated at all since then?”

He glared at her and said with a certainty he did not feel, “I have no reason to date. There’s no one I’d be interested in meeting.”

“How can you be so sure?”

How? He twirled the band that encircled the third finger with the thumb of his left hand. The gesture was comforting, familiar, affirming.

“I’ve already had my ‘true love,’ Miss Daniels. There’s not another one out there.”

Despite his intentionally surly tone, the woman faced him calmly, reminding him again of that loathe-some therapist his sister-in-law had badgered him into seeing.

“I’ve read that those who love deeply once are more likely to love deeply again. Who’s to say there’s not someone else who could make you happy? You’re a young man, Mr. Foley. Surely you don’t plan to spend the rest of your life alone?”

Young or not, that’s precisely what he planned—until just recently. Guilt nipped him again. “Let me guess. You think you can help me find the perfect woman.”

“That is my business.” One finely arched eyebrow lifted, tugging that intriguing little mole along with it. “Care to let me try?”

“No.”

“Why not? If you don’t believe in my service, what do you have to worry about?”

It wasn’t quite a dare, but it seemed awfully close. He narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing, really. I’ll even waive my usual fee. Call it a goodwill gesture.”

Good will, my butt, Cam thought. But two could play her game, and he was curious just how far she would go with her little matchmaking scheme. Make the stakes high enough, and she would back down.

“All right,” he said slowly, stalling so he could think. “But let’s sweeten the pot with a deadline. Forget true love, I’ll give you until...Valentine’s Day to find me a woman worth a second date. If you succeed, I’ll pay you twice your normal fee. Heck, I’ll even do a testimonial if you want.”

“And if I fail?”

She wasn’t backing down, he realized. Time to tighten the screws. Cam leaned forward, offered his most carnivorous smile. “If you fail, you’ll take out a full-page ad in the Traverse City Record-Eagle admitting you’re a lousy matchmaker, admitting, Miss Daniels, that you are a fraud.”

That should do it, he thought, as he watched her eyelids flicker in shock.

“That would destroy my business.”

“If you believe in your service, what do you have to worry about?” he said, parroting her earlier comment.

Her lips thinned, settling into a tight line. He knew he had her. She wouldn’t agree, which suited him fine. He had no desire to be fixed up with strange and probably desperate women. Feeling magnanimous, he decided a heartfelt apology on her part would suffice. As well as a solemn promise to take his name off her business’s mailing list.

But then she stuck out her scarred right hand.

“You have a deal, Mr. Foley.”

Maddie rather liked the way her announcement caused Cameron Foley’s mouth to slacken in surprise. Opened or closed, it was a nice mouth, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top one. But there was nothing soft about his features, nothing that could be called feminine. Cameron Foley was all man, from the slight stubble that shaded his strong jaw to the clearly defined muscles of his forearms. He reminded her a little of the actor Dennis Quaid, ruggedly masculine, cocky, just a bit reckless. And incredibly sexy. The unexpected direction of her thoughts shocked Maddie. In her line of work, of course she noticed such details about men. But this wasn’t some mere clinical observation—the little tug of attraction was as unmistakable as it was unwelcome and pointless. She lowered the hand that he had yet to shake and fiddled with a paper clip while she waited for him to find his voice.

Finally, he said hoarsely, “I do?”

To lighten her own mood she quipped, “Practicing for the wedding already?”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” he bit out, his face darkening like a thundercloud. “I’m not looking for another wife. No one can replace Angela.”

“Please forgive me. I was only teasing, but it was in extremely poor taste. You’re right. No one will ever hold that same place in your heart.” Her tone earnest, she continued, “But perhaps I can introduce you to someone whose company you’ll enjoy. Someone you’ll want to take out on that second date. So, do we still have a deal?”

Maddie wasn’t sure why she felt so compelled to help him. She had far more to lose than he did. But something about Cameron Foley tugged at her, making her want to reach out. Perhaps it was because despite all of his angry denials, he seemed so lonely.

He hesitated a moment, looking torn, before giving a jerky nod. And Maddie got the feeling that even though he’d been the one to set the terms, his participation in their wager would be begrudging at best. Well, the race went to the swift, so Maddie pulled her chair closer to the desk and booted up the computer.

