CHAPTER ONE
If there was an easy way to explain why she'd
impersonated her identical twin sister, lured a man into bed
under semi–false pretenses, then left town without a
word to anyone, and not come off sounding like an insincere,
inconsiderate, immoral hussy, it required more brain power
and finesse than Jena Piermont had at her disposal.
"You've been home for two weeks," Jaci, Jena's twin,
said, leaning back on the sofa and lifting her
fuzzy–slippered feet onto the coffee table. "I think
I've been pretty patient, but it's time for answers."
Past time. Where had she been? Why did she leave? How
long would she be staying? And the biggie: Whose genetic
contribution was partly responsible for her adorable
six–week–old twin baby girls? Jaci didn't know
enough to ask about the impersonation part of Jena's
explanation dilemma. Soon enough.
"I'm almost done." Jena arranged the baked brie and
slices of crusty French baguette on two large plates and
added them to the tray holding the crudité and pâté de foie
gras. Never let it be said that Jena Piermont, of the
Scarsdale, New York, Piermonts, was not a consummate
hostess. Even while hosting her own fall from grace.
Now, to reveal the truth before the other invitees
arrived at their little pow–wow. Unfortunately the
news she most wanted to share, to discuss with her sister
and get her advice on – the real reason she'd returned to
town and would be staying for a few weeks – had to remain
secret. If everything went as planned, fingers crossed, she
could pull it off without Jaci ever finding out.
Jena swallowed then used a napkin to blot the unladylike
clamminess from her palms. Grace under pressure. She inhaled
a fortifying breath, lifted the tray and carried it to the
coffee table. "Move your feet." She arranged the delectable
treats beside the sparkling water and bottled beer.
Hero liked his beer.
"Stop," Jaci said. "You always do this when you get
nervous. Flit around, straightening up, preparing snacks."
Jena dropped the pillow she'd been in the process of
plumping and rearranging on the loveseat.
"Just sit down." Jaci patted the sofa beside her. "Tell
me why you've been so quiet lately. What has you so upset?
Before the guys get here."
The guys. Jena considered excusing herself and running to
the bathroom to vomit. But that would waste precious time.
So she sat. She could do this, would do this. "I love you,"
she reminded Jaci.
"I love you, too," Jaci said, studying her. "Why do you
look like you've got an olive stuck in your throat?"
Because that's how she felt. Okay. No sense putting it
off any longer. Tonight was the night. "Hero is the father,"
Jena blurted out, her gaze fixed on her lap. "Of the twins,"
she clarified – as if clarification was needed.
Usually talkative Jaci sat mute.
Jena peered over at her. "Say something," she prompted.
"I'm...surprised. That's all." Jaci shifted on the couch
to face her. "I knew you had a crush on him in high school."
Not really a crush. More like a
fascination–attraction–day/night dreamy type
thing for the totally wrong type of boy. A silent plea for
rescue from a mundane existence cluttered with more
responsibilities than any teenager should be burdened with.
An illicit mental visit to the dark side where the
expectations and judgment of others meant nothing and Jena
could indulge in the forbidden. Break the rules. Go wild.
Have imaginary sex.
"And I'd thought maybe you were considering him as a
husband candidate to meet the terms of our trust," Jaci went on.
Never. Okay. Maybe once, or a few times during random
episodes of pregnancy induced psychosis when
out–of–control hormones caused gross mutations
to the brain cells responsible for rational thought. Moments
of weakness when Jena had actually entertained the
possibility of hero protecting her from the machinations of
her brother, providing a home for her and their daughters,
and taking care of the three of them.
But Hero didn't want her, and Jena refused to be any
man's second best, which didn't much matter right now,
anyway, since getting married no longer occupied the top
spot on her list of priorities. Staying alive for her
daughters did.
"I had no idea you two were..." Jaci began. "I mean, I
haven't seen you together in years. Neither of you mentioned
that you...kept in touch."
