He's Still The One

“Which one?” Zoe asked cheekily.

“Be serious,” Ryan admonished her. “You know what I’m talking about. The day we got a little carried away.”

“You’re going to sit there and dissect our kiss?” She didn’t bother to keep the shock out of her voice. She remembered that kiss—no, make that series of kisses that ended with her almost melting into a puddle at his feet. “So you’re never going to kiss me again?”

He nodded. “In that way.”

“Which way?” she demanded. “The way a man kisses a woman when he feels something for her? The way you kissed me a couple of days ago and we both burst into flames?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding as if trying to convince himself.

Dear Reader,

Spring cleaning wearing you out? Perk up with a heart-thumping romance from Silhouette Romance. This month, your favorite authors return to the line, and a new one makes her debut!

Take a much-deserved break with bestselling author Judy Christenberry’s secret-baby story, Daddy on the Doorstep (#1654). Then plunge into Elizabeth August’s latest, The Rancher’s Hand-Picked Bride (#1656), about a celibate heroine forced to find her rugged neighbor a bride!

You won’t want to miss the first in Raye Morgan’s CATCHING THE CROWN miniseries about three royal siblings raised in America who must return to their kingdom and marry. In Jack and the Princess (#1655), Princess Karina falls for her bodyguard, but what will it take for this gruff commoner to win a place in the royal family? And in Diane Pershing’s The Wish (#1657), the next SOULMATES installment, a pair of magic eyeglasses gives Gerri Conklin the chance to do over the most disastrous week of her life…and find the man of her dreams!

And be sure to keep your eye on these two Romance authors. Roxann Delaney delivers her third fabulous Silhouette Romance novel, A Whole New Man (#1658), about a live-for-the-moment hero transformed into a family man, but will it last? And Cheryl Kushner makes her debut with He’s Still the One (#1659), a fresh, funny, heartwarming tale about a TV show host who returns to her hometown and the man she never stopped loving.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

He’s Still the One

Cheryl Kushner

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To my mother, Shirley Kushner,

and my sisters, Terry, Maureen, Robin and Randi.

CHERYL KUSHNER

trained as a journalist and is an award-winning writer and editor who has worked for several major newspapers in a variety of jobs—including news reporter, features writer and entertainment editor. She moved to New York in 1999, where she’s the arts and entertainment editor for Newsday. The best part of her job, she says, is spending her nights at the theater on Broadway.

An avid romance and mystery reader, Cheryl has been writing fiction since 1993. She was first published in 1998. He’s Still the One is her first book for Silhouette Romance.

Cheryl loves to hear from readers and can be e-mailed at CherRW@aol.com.

Dear Reader,

I’m a bookaholic, and there’s nothing I enjoy better than spending time with a captivating romantic story.

I’m also a journalist, and back in the mid-1980s I was assigned a feature story about the growing popularity of romance novels. I bought dozens of books as part of my research and found myself totally fascinated. I read, read some more and was hooked.

A few years later, I started writing fiction, and it seemed natural that I turn to writing romance. Not only do I get to create spirited heroines and to-die-for heroes, but I also get to make up their quotes!

Zoe and Ryan, the heroine and hero of He’s Still the One, have known each other since they were children. But even the best of friends can find themselves at odds, and sometimes friendships can be fractured so badly they seem impossible to repair. It’s been ten years since Zoe and Ryan have spoken, and their first meeting doesn’t bode well. It takes a wedding, and some unusual circumstances, for them to see they are truly meant for each other.

I’m proud to be a member of the Silhouette Romance family, and hope that you enjoy Zoe and Ryan’s story. You can contact me at CherRW@aol.com.

Happy reading!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter One

Zoe Russell had created hundreds, no thousands, of scenarios that had her face-to-face with Ryan O’Connor once again. None, however, had her wearing mud across her cheeks and heavy metal cuffs around her wrists.

She looked at her shackled hands, and tried not to wince at her twenty-five dollar manicure gone wrong. Zoe had no idea what Ryan was doing back in Riverbend, but it appeared for the moment he was all that stood between her and freedom. Showing any sign of weakness would be a mistake. He needed to remember Zoe Russell wasn’t a woman to be pushed around or trifled with.

