If Wishes Were...Daddies Read online

  “Oh, no! Not now...”

  Letter to Reader

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Copyright

  “Oh, no! Not now...”

  The wave of nausea hit Jessie suddenly.

  “What’s wrong?” Nick was at her side in an instant, putting his hand to her forehead. “You’re sweating. I’ll call a doctor. It could be something serious—your appendix. I know the symptoms.”

  “It’s not that.” Oh, Lord, she wasn’t going to make it. Her stomach lurched again, and she ran to the bathroom.

  “Jessica!”

  She couldn’t respond. Finally she stood and rinsed her mouth. She was brushing her teeth when Nick barged in. Her free hand went to her stomach. He stared at that hand.

  “Baby?”

  She nodded.

  “Our baby?”

  “Yes.”

  Nick grabbed for the door, but he didn’t make it. Before Jessie’s eyes, the sexiest, most confident man she knew dropped slowly to the floor in a dead faint.

  Dear Reader,

  I don’t know about you, but my family and I can’t pass by a fountain without throwing a coin in and making a wish.

  Gina, Libby and Jessie are just like me. When they find themselves at the world-famous Trevi Fountain, they send out their wishes for happiness on those gilt-edged coins they toss. But sometimes, no matter what we say we want, our hearts know what we truly need....

  So it is for Jessie here in Jo Leigh’s

  If Wishes Were...Daddies and how it was for Gina in Debbi Rawlins’s If Wishes Were...Husbands and for Libby in Karen Toller Whittenburg’s If Wishes Were...Weddings.

  I’m happy to say that some of my wishes have come true.... Let’s see how it works out for Gina, Libby and Jessie in THREE COINS IN A FOUNTAIN. If you missed any of these stories, see the offer at the end of the book.

  Happy reading!

  Debra Matteucci

  Senior Editor & Editorial Coordinator

  Harlequin Books

  300 East 42nd Street

  New York, NY 10017

  If Wishes Were... DADDIES

  JO LEIGH

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  To Debi and Karen—what a team.

  Grazie!

  Prologue

  As Jessica stepped out of the taxi in front of the villa, she debated finding a pay phone, calling her boss Jeff Hammond in Santa Monica and telling him just what he could do with all of his smart-ass remarks about how the only impulsive thing she’d ever done was call long distance before five.

  If taking off during a work week, throwing some clothes together and flying to Rome wasn’t impulsive, she didn’t know what was. She hadn’t even gone to her standing hair appointment. Of course, she’d been sure that nothing in the office would need her immediate attention and that Danny, her next-door neighbor, could water the plants. Impulsive didn’t mean stupid. It meant free. Daring. Spontaneous. And what could be more spontaneous than whisking off to Italy to see a man she’d known only for a few months, just to surprise him for his birthday?

  Nick. As she studied the front entrance to his villa, she found herself smiling. He’d described his family home to her many times, in exquisite detail, but now she saw that he’d played down the majesty and beauty of the place. It was more a palace than a villa. She had a hard time believing Nick was able to pay for it on a commercial pilot’s salary. No matter. It was a place of magic, and she didn’t want to waste any more time on such practical trivia as mortgage payments.

  The familiarity of the villa didn’t do much to erase her overwhelming sense of unreality, though. Was she really here? In Rome, Italy? About to surprise a man she barely knew? Then she thought about the past three months.

  Nick had come into her life like a tornado, hurling her old-fashioned but very safe notions of love and sex out the window, leaving her breathless. He’d shown her that she was a sensual woman every time she looked him in the eye. Now that she was in touch with that part of herself, she couldn’t be content with her old life. Not with staid, predictable, workaholic Jessica. New vistas lay before her, and she wanted to explore each and every one.

  She shifted her suitcase to her other hand and started up the steps. Halfway to the door, she stopped. Music, so soft she thought she might have imagined it, was coming from inside the villa. It wasn’t just any music, either. It was “Un bel di” from Madama Butterfly. The aria that had been playing when she and Nick had kissed for the first time.

  She retraced her steps to follow the music and went around to the east side of the villa. The side with the Romeo-and-Juliet balcony.

  Nick had told her about the sturdy trellis, and how he had snuck out of his bedroom so many times, all in the pursuit of love.

  As she rounded the corner, she saw it. It was exactly as she’d pictured it. The music was indeed coming from his bedroom, as if he’d anticipated her arrival. He probably had. Somehow he’d always known what she was thinking before she did. Wouldn’t it be something to surprise him through that window? To appear as if by magic on the balcony?

  The old Jessica wouldn’t have dreamed or dared. The new Jessica tucked her suitcase behind a nearby shrub and prepared for her ascent. She couldn’t climb all that way in her heels, but if she took them off, her hose would be ruined. The hell with it. Panty hose were dispensable in the quest for true romance.

  She left her shoes by the suitcase, looked up, changed her mind and put her shoes back on. But the voice inside her head screamed “Coward!” and she slipped her shoes back off, and this time, she really did begin to climb.