They didn't, not technically, unless stalking him on
social networking sites counted. Some childhood habits –
like an unhealthy interest in all things Hero – were hard to
break. Jena picked at a chipped fingernail she kept
forgetting to file down, preoccupied with caring for the
twins and worrying about the future and Jaci being
attacked... "It was one night." She couldn't look at her
sister. "We met up at Oliver's." A favorite restaurant/bar
where Hero and Jaci often hung out. And now for the worst of
it. "He thought I was you."
"What?" Jaci screeched. "You did not just say Hero took
you to bed thinking you were me."
She couldn't change what'd happened or the outcome. All
she could do was own up to it. She looked Jaci in the eye.
"It was the anniversary of Mom's death. I'd had a horrible
fight with Jerald." Their pompous, older half–brother
who'd been aggressively trying to manipulate them into
marrying any one of a dozen of his equally pompous business
associates. "I had to get out of the house." A.k.a. the
Piermont Estate where she and Jerald each had a wing. "We'd
spoken earlier and you were still so depressed over Ian
returning to Iraq. I decided to surprise you with dinner."
And that's how it'd started, with a kind gesture to cheer
her sister.
"I ordered a glass of wine while I waited for the takeout
and noticed Hero sitting across the bar. Alone. With a
couple of empty, upside down shot glasses lined up in front
of him." Normally she would have simply blended into the
crowd and stared at him from afar, attraction battling
better judgment. But, "One of the bartenders noticed me and
called out, ‘Jaci, take him home before I toss him out of
here.'" Boy had Hero perked up at the mention of Jaci's
name. "At the time, it didn't seem to matter who he thought
I was, as long as I got him home safely."
"You mean to tell me," Jaci crossed her arms over her
chest and stared at Jena, "during the ride in the Piermont
limo, the walk from the parking lot up to the fifth floor,
and while you were stripping off each other's clothes it
never crossed your mind that maybe you should clue him in to
your real identity?"
Of course it had. But close proximity to Hero had caused
an arousal spike that forced it away and relegated it to the
spot where she stored all the unwelcome thoughts and
memories she'd accumulated through the years, corralled deep
in the recesses of her brain. Instead she'd allowed herself
to enjoy his company and the freedom that came with
pretending to be Jaci who balked at the rules and did and
said what she wanted, when she wanted. Just like Hero.
For the first time in her life, Jena didn't overanalyze,
didn't weigh the pros and cons or think about what a person
of good moral character would do. Instead she'd focused on
what she'd wanted, what she'd needed more than anything at
that specific moment in time – comfort, a caring touch, a
brief sojourn from real life – without a care for the
consequences. And look where it'd gotten her. "I'm sorry."
"It makes no sense," Jaci said, pulling a pillow onto her
lap and, playing with the fringe. "Hero and I don't have
that kind of relationship. We're friends. We've never..."
She grimaced. "I have to admit I'm a little weirded out by
the whole thing."
"If it helps, I made the first move." An orchestrated
meeting of their lips. Jena leaned forward to try to catch
Jaci's attention. "He tried to stop me." A
half–hearted, ‘We shouldn't,' milliseconds before he'd
yanked her close and kissed her with the unbridled passion
of a man releasing years of pent up attraction and lust.
Jaci smiled. "You little tigress. I didn't know you had
it in you."
It'd been a quite a shocker to Jena, too.
Someone knocked on the door. Jena jumped.
"Quick," Jaci said. "Why did you take off?"
"The next morning Hero went nuts, carrying on about what
a mistake it'd been. Angry at himself for letting it happen,
for ruining your friendship. Guilty because you were Ian's
girl and he didn't poach." Jena shivered at the memory of
Hero in a rage, which was why she'd chosen to tell him about
the twins with Jaci close by. "I knew I had to tell him. And
I did."
Him sitting on the side of the bed elbows on his thighs,
his head in his hands, completely comfortable with his
nakedness. Her standing in the doorway to the bedroom, fully
dressed. "I said, ‘You didn't have sex with Jaci, you had it
with me. Jena.' Rather than a whew or a yippee, he'd tilted
his miserable face up, oh so slowly, and simply said, ‘Oh,
God. That's even worse.'"
"Oh, honey. I'm sorry." Jaci reached for her hand and
squeezed.