Zoe squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and letting it out slowly, walked to the front of the cell keeping her gaze locked on his. “This has all been a terrible misunderstanding.”

Ryan cocked a brow, rubbed his index finger along his chin. Yep, she could see that the all-too-sexy cleft was still there. Along with the little scar from a baseball thrown awry. He rocked back on his heels, smiled. “That’s what all crooks say.”

Oh, and that smile, bracketed by dimples that still sent shivers down her spine. The little stubble across his jaw didn’t hurt, either. The man sizzled sex. Zoe steeled herself. No weakness. Especially not in front of the man she’d once considered her best friend—the man who’d broken her heart even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. Hadn’t she promised herself she wasn’t ever, ever going to be taken in by his smile again?

She wouldn’t think about what her hair must look like, or that a decent burial—not dry cleaning—likely would be the fate of her designer denim overalls. Forget about making a fashion statement. She was wet, tired, hungry and late for her dress fitting for her sister Kate’s wedding.

And from the uncompromising coplike look on Ryan’s face, she also was in big trouble. She still couldn’t understand why she was the only person arrested at the senior citizen’s rally. All she’d been doing was her job, interviewing the protesters, thinking she might have a good story for Wake Up, America.

“Shouldn’t you be catching criminals in Philadelphia?” She winced at the petulance in her voice.

“I’ve discovered that the more interesting—” he paused and threw her a pointed look “—criminals visit Southern Ohio.”

“I’m not a—”

“Save it for the judge. I’ve read the police report. Resisting arrest. Punching an officer…”

“He tripped and fell.”

“Then you wrestled with him in the mud.”

“He handcuffed me.”

“Before the both of you landed flat on your faces in the fishpond. Rumor has it that’s going to be the front-page color picture in tomorrow’s Riverbend Tribune.”

She took a deep breath to steady herself, trying not to imagine how much damage a photo like that could do to her TV career. And took another deep breath because seeing Ryan had shook her to the core. “As usual, you’ve got your facts wrong.”

“So, enlighten me Ms. New York City TV star.”

“I would rather eat snails.”

“There’s a new French restaurant in town.” He paused. “Want me to check and see if they have take-out?”

Her stomach rolled. She couldn’t stand the slimy things. And he knew it. “No,” she said faintly. Then she steeled her voice. “But thank you.”

“Guess it’s pretty hard to look and sound haughty when you’re dressed in mud.” Ryan smothered a grin, but barely. Oh, if she only had these handcuffs off she’d wipe that silly, sexy grin right off his face!

Patience had never been her strong suit. She closed her eyes, mentally counted to ten. “If you’re not going to help me, go away.” And opened them when she heard his full-bodied laugh.

With a shrug, he started to do as she asked. Then he paused, turned, and cocked a brow in her direction. “Nah.” He shook his head and walked away.

“I know my rights,” Zoe shouted after him. “I want my phone call. And my lawyer. I want to talk with the person who’s in charge here!”

“That person—” Ryan turned to face her “—would be me.”

She stared at him, trying hard not to let him know he’d caught her off guard. Again. But inside she was reeling. Ryan O’Connor was in charge of the Riverbend Police Department? The last she’d heard—not that she’d been paying attention to any gossip about Ryan—he’d received some commendation for heroism and was headed for the top-cop spot in Philadelphia.

So what was he doing back in Riverbend? It wasn’t as though she cared…or did she?

She had to let him know she meant business. She held out her cuffed hands. “You have no grounds to arrest me. I didn’t break any laws. I want these off, and I mean now.”

“Actually, I do have grounds. You disturbed the peace. Something, I recall, you’re very good at. The key’s at the bottom of the pond,” he said with an exaggerated patience that didn’t fool her. She just knew he was enjoying her predicament. “My deputies are searching for it.”

“And you’re not guarding the master key?”

“They tell me it was lost the day the jail opened. That would be…let me think…some twenty-five years ago.”