  It was scarier than she’d anticipated, but even with her heart beating a mile a minute, she pressed on. The trick was not to look down.

  Which, of course, she did the very next second. She stopped breathing, stopped everything, and clung tightly to the trellis, which was incredibly flimsy now that she thought about it. Okay, so maybe impulsive did mean stupid.

  Gritting her teeth, she climbed, certain her demise was imminent. Wouldn’t that be just perfect. Her one totally daring adventure, and she’d blow it by killing herself.

  She took another step up, but her foot slipped, and if she hadn’t been holding the trellis in a grip that melded her hand to the wood, she would have gone down. Instead, she just sort of kicked the air for a minute, all the while saying a prayer. Unfortunately, the only prayer that came to mind was “Now I lay me down to sleep.” It worked, though, as her foot finally found the wooden bar.

  She pressed herself tightly to the wall, wanting very much to cry uncle and scream. Nick would save her. That was romantic, too, wasn’t it?

  No. She must go on. It wasn’t that far. Just a few more steps and she’d be at the balcony. Of course, once she got there, she had to figure out how to go from the trellis to the balcony.

  Cursing the fact that she’d never been a Girl Scout, she ended up climbing higher. Then, in one of the most ungraceful maneuvers in recorded history, she flung herself over the edge of the balcony headfirst, s
o that she landed with the top part of her inside the balcony and the bottom part out. As she crawled forward, she had the sickening thought that Nick was watching her, laughing, pointing, changing his mind about loving her.

  But when she was safe and she’d caught her breath and stood, she saw that she had been unobserved. The window was closed and the curtains drawn.

  She straightened her hair a bit, adjusted her suit jacket and skirt, pushed the tall window open and climbed through. Now her heart was beating furiously again, but this time it was with sweet anticipation. In that flash of a moment, just before she saw him, she pictured his smile. That dreamy, sexy smile that had brought her several thousand miles from the safety of her home.

  Only, he wasn’t smiling.

  Neither were the three other women in the bedroom with him.

  Jessica opened her mouth, but no words came out. She looked from one woman to the next, noting somewhere in her brain that the three of them had the same shocked expression she must have on her face.

  “Nick?” the blonde to her right said.

  “Nick?” the brunette to her left said.

  “Nick?” Jessica said, mostly for the symmetry.

  The object of their queries didn’t even look embarrassed. He just mustered a sheepish grin and sat up straighter. “What a surprise,” he said. “How nice of you all to drop in.”

  The woman in the nightgown, her long hair flowing almost to her waist, said something in Italian. Jessica didn’t recognize the words, but the tone was unmistakable.

  “Drop in?” the brunette to her right said. “Drop in? I came all the way from New York. Three planes. No sleep. And I turned down two courier jobs. I did not just drop in.”

  “Oh, Nick,” said the blonde. She looked like the youngest of the three, barely in her twenties. “I told everyone we were going to get married!”

  They all turned to look at Jessica, as if this were all a play, a tragedy, and it was her line. “So it’s like this, is it?” she asked, amazed that she could think coherently, raise her eyebrow, cross her arms over her chest, when her dreams had just been squashed flat, her heart broken, her very soul shattered. “It was all a game?”

  “It was never a game,” Nick said.

  “Right,” Jessica said. “You meant everything you said?”

  He hesitated for a long time, looking first at the Italian woman, then at the brunette, then at the blonde, then finally back at her. “Yes,” he said.

  She had to smile. He was taking an interesting tack. No lies, no diversions. “So you love all of us?”

  “Yes, Jessica. I love you all.”

  That almost did her in. She looked at the other women standing at her sides. She saw all her own emotions reflected in their eyes. Disbelief. Foolishness. Humiliation. Anger.

  The Italian bombshell went on with her cursing, while the blonde met her gaze with a frown. “What should we do now?”

  Jessica shook her head, feeling somehow worse for the younger woman than she did for herself. She turned to the brunette, so tall and striking and sure of herself. Only there was a questioning look in her eyes, too. “It is four to one,” she said, giving Jessica a shrug. “We could take him.”

  Jessica sighed. She didn’t want to beat him up. Well, she did, but she knew she wouldn’t have the guts to do it. She’d used up her supply getting here. “I saw a small bistro just down the road,” she said. “I imagine they serve liquor there. It is Rome, after all. I think I’m about to get well and truly drunk.” She looked at her American companions. “If you’d care to join me?”

  “Please stay, carissima,” Nick said. “I can explain everything.”

  The taller woman looked back at Nick, still sitting in his bed. Jessica followed suit, impressed despite herself at his demeanor. He didn’t look the least ruffled. A little chagrined, yes, but not mortally wounded. Not a chance. This must have been an old song for him. It was a brand-new melody for her, however. One she’d never sing again. Ever.

  “Count me in,” the brunette said. “I could use a shot or two.”

  “I’ll go,” the blonde said. “I’ve never been drunk before, but today seems like the perfect time to start.”