"Wait, it gets better," Jena said. "Then he'd slapped his
hand over his mouth and with a muffled, ‘I think I'm going
to be sick,' he ran past me and threw up in the bathroom."
Intimacy with Jena had nauseated him to the point of
regurgitation.
Another knock. Louder.
"Be right there," Jaci yelled.
"So I left."
"Why didn't you come to me?"
Jena looked away. "I was humiliated and disgusted with
myself. How could I face you? I'm so ashamed."
"I love you, Jena. And while I'd prefer it if you have
sex as yourself and not me, I will always love you." Jaci
stepped back and looked into Jena's eyes. "There's nothing
you could ever do to change that."
"Thank you." Jena held back tears. Barely.
Another knock and an, "Open the door, Jaci," Ian
demanded. "Are you okay?"
Jaci wiped the corner of her eye with a knuckle. "He's
such a worrywart." But she smiled when she said it.
"Hero's with him," Jena reminded her. "He doesn't know
I'm back." And since she was staying with Jaci, who lived in
the same luxury high–rise, she'd rarely left the condo
in order to keep it that way. The one time interaction had
been unavoidable, at the benefit for the Women's Crisis
Center, she'd pretended to be Jaci and he hadn't given her a
second look.
Jaci raised her eyebrows and sucked in a breath between
her teeth. "Oh, boy."
"You got that right." Girding herself to face the men,
well, one of the men, waiting in the hallway, Jena walked to
open the door.
And there he stood. Hero. Magnificent.
Tall. Dark–haired. Broad–shouldered. Muscled
in all the right places. The perfectly maintained goatee
he'd had since the eleventh grade. She fought off a tremble
of delight at the tingly memory of him rubbing it against
her neck and nipples and...lower. God help her.
"He made it sound like you were a mess," Hero said,
sliding a roughened finger from her temple, down her cheek
to her chin. "But you look beautiful as always."
No. Jaci was the beautiful one, the perfect one. Even
though they were identical to the point only a handful of
people could tell them apart – two of them, their parents,
dead – whenever Jena looked in the mirror imperfections and
inadequacies overshadowed pretty.
The same old ache in her chest flared anew. He didn't
recognize her, never recognized her. Once again he'd failed
to look deep enough to see the unique individual, separate
from her popular, outgoing,
life–of–the–party look alike. More than a
privileged Piermont, a member of the social elite in a town
fixated on status. More than the quiet, studious,
rule–follower and people–pleaser others saw her
to be. Jena. A woman, who deserved to be loved and respected
and noticed for who she was. Not as philanthropic or
wonderful as Jaci, but kind and caring and loyal in her own
right.
Ian, Jaci's fiancé of twenty–four hours, who had no
problem telling the two of them apart, stood beside Hero,
shaking his head in disappointment. "She looks beautiful
because she's not the one exposed to pepper spray in an
elevator yesterday, you ignoramus." Ian walked toward her,
placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed in support. "Hey
there, future sister–in–law," he said and slid
past her into Jaci's condo.
"Jena?" Hero asked, baffled, searching her face for some
identifier for confirmation.
How she'd longed to hear him utter her name that night,
in the dark, in the heat of passion. Instead he'd tortured
her with each, "Damn, Jaci, you feel so good." Punished her
with, "You are so special, Jaci. Do you have any idea how
special you are?"
"Hi, Hero," she said. "Come on in." She turned to the
side to make room for him. "Let's get this over with."
He took one long–legged step forward and stared
down at her. "We need to talk," he said quietly, stating the
obvious.
He stood too close his deep brown eyes serious, his
expression solemn, his scent making her weak, making her
crave... "That's why you're here." She backed into the
condo, needed space, air. "To talk." To have the
conversation she should have initiated during her first week
back in town. But appointments with doctors, hospitals and
attorneys, taking care of the twins, and ensuring their
futures had taken precedence.
He leaned in close. "Alone."
So he could berate her for what she'd done? He couldn't
make her feel worse than she already did. To ask her to keep
the circumstances of what'd happened between them a secret?
Too late. "Jaci knows," Jena said