She tried to keep calm. “What about a locksmith?”

He shrugged. “Closed. It’s Friday, after five o’clock. Riverbend isn’t New York City. We don’t do 24/7.” With a smile that indicated he was anything but apologetic, he disappeared around the corner.

“Wait! Where do you think you’re going?” She awkwardly raked the bars with her handcuffs. The resulting noise sent shivers through her teeth. “We’re not finished here. You can’t just walk away. Ryan! Get back here!”

She was sure she heard him chuckle. Otherwise, she got no response. Not that she expected one. Great. She was being held hostage in her hometown jail, and it appeared her jailer was none other than the last man on earth she’d ever ask for help.

It had been ten long years since she’d seen him. But she’d never been able to erase him from her thoughts. Now—suddenly, unexpectedly—he plops back into her already complicated life and for just a moment, a brief ridiculous moment, she felt tempted to ask him the one burning question left unanswered for the past decade.

She considered it a miracle he hadn’t listened when she demanded that he get back here. Lord only knows what she would have said and how he would have responded.

Zoe gazed around the eight-by-twelve-foot cell. About as much room as her upper West Side studio apartment. And with about as much warmth. The single cot with its regulation flat pillow and scratchy gray blanket screamed uncomfortable. The tiny-screened window barely allowed in a stream of sunlight, let alone any fresh air.

“And let’s not forget the fashionable iron bars on the windows and doors,” Zoe muttered as she paced the cell once, then paced it again before flopping down on the cot.

She turned her face into the pillow and tried not to worry about how she felt as much a prisoner in her outrageously expensive apartment as she did here. She wasn’t going to think about New York now. Or her job as on-air columnist at Wake Up, America that she loved, but which was slowly beginning to eat away at her heart and soul. Not that she’d ever admit that to any of her colleagues or friends. She found it hard enough to admit to herself.

They all thought she had the perfect life. They celebrated her most recent success last month with a party at the hottest club in the city when she was promoted from mere entertainment reporter to the coveted weekly morning spot on Wake Up, America. People she hadn’t heard from in years had called or e-mailed when they’d read about that party in the “Sunday Styles” section of the New York Times. She’d been thrilled when her mother had sent her the front page Riverbend Tribune article on her promotion, with the less-than-original headline Local Girl Makes Good.

She had achieved the goal she’d set when she’d graduated from college six years ago. She worked and lived in Manhattan. She had plenty of twenty-something friends and acquaintances. And because of her work she was considered a celebrity of sorts.

But she couldn’t put out of her mind how New York City’s tabloids had referred to her last week when the network announced she would be hosting a two-hour nighttime entertainment special in addition to her appearances on Wake Up: Ms. Perky Goes Prime Time. The phrase still distressed her. Whoever called her perky hadn’t been paying close attention to her recent Wake Up segments.

She wasn’t just promoting glitz, glamour and celebrity faces. She sought out serious stories, about real people and how they were dealing with their complicated lives. She knew more than she wanted to about complicated lives. Like her own.

Zoe sat up and took a deep breath. If only her colleagues on Wake Up, America could see her now. They’d never recognize the woman they’d only seen as perfectly polished, not when she remained handcuffed, wet and wearing mud from head to toe, behind bars in a tiny jail cell in the one place she’d sworn she’d never return to. If she discovered another woman in a similar situation, Zoe was certain she’d find a way to turn that woman’s tragedy into a two-minute TV triumph for Wake Up.

She looked down at her mud-caked hundred-dollar tennis shoes in dismay. Whatever had possessed her to buy them? They were expensive, trendy and downright uncomfortable. They were perfect for New York, but so out of place here in Riverbend. Was she out of place in Riverbend, as well?

Zoe shook her head to clear it of troubling thoughts. Oh, what she’d give for a cup of latte and one of Andre’s full-body massages. She needed her wits about her to convince that certain someone with the sexy cleft in his chin and perfectly dimpled smile that she was the victim of an unexplained case of amnesia.