“Terrific. I’ll need to gather some background information. Standard stuff like date of birth, height, weight, health history, that kind of thing. If you’ll take a seat we can get started.”

He backed up a step. “I don’t have time for that today. Driving into the city for this little discussion has put me behind schedule as it is. Some of us have real work to do.”

Ignoring the insult, she said, “Tomorrow, then?”

“Busy. Sorry.” He tucked his hands in the front pockets of a pair of well-worn jeans, looking not the least bit contrite.

The chair’s upholstery creaked as Maddie leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk. “Do you plan to win this bet by default, Mr. Foley? I realize Valentine’s Day is nearly eight months away, but that’s not a lot of time. It will be a few weeks before I even have your video and background ready.”

“No video.”

“No video,” she repeated, and blew out a sigh of frustration. “So, you want to see them, but they can’t see you, is that the idea?”

“I don’t need to see them.” He inclined his head, smiled mockingly. “If you’re as good as you say you are, Miss Daniels, I’d be a fool not to trust your expert judgment. Besides, this way you can’t claim afterward that I only picked women I knew wouldn’t suit me.”

“Oh, I’m good,” she assured him, and had to quash the urge to blush when one of his eyebrows inched up in unmistakable male speculation. It didn’t seem to matter that she knew he was deliberately baiting her.

“Of course, I’ll have to do a more thorough screening than usual, which means taking up more of your time,” she said as sweetly as possible. “I’ll need to know everything about you, Mr. Foley, your likes, dislikes—all the telling little quirks and habits that often come through in my clients’ videos. So, when do we start?”

A muscle jumped in his jaw as he pulled his hands from his pockets and settled them on his hips. He glanced away, and she thought he might be ready to renege on the hasty bargain they’d struck. But then his gaze drifted back to hers and his lips twitched with a smirk.

“When you buy that ad in the Record-Eagle, I want it to be in color. It’ll attract more attention that way—and it will be more expensive.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Such a reaction would be neither professional nor, as her mother would point out if present, ladylike. Still, she made a mental note to write in Cameron Foley’s file that the man could be insufferable when he thought he was on the winning side of an argument.

“Fine, but it won’t come to that.” An idea occurred to her then. “I have a little stipulation of my own.”

“And that is?”

“The second date, you’ll bring roses—a dozen, long-stemmed and red. And you’ll take her to the Trillium,” Maddie added, naming one of the area’s nicest and priciest restaurants. “You do own a suit, I hope, because you’ll have to wear one.”

She pretended not to hear him mutter something obscene about neckties.

“So, when do we get started?” she asked again.

“Thursday is the best I can do, say noon, and you’ll have to come to me.” He nodded toward the wrinkled paper on her desk. “You know where I live.”

He walked to the door and opened it, but hesitated at the threshold. Turning, he smiled, losing all semblance of the outraged man whose grief had propelled him to stomp into her office fifteen minutes earlier, demanding an explanation, expecting an apology. But, if possible, his calm demeanor and that devilishly sexy grin on his face made Maddie even more determined.

“I’m going to win,” he said with conviction.

“Yes, Mr. Foley, you are.” She allowed herself a moment to enjoy his startled expression, before adding, “Just not the way you think.”

It was dark when Maddie arrived at her apartment, the converted upstairs of a souvenir shop in Traverse City’s quaint downtown. The shop had long since closed for the day, but several nearby restaurants and bars were open, so the streets were cluttered with tourists—“fudgies” as the locals liked to call them. The term was both derogatory and affectionate. The area’s economy—including its fudge shops—largely depended on downstaters, but no one particularly cared for the staggering crush of humanity that invaded the northern Michigan town almost as soon as the ice melted on the bay.

Maddie had no view of Lake Michigan’s lovely aqua water from her tiny living room window, and a closet might have been more spacious than the place’s only bedroom. It was a definite step down from the comfortable house she’d grown up in, and a huge tumble from the large Grosse Pointe estate she’d last called home. Its main selling points were cheap rent and a central location. She could walk to work—a definite plus since she didn’t care to drive even though she had a car, and the exercise was good physical therapy.

She toed off her flats, leaving them on the mat by the front door. A lamp burned cheerfully in her living room thanks to a timer, but other than that the place was dark and quiet. Lonely quiet, which was why she preferred to work late. No reason to rush home to an empty apartment. An empty life.