  “Yes,” Jessica said. “It does, at that.” She turned toward the door. No more balcony scenes for her. With as much dignity as she could muster in her stockinged feet, she walked away. Away from Nick and her fantasy, amazingly stupid in this new light, of romantic bliss. She should have known better than to listen to Puccini.

  As she reached the door, she turned back one more time. “Happy birthday, you rat.”

  “To TAR AND FEATHERS!”

  Jessica lifted her wineglass and clinked it against Libby’s. “Here, here.”

  “Ditto,” Libby said, her enthusiastic nod making her blond hair fall lightly in her face. Then she clinked her glass against Gina’s before she took another sip of wine. “Hot tar. Or, I know. We could rent a billboard at La Guardia and put a giant wanted poster up there.”

  “Yeah,” Gina said. “You’re really getting the hang of this revenge scheme. I can’t decide which one I like the best.” The tall brunette had been quite clever in her plans to exact revenge upon the Italian gigolo. She’d not only come up with the excellent tar and feathers, but honey and ants, a short walk out of a 747 at thirty thousand feet—without a parachute—and Jessica’s personal favorite, gelding the bastard.

  “I can’t believe I spent all that money to come here,” Libby said. “I don’t think I can afford a billboard.”

  Jessica had discovered that Libby was the youngest and least experienced of the three. The poor kid really had expected to marry Nick. But then, hadn’t she? Maybe she’d never said it out loud, but hadn’t she assumed that she and Nick would be together forever? “I spent a lot of money to get here, too,” she said, sighing. “It just goes to show that you can’t trust them. Not ever. Men are louses.” That didn’t sound right. “Lice?”

  “Jessie, girl, you’ve got that straight,” Gina said. “Men are from Mars, all righty,” she said, signaling the waiter for more wine. “The question is, how do we get them to go back? Hey, a couple hundred torpedos would do the trick.”

  Jessica giggled. That alone told her she’d reached her desired goal of getting well and truly skunked. She should stop, sober up. Make arrangements to get back home. Oh, the hell with it. When the waiter came, she held out her glass. He filled it quickly, having wisely determined to leave the three crazy Americans alone.

  “I think,” Jessica said, leaning forward over the round wooden table, “that we should make a pact. Right here. Right now.”

  Both Libby and Gina also leaned in, each of them holding their wineglasses close for immediate access. Jessica looked around the small bistro to make sure no one was eavesdropping. It couldn’t have been safer. Besides the waiter and the elderly woman behind the bar, there was only one other customer in the place, and his head was stuck in his newspaper. She did take a moment to appreciate the simple decor, the intimate feel of the place. It was quite romantic, and if Nick had turned out to be a man and not a louse, they might have had a lovely time here.

  “Well?” Gina asked. “Let’s hear about this pact.”

  Jessica turned back to her friends. They were friends. No, more like sisters. “I say we swear off men for good.”

  Both Gina and Libby nodded, but not very enthusiastically. Libby turned to Jessica. “For good? As in for the rest of our lives?”

  Jessica nodded. “Yep.”

  “I don’t know about that, Jessie girl,” Gina said. “They can be pretty useful.”

  “As far as I can tell, there’s only one thing a man can do that’s of any damn use at all.”

  “But that one thing is a doozy,” Gina said.

  “What?” Libby asked, her brow furrowed. “What one thing?”

  “There are ways to get around that,” Jessica said. “You’ve heard of Bob? Our Battery-Operated-Boyfriend?”

  “Oh!” Libby said, catchi
ng on.

  “Jessie, hon. I don’t think the answer is to cut yourself off from men entirely.” Gina sipped her wine again, then put her glass down. “I think the trick is to know how to use them.”

  “Selectivity,” Jessica said. “I can see your point.”

  “Right. Reel ’em in, throw back the little ones, put the big ones to work, then move on.”

  “Are you guys talking about what I think you’re talking about?” Libby asked.

  “Yeah,” Jessica said. “Okay. Kind of like tissues. Take one, blow your nose, so to speak, then toss it.”

  “Sure,” Gina said. “Why not? That way, there’s no risk.”

  “Neat and tidy,” Jessica added.

  Libby frowned. “Are you saying that you never want to be in love? That you don’t want to get married and have kids?”

  Jessica stopped for a moment Was that what she was saying? She put her glass down. The tipsy feeling she’d had just seconds ago was gone now. She felt sober as a judge. “Libby, honey, I don’t want to tell you not to keep trying. That’s totally up to you, and whatever you decide to do is great. But for me? I don’t like the odds.”

  Gina reached her hand over the table and wrapped it around Jessica’s. “Maybe you can beat the odds. Maybe we all can.”

  Jessica squeezed her hand back. “Maybe. But I’m not betting the farm on it.”

  “You know what?” Libby said, her voice a little shaky but sincere.

  Jessica looked at her and once again noticed how pretty she was. Blond, blue-eyed, baby-faced. Of course she shouldn’t give up. There were probably a million guys who would love her in a minute. “What?”