She could pretend she’d never taken part in the senior citizen rally, tussled with the police, ended up in the fishpond, been arrested or found herself the subject of Ryan O’Connor’s penetrating blue-eyed stare that probed too deep and saw too much. While she’d happily parade all her triumphs in front of him, she’d prefer to keep her missteps to herself.

She buried her face in her hands. This visit home for her sister’s wedding, Zoe knew instinctively, was going to be the longest two weeks of her twenty-eight-year-old life.

A smart man would have dived into the fishpond and searched for the key himself. Or cajoled the locksmith to make another. And paid her bail himself. Then Ryan could have opened the cell and hustled pretty Zoe Russell out the front door of the Riverbend City Jail and out of his life.

Ryan O’Connor was smart. He was clever. And very, very shrewd. All these traits had saved his butt more than a few times during his years first as a homicide, then vice detective in Philadelphia. So the fact Zoe was still behind bars told him maybe he wasn’t as smart, as clever or as shrewd as he thought.

Physically, she was all he remembered: tall, slender, with green eyes that sparkled like the emeralds she now wore on her fingers and her ears. Oh, and that unforgettable curly red hair. At one time he’d considered her his best friend—and the bane of his adolescent existence. But he had no idea who she was now.

She used to disdain showy jewelry, had been afraid to get her ears pierced and had worn only a simple pearl ring belonging to her grandmother. This woman was much too polished, much too savvy and much too sophisticated for his taste. That’s the way she appeared on morning TV. Not that he’d ever admit to sitting down and watching her, of course.

If he’d met Zoe for the first time today, he’d have been polite, but never taken the time to get to know her past that first hello.

He could tell himself she was the last person he expected to see back in Riverbend. But that would be a lie. He knew she’d be coming to town for Kate’s wedding. He just hadn’t figured on seeing her this soon. Her unexpected appearance in his jail had left him unprepared. Little Zoe Russell—no, make that grown-up Zoe Russell—couldn’t keep out of trouble. It was one of her most endearing and most exasperating traits.

You can’t just walk away.

Except he had. The words were still a punch to his gut. He’d heard them from her before. And still he had walked from his friendship with Zoe, his life in Riverbend and, inevitably, from his youthful marriage to Kate, which had been a mistake on both their parts. Six months ago he’d walked away again, his decision, although not his choice, from almost a decade of fighting Philadelphia’s crime and watching it fight back until he was losing more than winning. More than anything, Ryan hated to lose.

He dropped into the oversize oak chair, planted his feet on top of the scarred desk and, through the open door of his office, surveyed the calm scene before him. The phones were mercifully quiet. His dispatcher sat at her station reading the latest issue of a celebrity magazine. The community affairs liaison was reuniting the Johnson boy with his runaway puppy.

“Ah, suburbia,” he muttered. “A far cry from the mean city streets. I will be happy here.” I will be happy here.

He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. And prayed his mind wouldn’t replay that deadly night in Philadelphia. A drug sting gone wrong. He’d taken a bullet to the side, and through the haze of pain he’d seen his longtime partner, Sean, go down with one to the back.

Everything that had mattered to him had changed that night. He hadn’t been as strong, as heroic, as he’d needed to be. Even though everyone told him he’d been all those things. The professionals also told him the nightmares would go away. As usual, they were wrong.

“Uh, chief?”

He slowly opened his eyes. Jake, his childhood friend, his number one deputy and the man who bravely had wrestled Zoe Russell into an arrest, stood before him, wet and muddy but with key in hand. Ryan rubbed the tired from his eyes. “Care to explain how a peaceful protest about the new senior’s park ended in complete chaos?”

Jake poured his lanky body into the chair across from Ryan’s desk. And grimaced as he dripped mud and water all over the floor. “Zoe started interviewing people. Once they realized who she was, they pushed and shoved to get her attention. I was trying to get to her and we slipped and ended up in the pond.”

“Were the handcuffs really necessary?”

“Jeez, Ryan, she punched me. I did it as much to protect me as her. I had no choice but to arrest her.” Jake wiped the key clean before placing it on Ryan’s desk. “I haven’t forgotten what it’s like to be on the other end of Zoe Russell’s hard right.”

“You were eight and she was six,” Ryan reminded him dryly. “And you’d just stuck a tadpole down her bathing suit. In that very same pond, too.”

“Yeah, well, the tadpole was your idea.” Jake’s scowl turned into a wide grin. “Should I let her out? Or maybe throw away the key for a few more hours?”

“Let me handle her.” Ryan tossed the key into the air and caught it. “Everything under control at the park?”

“The protest fell apart peacefully once we had Zoe in custody.” Jake chuckled. “You should have seen Flora Tyler. Demanded that Zoe pose for a picture with the senior citizen group. Bet it will make the front page of the Tribune.”

Ryan laughed. “That’s what happens when a celebrity comes to town. Have you called Kate about bailing her sister out?”

Jake nodded. “Gave me an earful. Mumbled something about how she hadn’t talked to Zoe yet, and asked if she could beg a second favor.”

“She expects me to post Zoe’s bail,” Ryan guessed and wasn’t surprised to hear Jake still chuckling as he walked out of the office, closing the door behind him. Ryan fingered the key he’d pocketed. Too bad the key wasn’t a coin, and he could toss it into the air, leaving it up to fate to determine whether he would—or should—grant Kate’s second favor.

Because he knew exactly what Kate wanted him to do. She’d been dropping not-so-subtle hints since she’d set her wedding date last month. Make peace with Zoe. At least for the next two weeks until the wedding was over and Zoe headed back to New York. There was nothing in the Ryan O’Connor rule book that said he had to go back and rehash the last ten years. That was history. And since the incident in Philadelphia, Ryan had become very good at ignoring the past.

As Ryan grabbed his checkbook and headed for the court offices next door, he didn’t want to consider whether or not he was strong enough to turn a blind eye to the woman Zoe Russell had become.

Zoe’s limited stock of patience had run out.

She didn’t appreciate being ignored. She didn’t appreciate being locked in this tiny jail cell—still handcuffed—for more than an hour. It felt like days.

She shook her hands to clear them of the numbness, then winced as the cuffs jangled heavily against her wrists. Not her jewelry of choice. Somehow, some way, she’d see that Ryan paid for not having a master key to these cuffs. She’d like to think that if their roles had been reversed, she’d graciously have called the locksmith, even if his workday was officially over.

Zoe tried to curl up on the cot. The lumpy cot. With a pillow missing its crucial foam or feathers. She hoped Kate got here soon to bail her out. She couldn’t take much more of Riverbend’s unique blend of hospitality.

She closed her eyes, then immediately opened them when the image of Ryan’s face appeared. Those perfect features. Chiseled chin. Deep-set blue eyes. Thick blond hair that seemed kissed by the sun. It had been ten years since she’d last seen him in the flesh. Photographs and family home videos didn’t count.

He looked better than she remembered, sexier than she’d imagined possible. She tried to picture him at sixty-five, potbellied, gray-haired—no, make that bald—limping down Main Street chasing after a criminal, banned from driving a car because his vision was so bad.

She smiled at the image she had created of a not-so-perfect Ryan O’Connor. Too bad men like Ryan usually aged like fine champagne, not cheap wine. She stood and paced the tiny cell. Why was it taking him so long to find that key? And who did Ryan think he was dealing with, anyway, claiming Riverbend was not a 24/7 town? She knew full well that locksmiths everywhere lived for being called after hours so they could charge outrageous overtime fees.

“He owes me a phone call,” Zoe muttered. “I should call the locksmith, just to prove him wrong. Ryan! I want my phone call!”

When Ryan didn’t materialize, Zoe shouted out his name again. She heard footsteps and braced herself. But it wasn’t Ryan. It was Jake.

“Uh, Zoe,” Jake said with a wariness Zoe could understand. After all, they had tangled in the fishpond and ended up wet, dirty and slightly shaken by the encounter. And she’d punched him, a fact she deeply regretted. “Uh, Ryan hasn’t let you out yet?” He glanced right, then left, everywhere except at her. Finally their gazes met.